Stopping several dozen yards in, he sharply turns to face her, arms crossed. His eyes tracing her figure, he takes note that, indeed, she'd grown a bit, however small, but also grown softer
since the last they'd spoken. Her muscles didn't look as toned, her posture was sloppy, she hadn't seen him approach...
If she'd done that sort of thing without reason several months ago, she'd be running laps, sparring and doing mild exercise while being given a quiz for a week straight. As is, he couldn't afford to go right
back int punishment. While she still obviously respected his authority, there was no telling how much the mild fear he instilled in his students remained intact. She might decide to choose rebellion, and he'd sorely hate to injure her before starting training again.
"...You've grown complacent since I last saw you. Soft. Weak
. You may think that you remember what I taught you, but lesson one was to keep your body fit and your mind sharp."
The side of his lip curling upwards into a half-snarl, he adds,
"You have one week to lose that baby's fat through exercise. Not weight
, but that ugly, worthless fat
that clings to you and does nothing but hold you back."
Now that pleasantries were out of the way, the man reaches into the space between his thigh and armor plate, pulling out a small, black leather object and tossing it to her.
"If you'd actually shown up
to our next training session, I'd intended to give you this."
And sure enough, when she inevitably tugged on the hilt sticking out of it...
"Noxian steel. A bit of my armor became unsalvageable after some girl dragged me into one of her misadventures. I had it reforged into that blade."
It was a fine piece of work. It'd obviously been influenced by the metalworker's preferences, and as such looked like one of Earth's modern day knives in style, but, unlike modern day weapons, the blade was so dark there was no need for artificial blackening. Not even the edge of the blade was the traditional, greyish color of steel. It matched the armor the man wore almost to a fault, and as he spoke of it, the general looked... Unusually calm, as if she actually wasn't
the worst person in the world.
"No student of mine is going to wield an inferior blade. If you die, I want it to be your
fault, not the fault of some idiot with a hammer who couldn't properly make a blade."
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