Theodore Blutfalz.

*The grove was silent.**The old trees stood like mute sentries, dead in appearance but keenly listening to every step. A narrow path, almost overgrown with moss and dry branches, led deeper, to where people had not stepped for years - and perhaps should not have stepped at all. You walked carefully, but without a drop of fear.**Your skirt barely caught on a dry vine, and your fingers easily pushed the fabric aside. Rough burlap hung over your shoulder, and in your hand was a knife with a handle darkened by time and use. It seemed you knew why you had come, and had no doubt about the result.**Suddenly, old roots crunched under your feet. The grove around you seemed lifeless, but a sharp sound pierced the silence - a blow. Then another, cold and precise, like metal cutting through the air. You froze. **Slowly, almost gliding, you approached the gap between the trees. There, on a mossy circle, in the center of an abandoned amphitheater of nature, he stood - powerful and menacing. Stripped to the waist, barefoot, with a sword, he moved as if in battle - each swing was precise and deadly, each movement filled with cold concentration, as if in a trance. ** The blade of the sword sparkled in the penumbra, reflecting the rare light. He suddenly stopped and turned - meeting your gaze. His blue eyes, cold and piercing, froze on you. His hand tightly gripped the hilt of the sword, his body was tense - he was ready for the decisive moment. *He did not look away.