Reborn Read Online Free Page A

hair in smooth, gentle waves. Lean and solid, he held his pose steady without so much as blinking. The bright yellow star embroidered on his leather tunic rose and fell with each deep, steady breath. With a slight shake of his head, damp hair flung from his face, revealing the numerous bruises and scrapes accumulated throughout the morning. The young man grimaced, showing off his bloodstained teeth. With a final breath that sent a few stray strands of hair away from his bloodstained lips, he roared and charged his massive target for what seemed like the hundredth time today.
    Pulling up just short of the gigantic unarmed man, he slashed high, low, then high again, each miss catching nothing but air as the nimble giant ducked and weaved, making the skilled soldier appear clumsy and slow. The frustrated soldier dropped into a backward roll to evade any counterattack, then sprung back to his feet. He then dipped back down into his low stance, several feet away from the giant. It was only then he realized the big man hadn’t countered at all.
    “Use your speed and quickness. Don’t try to overpower me,” roared Morcel as he held his ground, taunting the young man with goading hand gestures.
    A bit apprehensive now, believing his best chance had come and gone, the brown-haired warrior swallowed hard and rushed back in. Wooden points thrust straight for Morcel’s chest, but again caught nothing but air as the big man easily sidestepped the foreseen attack. The skilled soldier spun back with fluid backhand strikes, each wooden blade slashing at a different level. Although lightning-fast, they appeared slow as the giant drove his fists into the young man’s elbows, easily blocking the hard blows.
    “Is this really all you’ve got? A snail moves faster than you do,” growled Morcel as he sent one weapon flying through the air with a flick of his wrist, then pushed the other away as if it were no more dangerous than a spoon. The frustrated soldier leapt back, now gripping his lone weapon with both hands. He spit a gob of blood into the sand before charging back in with renewed determination. Even though this had been a routine sparring session, emotions still ran high. No one ever wanted to look like the weak link.
    The younger soldier exploded into a series of perfectly placed strikes—head, neck, shoulder, chest—in an animalistic flurry that would have easily cut down all but the most skilled bladesmaster, but each masterful thrust again caught nothing but air as the big man dodged and ducked with dizzying speed. As the humiliation continued, Morcel began to openly strike the soldier’s head and face in between effortless dodges. The open-hand smacks meant to embarrass the soldier still carried shocking power, and made the soldier stumble with each blow. “Come on, boy. A fly poses more threat than you do. I’m starting to think you belong in the kitchen, wielding a spoon instead of a sword.”
    As the frustrated soldier pressed through the embarrassing taunts, his techniques began to slow and grow sloppy. He was never a match for Morcel in the first place, but now his composure was falling to pieces. Holes in his quickly thinning defense were constantly exploited by the big man with increasing frequency. Backhands and open slaps peppered the younger man’s quickly swelling face as he began to swing wildly. Striking the man at will, Morcel’s growing disgust finally got the best of him. The young soldier flailed about, slashing high and low in predictable patterns before his sword arm halted suddenly, as if hitting a brick wall. Morcel held his wrist fast with an iron grip. “Feeble boy,” he mumbled.
    Before he could blink, the young soldier’s feet launched out from under him, sending his body horizontally to the sand below. A massive fist crashed down on his chest, hastening his fall to the ground. With all the air driven from his already burning lungs, his breath came in dry wheezes. He rolled back and forth in