**WARNING!** Heavy use of language and violence is present. Some scenes may not be suitable for younger readers.
This book, "Regal Rift," is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidenta...
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In the training grounds of the Eldorian castle, the air buzzed with the sound of clashing steel and the hum of concentrated magic.
The sun was high in the sky, casting a warm glow over the wide expanse of green fields where soldiers practiced diligently under the watchful eye of Princess Lyra.
Dressed in practical training gear her hair tied back in a braid. Princess Lyra moved among the soldiers, her presence both commanding and encouraging.
She watched as they worked to imbue their swords with magic, a skill that was essential for the protection of the kingdom.
Some soldiers, seasoned veterans, effortlessly channeled their magic into their blades.
Their swords shimmered with a bright, steady glow, a testament to their skill and experience.
One such soldier, Luther, demonstrated perfect form as he infused his claymore with a fiery aura.
He caught Lyra's eye and nodded, acknowledging her leadership and training.
"Well done, Soldier," Lyra said, her voice carrying authority and pride.
"Your control is impressive as always."
"Thank you, Your Highness," Luther replied, a hint of a smile on his usually stern face.
"Your teachings have been invaluable."
Nearby, a group of younger soldiers struggled with the basics. Their swords flickered with inconsistent light, the magic within them unstable.
Lyra approached one of them, a young recruit named Hera, who was visibly frustrated with her progress.
"Steady your breathing, Hera," Lyra advised, her tone gentle but firm.
"Magic requires focus and calm. Let it flow through you, not around you."
Hera nodded, her brow furrowed in concentration. She took a deep breath and tried again, her sword's light growing brighter and more stable under Lyra's guidance.
"That's it," Lyra encouraged, her eyes sparkling with approval.
"You're getting it. Remember, practice and patience are key."
Some soldiers showed natural talent, while others needed more time, but all were dedicated and determined.
In the center of the training grounds, a soldier named Rowan attempted a more advanced technique, trying to imbue his sword with lightning magic.
His blade crackled with energy, but he struggled to maintain control. Seeing his struggle, Lyra approached him.
"Rowan, you're pushing too hard," she said, her voice calm and instructive.
"Balance is crucial with lightning magic. Let it flow naturally, like a current."
Rowan nodded, adjusting his stance and focus. Slowly, the crackling energy on his blade became more controlled, the lightning dancing along the edge in a steady rhythm.
