The wind stung against your wounded skin, your thick blood oozing from every injury. Your breath sent plumes of ivory into the surrounding air with your feeble hands grasping your sword as tightly as they could. The man before you was no joke, someone you easily underestimated…

"Prince, how lovely it is to spar with you!" The man, Crowned Prince Vervel of Ivrarid, spoke with a hint mockery. His wavy, black hair seemed to melt into his deep black attire, the chains glistening from the sun.