Bang!
Bang! Bang!
The sound of clashing wood reverberated through the estate's private training hall.
Seth Terrace, the youngest male sibling in the Terrace family, gritted his teeth as he swung his wooden practice sword toward his uncle, Osbourne Terrace.
The strike was quick and precise, aimed at Osbourne's midsection, but the older man sidestepped it effortlessly and then sighed.
"You're too tense," Osbourne said, catching Seth's wrist before he could recoil. "Relax your shoulders. Speed comes from control, not force."
Seth nodded, his dark hair plastered to his forehead from sweat. He adjusted his grip and took a deep breath before swinging again, this time with more fluidity.
"Better," Osbourne remarked, stepping back to give the boy space. "But you still need to work on your balance. One wrong move, and an opponent will use your momentum against you. I would've smacked your head a dozen time if I had utilized that small opening of yours."
