Under the tutelage of the Pitmaster, I begin to train more fully. The smaller blade is easier to manage and I can make several quick strikes against the training dummy without tiring.
“Not good enough,” the Pitmaster says. “You are still too slow. And your need for breaks is too frequent. With how light your strikes are, you will need to hit the animals several times to down them. They would wait for you to recover.”
Nodding, I try again. This time I add more force to my strikes but tire even quicker.
“You are dead about twelve times over already,” the Pitmaster says. “It’s like you aren’t even trying.”
“I am trying,” I insist. My limbs are sore, my body drained. We’ve been training all day with limited breaks. My body would bound to be tired. Even I can tell that I’m slower than I was
