Sir Greyson doesn't reply and simply turns back to me. I nod.
I got this, Greyson, don't worry.
"So," I smile, stepping in front of the Knight, "shall we?"
Sir Greyson shifts a step back while the servants pull the carriage farther aside so that the road lies clear.
Tutor Sevv rolls his shoulders, and his scarlet sleeves slide up enough to reveal the thin leather bracers that cover both wrists. The old man clenches his fingers until the joints crack, then he spreads his arms, showing a practiced confidence that has probably frightened hundreds of pupils before Felisia.
"Name the Skill, Young Mistress," he says. "This impudent youngster has wasted a whole afternoon already."
Felisia lifts her chin although her cheeks are still blotched from crying. "Water-Weave Rapier," she answers. "Level thirty-two, Gold Rank."
Sevv nods with a curt motion.
"Very well. You will strike that stump ten times. I shall fix whatever is wrong. Young… Bocaj"—he bites the name as though it tastes sour—"will give a single pointer afterward. We shall compare results."
I do not bother to reply. I only focus on the tug behind my eyes that means The Grimoire Extraordinaire has activated.
Felisia steps near a half-rotten oak stump, draws her rapier, and begins her routine. Each thrust arcs with a faint sheen like pale moonlight trapped in glass. Sparks snap from the wood, yet the stump hardly shudders under the blows because the force is leaking into the air.
The grimoire projects a new page across my sight.
Grimoire Extraordinaire: Water Rapier Lv. 32 contains 47 distinct flaws.
Holy—so many?
"The Young Mistress's Skill is clearly already very advanced and just needs repetition," Tutor Sevv sighs, shaking his head. "It would be almost impossible for anyone, not just a foolish youngster, to give any pointer on the matter. Thankfully, Young Mistress, I know enough."
Sevv clicks his tongue.
"Would you mind, Young Mistress, trying the Skill again on this…"
The man takes a plate out of his sleeve and affixes it onto the wood.
Felisia does as told and strikes the plate.
"There's 41kg of force behind your attack. That's not bad. But…"
Tutor Sevv approaches her.
"Your rhythm is dull," he tells Felisia. "Shift weight faster, lock the wrist harder, and pierce like so."
He snatches her rapier, stabs twice, and indeed the stump quivers. Felisia copies him. The tenth stab carves a deeper notch, and her blade hums louder.
She glances at me with the first hint of triumph she has shown all day.
"It reached Level 33!" She exclaims, surprised. "Thank you, Tutor Sevv!"
"See? I am a Gold Rank certified Tutor. I know of countless Skills!" The man strokes his goatee, satisfied.
Greyson folds his arms and waits.
I walk to Felisia and hold out my hand. "May I?"
She hesitates, then she gives me the rapier. Her eyes flick toward Sevv as if she expects him to protest again, yet the old man merely snorts.
I go through
Initial pulse enters through the Median Heart Vein instead of the Twin Dragons Veins, wasting 27 % of the thrust force.Shoulder angle opens three degrees too wide; recoil compounds and slows recovery by 0.14 s.Hip rotation finishes early; blade drifts off-line and bleeds momentum.
…
"Listen," I say to her, "you are starting every strike from the Twin Dragons Veins in your wrist. That drains force before it reaches the blade. Route it through the Median Heart Vein first, tie them under the palm, then flood the Twin Dragons Veins."
I am basically reading out loud the specifics I see when I focus on each flaw.
"Try that and," I say, adjusting my pose, "put your shoulders like this when you strike. That will help with your form. Your hips too…"
I distractedly put a hand on the girl's hips and I hear her gasp.
"You pig!" Tutor Sevv shouts. "How do you dare lay your filthy hands on the mistress!"
Greyson coughs and I awkwardly remove my hansd from the girl's waist.
"Right, sorry. Anyway, look at my hips," I say, "carry the thrust all the way through, like this."
I show her and I hear the old man snorting.
"That?! That's going to unbalance her!"
For some reason, The Grimoire Extraordinaire seems to react at that.
Loss of balance during hip rotation occurs because of the current path the Mana takes through the Twin Dragons Veins.
I repeat verbatim what the Grimoire just told me.
"Nonsense and rubbish," Tutor Sevv smirks. "But sure, Young Mistress, go ahead. I'll later correct the terrible form this fool is trying to teach you."
"So," I say, pointing the rapier at the old man, "just to be clear, if Felisia's Skill works better under my tutelage, you are renouncing to the position of her Tutor."
"I'll even eat my shoes if you can do better than me!" The old man snorts.
"Oh, really?" I say, with a wide smile. "How about this. Would you like to put money on it?"
"Huh?" Tutor Sevv frowns. "Money?"
"Yeah, I have a few gold coins. How about… fifty golds?"
I see the man suddenly relaxing and laughing even louder.
"That paltry sum?!" He howls. "How about a hundred?"
"Sure,"I shrug.
"Show me the money, foolish youngster. I don't trust you."
Oh, damn.
I only have about nineteen golds on me.
"Sir Greyson," I clear my throat. "Would you mind spotting me a few golds?"
"I'll cover the kid," Sir Greyson says.
"Nice," I smile, turning to Felisia.
I guide her wrist with two fingers. I speak softly yet clearly so that every syllable carries across the road.
"Keep your shoulder tucked so that the joint forms one line with the elbow. Rotate your hip later, not sooner, and finish the twist after the tip lands. Do that, and the blade will whip straight instead of wobbling. Try."
Felisia repeats the thrust. A thin ring, sharper than before, cuts the humid air, and a plume of oak splinters bursts out of the stump. The training glyph flares.
"Sixty-seven kilograms," Greyson reads aloud.
Sevv's jaw tightens, and the drivers behind him gasp. One of the horses stamps as though spooked by the sound.
"That cannot be correct," Sevv mutters. "She must have pushed mana recklessly."
"No," Felisia answers, surprise overtaking her usual pride. "It felt lighter, not harder. I barely spent anything."
She stabs again with the same alignment. The stump cracks down the middle, and the glyph flashes 71 kg before fading. Her rapier vibrates, yet her arm does not shake. The grimoire informs me that three flaws have vanished.
"The Skill reached level thirty-seven!"
Tutor Sevv opens and closes his mouth twice. He looks toward Greyson for support, yet the Knight only raises an eyebrow.
"Contest settled," Greyson says. "Young Bocaj wins by thirty kilograms and five levels. The Sky Hunt is in four weeks. Miss Felisia needs every advantage."
Sevv's lips curl, but he forces a bow toward Felisia. "As you wish, young mistress. I shall… yield guidance on this Skill to our prodigy." Then he turns away, muttering curses that he believes too soft for us to hear.
"Hey!" I scream. "Where's my money?!"
The old man freezes, turns, takes a small pouch from his sleeve and throws at me at high-speed. Fortunately, Sir Greyson intercepts the projectile and hands it to me.
Damn, that could have killed me.
The Tutor disappears the same way he came and I look at the Knight.
"Are we close?"
"Very. Someone must have spotted us and announced it to Lord Clearwater. That's the only way I can imagine Tutor Sevv would know. Also, congratulations, Young Bocaj. I never liked that man. I am happy you're the one who'll teach the Young Mistress."
Felisia wipes sweat from her brow, and her gaze settles on me with an emotion that is not quite gratitude, not quite suspicion.
"I improved," she says, "faster than when I spent three years with Tutor Sevv. How did you see the problem so quickly?"
I tap the side of my head. "Sharp eyes, sharper teacher."
That earns a short laugh from Greyson. He gestures toward the carriage. "We should move. Night insects here bite through steel, and the water rises with the moon around Clearwater Bay."
Felisia sheathes her blade, steps closer, and lowers her voice so that only I hear. "You spoke of a master who tempered your arrogance. I would like to meet him after the Hunt."
I keep my face steady although my heart stutters. "In time," I say. "First we get you that heir's seat."
She nods once, and she climbs into the carriage. Greyson clasps my shoulder, the pressure as firm as granite.
"You gave her hope," he says in a whisper. "Do not squander it."