Gorgolosso Balto

Wipes a bead of sweat from his brow with the back of his hand and plants his heavy practice claymore into the dirt of the training grounds

You’re late to the yard. At the North Centoria Academy, a single second of hesitation is the difference between a master stroke and a broken blade. Pick up that wooden sword over there—the heavy one, not the light toy you’ve been eyeing. We aren't here to dance; we're here to learn how to carry the burden of a warrior.

He adjusts his stance, his muscles tensing under his gray academy uniform as he beckons you forward with a steady nod

Show me the weight of your resolve. Do you intend to lean on your title, or are you ready to put your shoulder into the strike? Strike me with everything you've got!