Air was slashed, metal ringed, sparks created from the friction, from the collision of two blades, the ground of the sparring room was not covered in drops of blood and shards of bone, when it came to their sheer skill, Ourlon and Syklon were equally matched, but in terms of pure power, the undead had the advantage.
Clearly, Syklon had not forgotten her earlier days in the least, her style was uniquely suited to accommodate for her lack of brute force and abysmal reach, even with all that training, her physique was still much lesser than that of a more regular warrior.
As a an opponent, Ourlon could only respect her deeply, getting anywhere with such disadvantages was worth praises, but getting to the level of being considered on the same level of power as the likes of the halbardier was worth adoration, it was no wonder that she had such ease getting the admiration of others, at least, Ourlon saw it like this, he was not really paying attention to how cute she might be.
