Riven looked visibly excited the moment he heard that Ashtoria was willing to teach him. His eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, as if the pain in his body had vanished all at once.
"Are you sure?" Riven asked, just to be certain.
Ashtoria gave a small nod. "I trained with knights at my estate. I know what I'm doing—more or less."
Riven nodded, then asked out of curiosity, "In that case… how bad is my swordsmanship?"
Ashtoria stared at him blankly. "Very bad."
Riven turned his face away, slightly offended. He had trained almost every day on his own, without any formal instruction, so to hear that stung.
"You don't even know how to hold a sword properly," Ashtoria continued mercilessly.
"What?" Riven choked out.
Ashtoria only sighed briefly, then took a step back and raised her sword to chest height. "Try swinging at me again."
Riven was still a little upset, but he obeyed. He adjusted his stance and swung Crysthalis toward her.
Clang!
The sharp clash of steel echoed as their blades met. But to Riven's surprise, his sword flew from his hands and landed on the ground. He winced, his fingers aching from the impact.
"How did that happen?" he muttered in disbelief. He looked at Ashtoria with wide eyes, realizing she could have disarmed him at any time if she'd wanted to.
Ashtoria glanced at his hand. "You're gripping your sword too tightly. Ever heard of the eagle's grip?"
Riven shook his head. "No."
"It's a fundamental principle of holding a sword," Ashtoria explained. "Your pinky and ring finger should grip the weapon firmly, but your index finger and thumb must remain loose."
She demonstrated the grip clearly. Riven tried to mimic it—adjusting his fingers as instructed. It felt strange, unnatural.
Ashtoria smiled faintly. "A sword isn't a hammer. You hold it like you would hold a bird—tight enough so it doesn't fly away, but gentle enough so it doesn't die."
"Try swinging again," Ashtoria ordered.
Riven nodded and slashed forward. This time the swing felt lighter, but he didn't notice much of a difference.
Then, without warning, Ashtoria struck the side of Crysthalis with the same force as before.
CLANG!
His sword trembled violently—but didn't fly out of his hands. His grip faltered slightly, but he held on.
Riven stared, stunned.
"See?" Ashtoria said, lowering her blade again. "With the proper grip, you can absorb the impact. You don't have to clench all your fingers. That only makes your muscles stiff and your swings slower."
Riven looked down at his hand, trying to feel the subtle difference. Then he gave a small laugh—but within it was a deep realization.
Only now did he understand how different it was to train alone compared to learning from an experienced mentor. All this time, he had swung his sword based on instinct, copying what he'd seen from soldiers and fighters—without ever knowing whether it was right. Now he realized, without this woman's presence, he might never have seen how fundamentally flawed his steps had been.
Worse still, he might never have truly trained at all.
He took a deep breath and looked up, newfound determination in his eyes.
"Anna," he said, "what else am I doing wrong?"
She looked at him for a moment, then gave a faint nod, as if acknowledging his sincerity.
"We'll start from the basics. Your stance… is a mess."
She moved to his side and tapped his knees, shoulders, and ankles with her finger, giving him small, precise cues.
"Feet shoulder-width apart. Bend your knees slightly. Your weight should be balanced when you're standing still, but you'll need to shift it when moving or attacking. Don't dig your heels into the ground, but don't lift them either—keep them light, so you can move quickly," she instructed.
Ashtoria then stepped in front of Riven and demonstrated the correct stance.
Her body was stable yet fluid. Her right foot was slightly forward, knees slightly bent, while her left foot angled diagonally for balance. Her back was straight but relaxed, and both hands held the sword in front of her body, aligned with her shoulders.
"This posture lets you attack and defend quickly. In battle, you must always be ready to move. Never lock your body in one position."
Riven tried to imitate it. Ashtoria patiently corrected his form—straightening his shoulders, adjusting the distance between his feet, and repositioning his sword.
"Good," Ashtoria said once Riven looked steady enough.
"Now let's move on to footwork."
She took a few steps back and demonstrated how to move in sword combat. Her movements were smooth and efficient.
"Short, quick, light steps. Don't lift your feet like in normal walking. Slide them—one small step forward, then pull your back foot to follow. Do the same when moving backward. When sidestepping, step in the direction first, then drag the other foot after it."
She demonstrated movement in all four directions: forward, backward, left, and right. All done with low footwork to keep her center of gravity stable.
"This footwork keeps you balanced while attacking or defending," she said. "And most importantly… never cross your feet. You'll lose balance and expose yourself."
Riven nodded and began copying the movements. He stumbled a few times from stiffness, but Ashtoria quickly corrected his posture.
Then, Ashtoria stood directly in front of him, eyes sharp and focused. The morning air was warming up, and the dew on the grass beneath their feet was starting to evaporate. Sunlight glinted off Crysthalis as Riven raised it once more, the blade shimmering pale silver.
"Now," said Ashtoria, "let's work on your basic strikes. There are four: vertical, horizontal, diagonal, and thrust. Don't rush. Feel the shape of the movement."
She raised her sword slowly above her head, the tip pointed skyward, both hands holding the hilt firmly.
"Vertical strike."
She brought the sword down in a straight arc, slicing through the air along the centerline of her body. The movement was swift, but controlled. The blade hissed as it cleaved through air.
"Keep your arms aligned. Pull from your shoulders, not your wrists. Let the power drop from your back—lean slightly forward but keep your balance. Imagine you're cutting through your opponent from crown to navel."
Riven tried. He raised Crysthalis above his head and brought it down. The strike was powerful, but unstable—his right shoulder lifted more, and his stance wobbled.
"Straighten your shoulders! Don't rely only on your right hand. Let your left hand guide the path of the blade!" Ashtoria corrected him, touching his arm to adjust it.
He tried again. This time, it felt firmer. The blade sliced the air cleanly, and Crysthalis felt more alive in his grip.
"Horizontal strike."
Ashtoria raised her sword to chest height and swung from right to left in a level line.
"Keep your elbows close to your body. Rotate your hips to add momentum. Don't just swing with your arms. Let your whole body turn—start from your legs, your waist, then your arms. Like you're slashing across the belly."
Riven mimicked it. His first swing was too wide.
"Too broad. You're exposing your own side. Limit the motion. This isn't a performance."
After a few adjustments, Riven found a rhythm. His hips turned precisely as his arms moved, and Crysthalis flowed faster, more smoothly.
"Diagonal strike."
Ashtoria dropped her sword to her left shoulder, then slashed diagonally down toward her right hip. Then the reverse—from right shoulder to left hip.
"This strike is the most common and versatile. It sweeps from above and slices from the side. But it's also the easiest to lose balance with if your footing is off."
She stepped forward with the cut, then stepped back with the return.
"Coordinate footwork with your swings. From the left shoulder—step forward with your right foot. From the right shoulder—step with your left. If you stay still, you'll become an easy target."
Riven followed along. His footwork was still stiff, but he moved with determination. Again and again he practiced, sweat trailing down his temples as his breathing grew heavy. But his strikes became more refined. His sword now danced in time with his body.
"Last—thrust."
Ashtoria raised her sword beside her head, then shot it forward like an arrow. The tip aimed straight for an imaginary opponent's chest.
"A thrust is the fastest, most direct, and deadliest strike. But also the most fragile. If it misses or is predicted, you're open to a counter."
She demonstrated her hand positioning: elbow slightly bent, body angled to reduce her target profile.
"Step forward with the thrust. Don't push just with your arm, but with your shoulder and hips. Like channeling your full body weight into the blade."
Riven tried. His first thrust was weak—uncertain, like stabbing something fragile. Ashtoria said nothing, only repeated hers again—quicker, sharper. The blade whistled as it cut through air.
Riven held his breath, focused all his strength, and lunged with determination. Crysthalis shot forward, straight and strong. He could feel the power rise from his feet, through his legs, his waist, and out through the blade.
Ashtoria nodded.
"Now you're starting to connect with your sword."
Riven was panting, but his eyes were glowing.
He wiped sweat from his brow and asked, "Can we repeat everything from the beginning?"
Ashtoria gave a faint smile. "Of course. We'll repeat it until the movements become reflex. Until your body remembers what words cannot explain."
And the morning continued—filled with the sound of clashing steel, heavy breaths, and a flame of resolve that burned steadily as the dew of dawn faded into light.