Suyin’s amusement lingered as she, Vianora, and the elf’s apprentice walked to the far side of the stadium. An open area there had been repurposed as grounds for warming up and training. Though she was genuinely entertained by the preceding exchange—and grateful that the old man had been given an ego check—those emotions faded and were replaced by another that had been swimming close beneath the surface.
She didn’t flinch. I couldn’t so much as see Master move before there was a sword at her throat, and she didn’t flinch. Not even a flicker of surprise. She scolded him afterward!
That… wasn’t natural. Master Faleryn had clearly intended to impress, so he must have struck fast enough that Vianora herself wouldn't have been able to track him. At the very least, he’d acted with such blinding quickness that another high-Titled would recognize him for what he was.
Such a dismissive attitude bordered on the inhuman. Inherent stoicism only explained so much. Had Suyin and her master been wrong? Was Vianora Enren a raving madwoman in truth, rather than merely powerful?
Or both, she thought. Nothing prevented the powerful from losing their sanity. Some of the most terrifying beings the world had ever known had broken their minds through rising into Cataclysmic power. There was, as certain evidence suggested, strength in madness.
But Vianora… she didn’t seem like a lunatic. Insanity could be masked, but such concealment was rather difficult for the mentally unstable.
Why didn’t she flinch, then? Why doesn’t she care who Master Faleryn is? How can anyone be so indifferent toward another Titled?
She understood that familiarity bred disregard and that Titled would hardly gawk at their peers, yet to brush one off—one as strong as Master Faleryn—boggled the mind.
Suyin stole a glance at the stone-faced elf next to her.
Just who is this woman? And why does she want me to teach her, when she’s so much stronger than I am? What kind of test is this?
Her curiosity grew as she watched Vianora set up her apprentice’s lesson. A sound barrier blocked Suyin from hearing whatever they discussed, and she didn’t take offense. They weren’t allies. Acquaintances at best. Titled had good reasons to be cautious.
As she observed, her gaze settled on the raven-haired beastkin’s staff. From what Suyin had seen of the girl’s matches yesterday, she had fought exclusively with elemental spells. A classically trained mage, and an outstanding one given her age. Which made sense seeing how she was the student of a Titled.
What Suyin didn’t understand was why Vianora used a sword but the beastkin a staff. Blademasters who wielded magic weren’t unheard of—most martial classes had a few mages sprinkled in, blurring the lines between roles. The real oddity was a Titled only sharing half of her knowledge with her apprentice. A sword-magic user should be teaching another sword-magic user. Why wouldn’t the elf train her apprentice in the same weapon?
I don’t know much about them, Suyin reminded herself. Don’t make too many assumptions.
Vianora was obviously protective of the girl, and they were familiar with each other, but it might be a short-term arrangement. It might be a duke’s daughter benefiting from a paid apprenticeship bonus or something of that sort.
Suyin didn’t find that idea flattering, since student-master relationships should be sacred, not exploited for coin. But such a situation didn’t lie outside the realm of possibility.
“Sorry about that,” the elf said as she walked up to Suyin. “We can begin now.”
Suyin bowed. “At once, honored sister.”
She had considered how to approach this lesson, and she had come away from her meditation without much confidence. How could she decide the best way to style her instruction when she didn’t understand the motives of the woman in front of her? The only fact she could be reasonably sure of was that she was being tested somehow. But tested on what?
Did she guide Vianora as if she were a complete beginner, as she presented outwardly? Or as a more advanced novice? A peer? Or as the superior she was?
Though, Suyin didn’t know with certainty that Vianora was her superior, not in matters of raw blade craft. The elf was clearly a hybrid mage-swordswoman of great strength and could conceal her lack of skill with incredible finesse—but Suyin was the student of Yxamas Faleryn, Sword Saint of the Waxing Crescent, and her master hadn’t chosen her on a whim.
She hesitated to allow her ego to inflate after just disapproving of Master Faleryn's own arrogance, but while she lacked the speed and strength of some, she did not lack the technique. She would not assume even most Titled to be better at handling a sword than her, relative to her stats.
Only because of Master's judgment did she concede that Vianora eclipsed her in skill. He had seen something that Suyin hadn’t, and while she didn’t trust that man’s discernment on everything, she did when it came to the sword.
I’ll take her at face value and treat her as a novice, she decided. Hopefully that’s not the wrong answer. If there’s an answer at all.
“By the level of technique I saw you display earlier,” Suyin said, choosing each word carefully to make clear she recognized Vianora’s act for what it was, “I believe it’s best if we begin by reinforcing the basics. Some sayings seem trite for their repetition, but is it trite to say that winter leads to spring? Truth is truth. Thus: nothing of worth can stand on a shaky foundation.”
“I would agree,” Vianora replied evenly, which encouraged Suyin.
“So let us start with footwork, balance, and timing.”
Suyin had never had a disciple. Her own training wasn’t complete, no matter that she might be more skilled than some Titled swordsmen. Master Faleryn’s standards were high—outrageously and perhaps unreasonably so—and it was one of the aspects of his eccentricity that she approved of.
She didn’t have a wealth of experience to draw on when it came to teaching a novice, especially in a longer-form, more structured capacity. All she had was Master Faleryn’s own teachings to fall back on, and she’d been seven years old for most of those.
She chose to demonstrate. Vianora probably didn’t expect her to truly start from the ground up. A proper foundation took years to build.
As Suyin went about her simple displays, Vianora watched with her typical unreadable impassivity. Suyin felt oddly self-conscious. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt that way about anything related to the sword.
Perhaps it was the sheer inscrutability of that gaze. Perhaps it was because Suyin didn’t know whether this was merely a Titled, or something more. She was fully aware that immortals masqueraded around the human kingdoms from time to time, though she didn’t necessarily believe that was the case here.
“Now you try,” Suyin said. “Run through the movements I showed.”
To Suyin’s bafflement, Vianora obeyed.
Exactly.
Where Suyin placed her feet, how she moved her hips, the rhythm of her steps and the way she held her sword as she advanced or retreated. Despite how brief Suyin’s demonstrations had been, Vianora repeated them without a single discernible difference. Perfect, instant replications.
It wasn’t anything her master couldn’t have managed, but Suyin still watched with shock that she hoped she masked. However often she had noted the fact in the abstract, a part of her hadn’t truly digested that this woman was Titled. Suyin didn’t speak of those people with the same respect most would—thanks to how her master stood at the peak of that mountain himself—but there were only around one hundred individuals in the world who could claim the achievement of breaking past level one thousand. Suyin wasn’t immune to such casual displays of prowess.
No doubt remained in her thoughts. The absolute control that Vianora exhibited defied belief.
Suyin had to admit to a certain frustration, knowing her techniques were capped to her level—that no matter how skilled she was, no matter how much she trained, there were heights to swordcraft gated behind the strength that came from progression. Suyin herself could not copy a movement with such unerring accuracy. Not even close.
But the reason for her stunned amazement, even more than the strange form of expertise being shown, was that when Suyin said a perfect copy, she meant it.
The movements were wrong on Vianora. The elf was shorter than Suyin, and the proportions of their legs, torso, arms, and everything else were different too. Yet Vianora mimicked Suyin exactly.
Suyin hadn’t ever considered what it might look like when her posture—which relied on a certain ratio between torso and legs—was adopted by someone with a different build, then reproduced flawlessly… despite that new body clearly not being meant to move in that specific pattern.
“Like that?” Vianora asked calmly, coming to a stop.
Suyin didn’t respond right away, torn between fascination and incredulity. Nobody could misinterpret me in such an amazing and ridiculous manner, she thought. Any reasonable person would adapt the posture to fit their own body as a matter of instinct—especially someone with such incredible dexterity as Vianora.
Which meant the woman had done it as a demonstration in return.
Suyin contemplated.
She could see the shape of the lesson. The insight Vianora was imparting. It was a pointed critique of taking for granted key aspects of one’s craft—illustrating how easily details could be overlooked, details that were crucial but hidden because of how truly fundamental they were.
Like the architecture of one’s own body. Any swordswoman would consider the length of her arms and the reach that came from that inborn trait. Whole styles or techniques could become viable—or not—given a certain build.
But had Suyin considered how that extended to every inch of her body? All the ratios, the length of each segment down to the joint? Perhaps subconsciously, in the abstract, but not with any scrutinizing depth, not to an extent that she could formalize her thoughts into words.
The more she pondered the idea, the more she saw just how illuminating the exchange had been.
“My apologies,” Suyin said with a quick bow, fists clasped together. “I am not you, and you are not me. This one has been foolish in her initial instruction, and she will remember that going forward.”
Energized, now seeing there was real wisdom to glean from Vianora’s unorthodox lessons, Suyin nodded firmly to her sister of the sword.
“If I say we should start with the basics,” she continued, “then the basics are where we start. Hold the stance again. We will correct it for you.”
Vianora paused, then nodded slowly. The reaction seemed somehow off, and Suyin wondered if she’d missed something. Perhaps she hadn’t pulled enough meaning from the interaction, had fallen short of Vianora’s expectations. But the woman was so inscrutable that Suyin couldn’t tell if she was reading too deeply into the hesitation.
Setting aside her worries, she stayed focused on the exercise at hand.
It became clear fast that Vianora would only do precisely as Suyin demonstrated. And thus the quickest way to get her to ‘improve’ was for Suyin to force her own body to move in a way that would fit Vianora’s, to then watch the elf flawlessly imitate. It was a genuinely fascinating endeavor. Suyin had never used, seen, nor heard of any training approach like it.
The sheer ease and precision continued to astound and honestly intimidate her. Because who could copy movements this expertly, with such literal exactness? Maybe the utter disregard Vianora had shown Master Faleryn came from somewhere legitimate. It seemed like an impossibility, but could Vianora call herself his peer? Suyin hadn’t ever witnessed such perfect control of one’s body except in him, and he moved… well, properly.
Exhibition of such skill while floundering around was enlightening, odd as the idea might have sounded to her until that moment. It made Suyin see the basic techniques she’d grown up with in a different light.
What was Master himself making of this, if he was watching?
“Our matches are coming up,” Vianora said, startling Suyin and making her look toward the timekeeper. It was a good thing Vianora had kept track; Suyin had become deeply absorbed in correcting Vianora’s form and identifying where the next mistake needed addressing—for it to be instantly resolved when Suyin illustrated the correct movement, by using her own body as if it were Vianora’s. It strained her dexterity, which she hadn’t been expecting going into this. “We can continue, if you want. This has been interesting.”
“Yes, honored sister. I completely agree.” Suyin reined in her enthusiasm. She wondered if she’d come off inappropriately eager. She could scarcely remember the last time anything had so thoroughly captured her attention. “I will seek to complete my match swiftly, so that I can make it to yours. I would like to see how you apply those techniques in a fight.”
Would Vianora have some other lesson to impart when she put into practice what Suyin had ‘taught’ her?
What shortcomings would she point out through her actions?
Suyin was unsure, and thus twice as excited.
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