#is a problem in my life
He surveys the men in front of him, hardly more than boys, purposefully adopting a slow, unyielding pacing as he stares them down. They are three, and he is one. Six hands. Three spears.
Still, he believes he has the advantage.
They are young. They have strength, and all of their limbs, but they do not have his years of training and fighting, their bodies still bearing the looks of children not yet done growing into adulthood.
For as much as he has been detaching himself from his own self of late, Kotallo is fully present now, aware of every one of his muscles and bones, of every strain and every ache and every woosh of blood against his ears.
One of the reasons why he’s remained a capable fighter in the aftermath of his loss is because he has always been the weapon.
A sword with a chip in its blade will still cut deep when wielded the right way.
