“Ridiculous, isn’t it?” Riven muttered with a bitter smile, lowering his gaze to Riftmaker in his hand.

But Ashtoria only shook her head slowly. Her eyes remained calm. She stepped closer, her voice quiet yet firm.

“Don’t underestimate that feeling. You’ll need it to discover your affinity.”

While Riven stood in thought, Ashtoria walked toward the side of the carriage where he had stashed the weapons looted from Jacky’s shop. Her slender fingers brushed over axes and spears until she found a sword.

Riven frowned, puzzled.

‘What’s she doing with that?’

Ashtoria walked back to him casually, holding the sword in one hand. Her crimson eyes sharpened as she stopped a few steps away. When she spoke, her voice was cold:

“Try to strike me.”

Riven raised a brow, then smirked. “You sure about that?”

Ashtoria didn’t answer. She simply stood there, relaxed, sword dangling at her side without the slightest stance, as though the challenge meant nothing to her.

Riven accepted. He steadied his footing, recalling what little he remembered of proper posture from his training. His gaze hardened; no grin, no jest remained in his eyes. He knew better than to take the woman before him lightly.

“So… I can attack you now?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

Ashtoria gave a single, calm nod.

Without hesitation, Riven steadied his breath and slashed at her. His swing was fast, sharp, and restrained. But—

Ashtoria shifted half a step. Just enough. His blade missed by inches. In one smooth, dance-like motion, she lifted her sword and twisted Riftmaker clean from Riven’s grip. Before he could even react, her blade’s tip hovered at his throat.

Riven swallowed hard. “Damn…”

He hadn’t expected to lose so easily.

“Again!” he snapped.

Ashtoria drew back her sword and stepped away.

Riven inhaled deeply and reset his stance. This time, instead of striking first, he chose to wait. ‘Let’s see how she attacks,’ he thought.

Ashtoria seemed to sense his plan. She advanced at a measured pace, swinging her blade with deliberate, moderate speed. Riven managed to block—but before he could counter, her foot slammed into his stomach.

“Urgh!”

His body flew back, crashing onto the ground. He grimaced, clutching his aching midsection as he forced himself upright. His eyes narrowed, glaring at her.

He looked at his sword, then back at Ashtoria. He knew well, she had held back. He could see it in her restraint, the control in her movements, the precision in her attacks. She never once pressed too far. Yet still… he had lost.

He wanted to demand another round, but Ashtoria spoke first.

“Why didn’t you mean it when you struck me?”

Her tone was calm, almost flat but carried a sharp edge. Riven frowned, thinking it a taunt. But when he looked into her face, he saw no mockery. Only cold, honest seriousness, sharp as any blade.

Riven sighed inwardly.

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to keep steady. “I did swing seriously. Am I really that bad?”

Ashtoria answered without hesitation.

“Your swordsmanship is bad.”

Riven rolled his eyes. “Thanks for the honesty,” he muttered.

“But that’s not what I meant,” Ashtoria continued.

She stepped closer, bringing her face just inches from his. Her red eyes bored into him, as though cutting past flesh and bone to search something deeper.

“Your sword… was hesitant.”

Riven froze.

“Are you underestimating me?” she pressed, her tone colder.

“Of course not!” Riven shot back instantly, almost defensive. “I’d never underestimate you. If anything—”

“Then why did you hesitate?” she cut in, relentless.

Riven fell silent. His breath deepened. His eyes wavered, unable to hold her gaze. He turned his head, as though the air itself might offer him an answer.

‘My sword hesitant? That’s absurd. I’ve killed without hesitation before.’

“I don’t understand what you mean,” he finally said, low.

Ashtoria exhaled softly, then reframed her words.

“Then tell me, when you swung at me, did you truly intend to cut me? Didn’t you say holding a sword makes you feel like you can cut through anything? Why weren’t you certain of yourself?”

The question hung between them like a suspended blade.

Riven’s breath caught. His eyes widened slightly. This time… he understood.

That was her true meaning.

He lowered his gaze to his sword. His hand tightened on Riftmaker’s hilt, but not with force.

He replayed his strike in his head—the swing, the speed, the angle. And yes… there had been hesitation. Not in his body, but in his heart. He hadn’t held back, but he hadn’t intended to cut her either. Not because he couldn’t, but because he had no will to harm her.

Unlike the people he’d killed before—where it was kill or be killed—this was different. A spar. And she had no intent to kill him.

What Ashtoria wanted him to understand was this: he could not discard intent. He had to control it. Only then would his sword truly be sharp.

“Do you understand now?” she asked, her voice calm yet pressing.

Riven lifted his gaze, then nodded. “Yeah. Sorry… I really underestimated you just now.”

His fist clenched, fingers pressing hard around his sword hilt, as though holding something far deeper than fear. He took a long breath, and as he exhaled, shadows rose in his mind.

Faces of those he had killed.

Riven’s eyes changed. The doubt faded, replaced by something darker, colder. Something had stirred within, like a door forced open deep in his heart.

He stepped forward.

“Aria,” he called, his voice heavier this time.

Ashtoria’s brow furrowed slightly at the sound of that name from his lips.

“Fight me again. This time… I won’t hesitate.”

His tone was resolute. His eyes burned, not with rage, but with a newfound determination. Not just to wield a blade, but to truly fight.

But Ashtoria only looked at him briefly, then shook her head.

“No.”

Riven blinked, thrown off. “Why not?”

Her gaze was steady, serious. “Your conviction is good. But conviction alone isn’t enough.”

She stepped closer, closing the distance again.

“Now you have intent. But without technical foundation, intent is nothing but empty movement. You need more than the courage to swing a blade. You must know how to swing it. When. From where. With what force. How to read your enemy. How to read yourself.”

She tapped her finger against his chest. “Until you master the basics… you’re not ready to fight me.”

Riven opened his mouth, ready to argue, but no words came. He knew she was right. In both clashes earlier, he hadn’t just lost because of hesitation, he’d lost because he lacked fundamentals.

Ashtoria studied him for a moment longer, then declared:

“From today onward, I’ll teach you the basics of swordsmanship.”

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep