"Good." Dravok's voice came low and even over the edge of his blade. "I like that you've focused. It'll make you worth the trouble of training." His weight dropped another fraction into the stance. "Take this one now."
Trafalgar set his feet, brought Maledicta up in both hands, and watched.
He saw the whole of it. That was the strange part. There was nothing hidden in what Dravok did, no blur, no speed his eyes couldn't follow. The old man simply drew his plain sword back and brought it down in a single stroke, a plain overhead cut, the sort of thing a first-year student learns in his opening week.
But the stroke didn't feel like it was cutting the air. It felt like it was cutting the world.
