Northern stood in a training ground in the tower; the training injuries that were left there by Jeci had fully healed—the place was as good as new.
He grounded his feet to the floor, his eyes fixated on the wall in front of him, focused and rigid. They bore an awareness of not just what was before him, but even behind.
His entire body stood as a singularity even with his sword. Only when he was finally, internally satisfied with his stance and basis of grounding did he move.
Northern began to execute a series of slashes, swinging his sword delicately. There was a magnificent air of control that trailed the path of the sword each time it divided the air.
Northern's eyes remained as focused as before he moved, even as he flowed from one strike into another. With the same amount of swiftness, power, and precision, the sword flowed from one movement into another, not increasing or decreasing.