Kael
Seven cuts sounded generous.
Nihil had spent most of the preparation explaining why they weren't.
One burst. One amount of power divided between seven visible angles. Twenty meters of working space, and two breaths to settle the targets before the release.
The name had done more for the technique's reputation than arithmetic ever would.
I stood inside the technical-control court while the official checked the permitted field aids.
Two opaque screens on sliding frames. Marked target panels. A clear boundary beyond which neither entrant could direct an attack.
The screens belonged to the event. Either competitor could use them to alter the view.
I had read that rule.
I was about to learn whether reading it had helped.
The official moved a screen through its full travel while both of us watched. The lower frame ran along a marked track. The upper cloth stayed taut enough that no useful shape showed through it.
