Isaac had reached perfect concentration.
It was the fourth hour passed the previous day. Isaac started his training an hour ago and had already achieved perfect concentration outside of combat.
"You're doing good, Isaac, don't keel over and die now. Now that the demon's clone is gone I need you more than ever."
"Hooh, he's synched with the sword, that's good."
In his hand was the white sword Durandal, its weight somehow double than when he used it against Onyx not so long ago. But, other than its literal weight, it had also grown to be more unruly, awakening its strength, becoming fiercer in his hand.
Every swing beguiled more strength than the last. It felt like a swing of Durandal sapped his life away. Nevertheless, Isaac continued.
By dawn, Isaac carefully settled his breathing. He tightened his grip and steeled his resolve to swing the sword down with all that he had. What did it matter if his life was on the line?