Asleroc took a moment to admire the sword in his grip, after all, it was his first time actually holding a real one.
He'd almost expected Astensia to start him with a wooden sword like he'd seen in numerous manhwas, but she had actually given him a real, excellent sword.
"There are dozens more like it in the gallery below," she remarked, noticing Asleroc's curiosity.
"But this one I think will serve you for training. Steel teaches faster than wood." Her smile was warm and encouraging. "Is it to your liking, my Worship?"
Asleroc looked up at her, tightening his grip on the hilt of the sword. "Yes, it is." He felt the weight of the sword on his palm, the weapon was heavier than it looked. "Thank you, Astensia."
"I am only doing as I've been ordained," she replied.
Excited, Asleroc tested the sword with a few awkward slashes at the air as Astensia watched.
"So… what now?" he asked after he was done showboating.
Astensia folded her arms just below her breasts, tilted her head as a slightly amused smile stretched below her nose. "Now? Now, I correct the abomination you call a stance."
Asleroc's brow furrowed. "Abomination? I thought I looked decent," he muttered, shifting his feet wider.
"You look like a farmer trying to swat a chicken, my Worship," she replied playfully. Asleroc grumbled, feeling self conscious all of a sudden.
Astensia stepped inward, circling him like a hawk.
"You cannot think of the sword as merely a blade. It is three truths in one hand: the hilt, where the strength rests; the guard, where defense holds; and the edge, where death whispers. You cannot neglect any of them if you wish to survive a battle."
She stopped near enough for Asleroc to notice a droplet of sweat trailing down her neck, all the way down her collarbone and into her cleav—
She tapped his shoulder. Gently, with two fingers, prompting him to straighten his back, regaining himself.
"That's a better posture," she applauded him, stepping back a bit.
Asleroc swallowed.
It wasn't very easy being close to someone as beautiful as Astensia, expectedly when all she was ever supposed to be was a fictional being, someone with a beauty that couldn't ever be real.
But her doe eyes which burned a fierce blue, her sunlight hair braided to one giant lock over her shoulder, her brutal curves highlighted by her scanty training gear, and her elegant, glistening yellow skin.
It was difficult to focus on anything that wasn't her.
Yet, Asleroc knew that he had to. This was important.
A sword is an extension of your body," Astensia continued. "Treat it like a partner in a dance. Lean too much on it, you stumble. Lose it, you die."
Asleroc blew out a breath. "Must be a very dangerous dance, mmh?"
Astensia smirked. "You could say that."
She moved behind him, guiding his elbows outward, helping his wrists to level. Asleroc forced himself to ignore the heat from her skin and focused on the sword.
"The weight must settle at your center, not your arms. Feel it flow down your spine into the earth. That is where you find balance."
He tried to mimic her words, tightening his stance. He loosened his grip on the hilt of the sword, focusing more on balancing the weight rather than just holding on for dear life.
"Like this?" he asked her.
Astensia examined his stance for a moment before replying. "Yes. Like that. Now… swing at me."
Asleroc paused, startled. "What? Swing at you?"
Her eyes gleamed with confidence, hands behind her back. "Yes. Come at me as though I were your foe."
Asleroc raised the sword hesitantly. "What if I hurt you?"
Astensia's smile was almost mischievous. "I'm sorry, my Worship. But I think I'm the one who should be worried about that."
That playful jab was enough to set his mind. Asleroc swung.
The clash lasted less than a heartbeat.
Asleroc moved his feet forward and dragged the sword in an arc, but Astensia, barely even moving, sent the blade spinning from his hand by merely blocking with hers.
It clattered on the floor like a discarded toy.
Asleroc rubbed his wrist, glancing up at her. "It's not exactly fair if you're using your Speed and Agility stats to take the advantage."
Astensia shook her head hurriedly. "I promise you, my Worship. This is pure swordsmanship and nothing else."
Asleroc grunted, still massaging his wrist. "Nearly took my hand off…"
She smiled patiently. "Would you like to try again?"
Asleroc agreed tentatively and picked up the sword, drawing close to her with it raised high by his side.
Once more, he swung, and she blocked it again. He tried yet again, pushing every ounce of his will into the attack, but in a flash, his hand was empty.
The blade skittered across the stone floor with an irritating noise.
Asleroc groaned. "Ughh! Is there a point to this? You do know I'll never actually land a hit on you, right? No matter how good I get."
Astensia's smile remained. "Of course. But I am not the measure, my Worship.
"When I notice a shift in your stance and attacks, I will know. Even if you can't hit me, you could still do well against other enemies."
He sighed, rubbing his wrist. "So I just have to endure the endless humiliation of being outclassed by my own disciple."
Astensia gazed at him for a moment, their eyes locked as a cool wind brushed past, blowing strands of their hair over their faces.
"If it ensures your survival, my Worship, then yes."
She shot him a soft smile before turning. She crouched, retrieving his sword this time and pressing it into his hands. Asleroc looked down at it.
"When the sword is torn from you in a battle, you should feel a certain sense of abstract pain. Like an amputation. As though your very hand was severed. If you do not feel this pain, then you do not yet know what it means to wield a weapon."
Asleroc's throat tightened. "That's… grim."
"Our world is grimmer," she answered simply. "Would you like to continue the training?"
Asleroc nodded. "Yes I would."
After studying him for a while, Astensia stepped back, then stopped. "We'll begin with endurance."
"Endurance?"
"Endurance and balance," she explained. "You must hold the blade until it ceases to feel like a burden."
She assisted him into a standing position of legs pressed together, arms outstretched to opposite sides, sword in his wielding hand, the blade extended in the same direction.
"You must hold the sword until you no longer notice the weight. When it feels like part of your body."
Asleroc's arm trembled as he held onto the sword. "And this—this is going to make me a better swordsman?"
Astensia's expression softened. "This is going to make you worthy of being one, my Worship."
Asleroc shrugged, still maintaining the position. "Just don't be surprised if I impress you sooner than you expect."
Astensia's lips curved faintly, but she didn't reply. She only watched as Asleroc's arm began its long battle with the weight of steel.
For Asleroc, he found himself wanting to win. But not because survival demanded it, but because Astensia was watching.
Asleroc was desperately trying to impress her.