Duchess Amelia thought he was the textbook personification of precision as she continued to learn his movements.
Every parry, dodge, and soft block was so clean, so lethal—but also so singular. She absorbed his rhythm, catalogued his tendencies, and recognized the subtle priorities of an assassin forced into a duelist's arena.
"Too clean," she noted aloud, catching his wrist mid-punch with a spiritual clamp that materialized into being.
He countered instantly, his free hand layering spiritual energy into a burst along her inner elbow, forcing her grip to slacken. He spun backward, breaking free.
The audience held their breath as the Duchess clapped lightly, pleased.
"Your precision's beautiful. But precision alone doesn't win wars."
Because he's too clean, anyone experienced enough would likely be able to tell what he will prioritize next.
Let's see.
