THE SPAR

It was a cool, crisp evening in the kingdom of Laramore. Jordan was sweating profusely as he swung his sword with practiced precision in the dim lights of the courtyard. He was all alone, or so he thought.

Suddenly, he heard footsteps behind him. He whirled around, his sword raised, ready to fight. To his surprise, he saw Rowan, standing there with a sly grin on his face.

Rowan had been observing Jordan's nightly training sessions for the past few days and had been intrigued by his unbridled passion and dedication towards mastering the sword. Jordan had immediately accepted Rowan's request for a friendly sword fight and the two friends clashed swords in a dueling dance.

Despite Rowan's valiant efforts, Jordan was the better swordsman, and soon enough, Rowan lay defeated on the ground, panting heavily.

Gasping for breath, Rowan asked, "Why do you train so hard every night? What are you fighting for?"

Jordan replied, "I aim to win the royal contest to become hand of the king."

His ans
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