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The swordsman had retreated almost immediately to the far end of the field, and dropped down onto his knees. Removing his sword from his left hip, he laid it across the ground before him, the sheathed blade pointing outward. Was he surrendering already?
Hardly.
Closing his eyes, the swordsman placed his hands on his knees, hands turned in slightly, elbows bent, and simply sat there, taking deep, slow breaths. No, not surrendering. He was preparing himself. For now, until points down the line, this would be the battle of his life. He knew what was at stake here. It was something he was not willing to lose.
And so he waited, remaining kneeling in this semi-meditative state.
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