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“You’ve improved,” Torres said, standing and catching his breath. Enkrid wondered how things would turn out if they fought with real swords. He wasn’t sure. Enkrid wasn’t the type to be confident about fighting.
No matter how skilled you were with a sword, a seven-year-old child could stab you in the heart with a dagger and you’d die. Skill aside, the outcome of a fight for survival was uncertain.
“Is that so?” Enkrid replied, lying down before springing up.
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