Carefully, he calculated each foot's placement upon the gym floor. Not even the slightest sound gave warning of his approach as he tried to rpetend that this was a true scene. Reaching to his side, he wrapped his hand around the woven leather handle of his sword. Studying the sand bags, he prepared, and in one fluid move, withdrew his sword and attacked. He thrust the weapon forward. The point of the blade entered near what would have been the spine, slipping between two ribs and penetrated all the way into the chest cavaty. The Sand bag convulsed for a second before going spilling sand all over the floor and crumpling to the ground. A russling sound accompanied the blade as it resisted being drawn from the sand bags wound.. Something deep within him stirred and he was excited by the old way's of fighting coming back to him.
Forcing himself to look away from the beauty of violence, Sweden turned toward the other sandbag oppsite of this one. He stood frozen, surprise having robbed him of speech and movement. He didn't know what to do next since he hadn't touched a sword in a such a long time.
With a swift strike forward, he sliced a deep slit along what would have been a neck, spilling sand among the air in almost powder. Finally, Sweden allowed himself to laugh, slightly enjoying himself.