Ruel and I stood across from each other, our eyes locked in a silent but intense exchange. He took his stance, the posture of a swift swordsman—a style known for its reliance on speed and agility. His legs were slightly bent, like a coiled spring ready to release at any moment, much like a track runner preparing to launch into a sprint. The difference here was the way he held his sword with a firm, unwavering grip. His fingers curled around the hilt, the blade angled low but ready to strike upward with lethal precision.