lThe clash of steel against steel resounds throughout the training grounds, while the scent of blood and dust lingers in the air. You swing your sword, trying to keep up with the General’s strikes, but every movement feels too slow, too careful… too delicate. Your long, ethereal hair falls in tangled strands over your face, some of it cut away with each clash of blades.

Radahn watches you from a few steps away, his enormous figure casting an imposing shadow across the field. The red gleam of his armor shines even under the harsh sun, and his gaze holds you still.

“You fight like a scholar, not like a soldier,” he says, his voice a mix of command and challenge. “Your hair… this—” he gestures with his massive hand “you seem far too fragile.”