"…but it often appears in court banquets. In dances where socializing matters more than performance, it's not as common."
As Hilda's words fell, she happened to be stepping backward, holding Eris's hand from a short distance, their eyes meeting.
Eris's gaze, however, was glued in panic to the marks she'd left on Hilda's high heels. The young lady's face was unusually red.
"Don't focus on your feet, Eris."
"Ah! But, Mother's shoes—"
Hilda smiled, unconcerned. When she had first learned to dance, she had been flustered too, but the last thing she wanted was for Eris to associate stepping on her partner with embarrassment—it would make her avoid dancing altogether.
The best way to shift her attention was to keep her learning new things while making sure her feet never stopped moving.
Ignoring the pain on the tops of her feet, she cut her daughter off with a smile.
"So, what dance is better suited for banquets?"
"I—I don't know! Eh!!"
Before Eris could finish her reply, Hilda pulled her closer with a firm grip, catching her off guard.
Her free left hand opened, long fingers straightening slightly before settling on Eris's waist.
With a gentle tug, she drew her daughter into her arms.
Lowering her head, she met her eyes.
Eris froze, startled by her mother's sudden boldness.
A sharp gasp came from the side.
Hilda smiled and glanced that way.
Sylphy's face was flushed red, her ears trembling as she covered her face—though not completely.
Between her fingers, her reddish-brown eyes peeked out, fixed on Hilda's dance posture.
She looked utterly flustered.
Utterly shy.
And yet, her body language made it very clear—she very much wanted to learn.
Meanwhile, Rudy's lips curled at both corners, his gaze flicking slyly between Allen and Sylphy, thoughts unknown.
And Allen?
He simply watched Hilda and Eris with a faintly lifted corner of his mouth.
There was no other emotion there—just a quiet appreciation for the beauty of the scene, enough to momentarily override his usual habit of checking on Sylphy from the corner of his eye.
He'd seen this kind of dance before. It reminded him of the slow and quick waltzes from his previous life. With his refined swordsmanship and natural coordination, he could replicate it perfectly after just watching.
He'd never learned it.
But he could dance it.
And he knew exactly what this close-contact, waist-holding, face-to-face style was called.
"Its name is… Asuran social dance—the Foxtrot,"
"Also known as the Dance of Love," Hilda said warmly, shifting her gaze from Sylphy to the girl in her arms.
Eris looked uneasy. She had seen Edna demonstrate it before—just before making a lightning-fast escape from the lesson—so her knowledge of it stopped at "having seen it once."
"Why is it called the 'Dance of Love'?"
Sliding to Eris's side, Hilda guided her to turn with her, letting her own body lead while her arm directed Eris's movements.
The first side-step was large and quick, followed by a gentle, toe-light second step.
Her skirt swayed in rhythm.
Eris's steps landed with precision—directly onto Hilda's feet each time.
Hilda carried on as if she didn't notice.
"Because among nobles, this dance has often marked the beginning of many marriages. Most may have been political unions between families, but to outsiders, it's a symbol of love."
Eris wasn't listening—her mind was too tangled between following Hilda's lead and the humiliation of repeatedly stepping on her mother's feet in front of Allen, Sylphy, and Rudy.
Her pride was screaming.
She was just about to wrench herself free using sword techniques when Allen's voice slipped into her ear.
"Quick, large steps—think of the movements of Sword God Style. Snap your leg out, led by your thigh, and place your foot exactly where you want it to land."
Eris's heart skipped, but months of training under him had built a wordless understanding. Her foot was again about to step on Hilda's toes, only ten centimeters away.
She twisted her ankle at once, stepping back.
Hilda's eyes flashed briefly in surprise. But as an experienced dancer, she flowed naturally into Eris's movement, matching her large, quick step and toe-touch beside Eris's retreat.
They were still close, still holding at the waist.
Allen's voice continued, quick but clear.
"Now, a toe-touch, slowly pulling back—like the prep movement in Water God Style's Nian-ryu. Feel where you want to 'strike,' then gently place your foot down there. This isn't a slash, but a block—don't be too forceful, don't rush it."
Eris blinked, and before Allen even finished, the comparison of swordsmanship to dance made the situation click in her head. She instantly knew what to do next.
Her other foot brushed the floor lightly, sliding to a precise, comfortable position.
It actually felt… elegant.
Because Allen's Water God Style was inherently elegant.
Just as Allen often said, "If a strike can be graceful, then even death can hold beauty."
Hilda's foot landed neatly beside Eris's toes.
No more overlapping steps.
Only the swish of black-and-white against bright red skirts, bursting into a brief flower of colors before falling again.
The hem of their dresses swung gently between their legs.
They stood, still waist-to-waist, perfectly at ease.
As if nothing had changed.
The rhythm of the dance—
One beat's worth of movement—
Was complete, guided by Allen's voice, Eris's initiative, and Hilda's deliberate cooperation.
So simple.
A spark lit in Eris's eyes!
"Sword God Style!"
She strode forward in a large step.
Hilda followed smoothly.
"Water God Style!"
She retreated with a toe-touch, a slight pause in her motion before pulling back.
Hilda followed again, naturally.
Another beat.
And another.
Without Allen's prompting now, mother and daughter danced—not yet perfect, but recognizably so.
Like two butterflies, one large, one small.
Red hair fell into the soft sunset glow streaming through the enamel glass above.
(End of Chapter)
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