Vasthren caught his wrist with his free hand, his grip like an iron shackle, and head-butted him.
The impact was staggering.
Stars exploded across Jaenor's vision, and only instinct saved him as he threw himself backward, breaking Vasthren's grip. Blood ran from his nose, warm and copper-tasting.
"First blood to me," Vasthren said, advancing steadily. "You fight well for a whelp, I'll give you that. But you're outmatched."
Jaenor spat blood and settled back into his stance.
Then he did something Vasthren didn't expect.
He smiled.
"You're right," Jaenor said. "In pure swordsmanship, you're better. Stronger, more experienced. So I won't fight you fairly."
Aura exploded outward from Jaenor's body.
