"You called her a 'little flower,'" Sol said quietly, just loud enough for Garrick to hear. "Said she'd get crushed in a real fight. Look around you, Garrick. Eight of Veynar's best. And not one of you has touched me beyond what I allowed. Who's the weak one now?"
With a casual shove, Sol sent the big man stumbling backward. Before Garrick could regain balance, Sol closed the distance in a blur and delivered a single, perfectly measured strike to the solar plexus. Garrick's eyes bulged. He dropped to his knees, then collapsed sideways, unconscious but breathing.
Exactly forty-five seconds.
Sol stood alone in the center of the ring, completely untouched. Dust barely clung to his tunic. He brushed it off with a few casual swipes, as if he had simply taken a pleasant walk through the training grounds rather than dismantled eight elite warriors.
