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... eneath the soft glow of the morning sun, he stood near the garden, tightening his grip around the hilt of his katana. His arms ached, and his body was drenched in sweat, yet he did not falter. Before him, Gramps sat leisurely on his wooden bench, drinking from his usual bottle of booze, watching with his ever-critical eyes.

Velren exhaled sharply, adjusting his stance. With a deep breath, he brought the katana above his head and swung downward in a clean arc.

Again.

And a ...

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