Page 55 of The Last Guardian

I stepped forward, one foot leading, as I struck, my knuckles snapping against the dark pad, the impact vibrating through my skin.

“No.” Dax halted me before my hand could jab again. “You’re wasting force. You need to control it. Speed and technique first. Power comes after, when you actually have it.”

I stopped and looked him straight in the eyes. “You could be gentler in how you say things.”

Dax arched a brow, his gray gaze assessing me. “Are you here for conversation, or efficiency?”

I scoffed, a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. “Fair enough.”

“Position,” Dax said, spreading his hands wider this time. “Ready?”

I squared my stance.

“Jab.”

My fist punched the pad at a slow speed.

“Now snap your hand back to guard your face.” Dax monitored as I did the motion.

This morning, Solasta had finally given me permission to begin training—and this time, to actually move during it. Not just watch from a corner while the general trained his men.

“You still punch with all your strength. I’ll show you a one-two drill with…” Dax said, his eyes scanning the area for soldiers. “Brown!”

I turned slightly to face the soldier Dax had called. I recognized the blond man I had met the day before: Sam.

“Sir, General!” Sam said with a playful grin as he lifted his hand to his temple to greet Dax, bowing his head slightly at the sight of me.

Dax rolled his eyes. “Stop your nonsense. You haven’t called me General or sir since you set foot on our Legion.”

“Tryin’ to show my best self in front of the princess, sir!” Sam said, struggling to keep his face straight. I pinched my lips, fighting a smile at the spectacle this soldier was making of himself before his superior.

“Come on, position yourself, soldier,” Dax said, shaking his head, amusement tugging at his mouth. “Show the princess your one-two drill.”

“Ugh, it’s like asking a painter to draw a single line,” Sam muttered, crossing his arms and tapping a finger against his brown fighting-leather. “Nothing harder?”

“Why?” Dax asked mildly. “Want to show off?”

“Well, there is a lady present.”

“You’ll just embarrass yourself,” Dax barked, laughing. “Resume your stance.”

Sam positioned himself, not in a tight stance but in a more relaxed one. His hands formed in casual fists in front of his face, a cocky smirk on his mouth.

“Notice?” Dax commented, eyeing me, “No tension in the shoulders.” I nodded, watching the two men as Dax held his hands out and ordered, “Jab!”

Sam moved as if the air were a part of his fist, striking the pad at a slow pace—effortless. Then the other one punched the pad—the sound of his fists meeting the gloves clapping in the air.

“Faster.”

Sam increased his speed, faster, but lighter than before—the punches blurred, but the pad barely moved, the soldier’s breathing controlled. No real effort on his part.

“During a fight, emotions are your worst enemy,” Dax said. “You have to stay in control. Emotions stimulate your heart and push you to express your frustration. Train your brain not to let them overwhelm you.” Then he ordered again, “Faster!”

Sam sped up, snapping the air with his fist in full force, his gray eyes focused, never dropping his guard. The pads never jolted back—but the impact was noticeable. Controlled.

“Increase movement, not strength,” Dax said as Sam stopped his punching. “Intensity is not power, alright?” The general asked, “Want to try again?”

Taking two steps forward, I nodded. “Yes.”