The Villainess is the Villainess [LitRPG]

Book 2: Chapter 17 - Humility [Part 1]

Humility is the solid foundation of all virtues.

- Confucius.

"Start the time," instructed the golden-eyed woman.

Her heart pounding in her chest, she decided to take the instructor at her word. With a stamp of her foot that shook the floor, Seraphina charged. In her mind, she pictured smashing the twin swords away in one strong sweep.

She swung the club in a wide arc, swiftly enough that there was a rush of air. Her strike was fueled by a Power Strike with the aim to kill, her frustration ignited by Melisiandre's dismissive attitude. But the older woman merely glided to the side, one sword angled to intercept. A loud crack echoed through the hall as wood met wood. The club's momentum was diverted and then stopped, the instructor's poised guard absorbed it with unnerving ease.

The blonde girl may have had raw Strength on her side, but the older women knew how to control and divert it.

"Relying on brute force alone to win?" Melisiandre remarked lightly, her gold eyes flashing. "Tch, Tch, no style, no measured focus. When sparring, you must bring all of the skill and speed, but only one-tenth of the power."

Seraphina de Sariens bristled. More than once, she'd been taught the fundamentals by the old Armsmaster Kellan back at her father's castle. She wasn't someone who had never held a weapon. Yet Melisiandre's tone suggested she might as well have been.

"Again," the golden-eyed woman instructed, though her tone was goading.

This time, Seraphina tried to remember her stances, stepping forward with her right foot and letting the club swing in a diagonal arc. A proper blow. She aimed for the instructor's hip, hoping to catch her with enough force that it would knock the wind from her. But again, one of the twin swords circled downward, deftly redirecting the head of the club. The sudden shift in momentum threw Seraphina off-balance, forcing her to almost stumble.

At this, there was a mild chuckle from the onlooking gallery of boys.

"Not bad," Melisiandre said with a small nod, "but the chosen angles of your strikes are wide and predictable."

Suddenly, the older woman struck back swiftly, a flick of her right wrist sending one sword arcing for Seraphina's left shoulder. Seraphina heaved the club upward, blocking in the nick of time—only for the second sword to whack into her right thigh. Red paint streaked across the thick breeches. The sting was more from wounded pride than physical hurt, but Seraphina grit her teeth, refusing to cry out.

"One point," Melisiandre declared flatly. "If this were a real fight, you'd still be moving, but your stance would be compromised. Keep your feet beneath you, evenly balanced. You're leaning all your weight into your first attack as if expecting that to finish the duel with your initial strike."

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Ignoring her own embarrassment, Seraphina shook out the tension in her arms and tried again. It was true, she did have a habit of using overwhelming power in her first attack, well, with everything in her life. It was a strategy that had, until now, mostly worked.

This time, she pivoted, aiming to sweep her opponent's legs. But the instructor hopped back with feline agility. That wry grin never left her face. Melisiandre looked cool and composed, whereas Seraphina's cheeks had already begun to heat.

"You get so easily flustered," Melisiandre noted, stepping in to deliver a series of brisk strikes, "but that can be expected from one so young." Each time Seraphina blocked one blade, the other flicked toward some unguarded angle. The result was a collection of red-streaked paint lines forming on Seraphina's arming jacket and breeches. Forearm, elbow, and ribs—each blow an embarrassing slash of the color red. "Don't forget your footwork. Use your reach advantage, keep me at the distance where your club can dominate."

The words might have been educational, but the older woman's tone was rife with amusement. Seraphina's frustration flared even hotter. She swung again, this time with a sudden feint at Melisiandre's left side, then reversed the arc mid-swing to slam down toward the right. For a moment, she thought she saw a flicker of approval in Melisiandre's gold eyes. The instructor twisted, forced to cross her swords above her head in a bracing motion. Bang! The force of Seraphina's blow vibrated through the entire floor, causing onlookers to gasp. The impact threatened to buckle Melisiandre's stance, but she angled her swords outward, letting the club's downward momentum skim past her, rather than meeting it head-on.

"You've got power," the instructor said, drawing back a few paces, "but it's clumsy. Clearly, fast and strong, you are your father's daughter, but not your mother's. Even were she unarmed, I would not have been able to touch her," she commented. "Oh, you're practically telling me where you intend to strike with every blow by winding up too far. Next time, keep your movements tighter."

Seraphina ground her teeth, the woman was really getting to her. She almost resented the older woman's calm, instructive tone more than she did the humiliating red marks. She drew in a sharp breath, forcing herself to pause, to think. Her father's Armsmaster always stressed that a real fight depended on adjusting to each moment, not blindly hacking away. Kellan had tried to hammer that lesson into her countless times.

She stepped to the side, circling with the instructor, trying not to let the frustration rule her. The older woman merely watched, swords held in a relaxed guard.

"Here she goes," Gravens muttered quietly to himself, while several others gawked in anticipation.

Seraphina lunged with a Power Strike—her arms coiled and unleashed faster than before. Melisiandre parried it skillfully, but the slight narrowing of the older woman's eyes told Seraphina she'd gained at least a half-breath of improvement. She followed with a second blow to the instructor's flank. Crack. The golden-eyed woman guarded in time, but Seraphina managed to shift the angle at the last moment, forcing the older woman to actually step away to avoid taking a hit.

This whole thing was already paying off, Seraphina realized grimly.