He will die. The young trainee knows this. Panic is the luxury of the incontinent, hope the respite of the ignorant. His clan’s enemies, ancient veterans, rugged giants of muscle and steel, have found out this secret training ground and go about their bloody business like foxes set loose among newborn hares. With his uncalloused hands, soft cheeks, and unpracticed steps, the trainee's greatest effort will be the weakest opposition this beast has ever seen. Still, not flinching is itself a sort of victory.
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