Many years ago...
In the royal palace courtyard, grunts echoed through the air as sixteen-year-old Drystan sparred against his elder brother with a practice sword in hand. Alaric attacked relentlessly while Drystan struggled to defend himself from the heavy strikes coming his way, though he was clearly failing beneath the pressure. Then with one final blow, Alaric struck hard enough to knock the sword out of Drystan's hand before pointing his own weapon directly at him.
"Try to keep up, little brother," he mused with a smile before offering him a hand.
Drystan grabbed it and got back to his feet with a groan. "You fight like you're trying to crush your enemy completely," Drystan muttered while walking over to retrieve his fallen sword from the ground. "How is anyone supposed to survive against that?"
"Strength alone does not win a fight," the royal instructor said calmly from where he stood overseeing their training. "If that were true, wars would already be decided by size"
