The instructor waited in silence, his stance relaxed but unmistakably poised. The polished sheen of his rapier caught the lamplight overhead, glinting faintly like a serpent's fang. One boot behind the other, his weight rested on the balls of his feet, composed and precise, as if the room itself answered to the rhythm of his breath.
"Oh, the classic giving the weaker opponent the first move? Right?" Ludwig asked, his voice light, but the glint in his eyes suggested otherwise. There was no arrogance in the question, just the faintest sting of curiosity, perhaps amusement. His feet shuffled subtly into position, Oathcarver humming softly in his palm, as though the sword itself had a pulse.
"It is only natural to have a better assessment," the instructor replied, not flinching. His tone was clipped and even, almost gentlemanly. He adjusted the fingers of his offhand behind his back with an absent sort of grace, eyes never leaving Ludwig's.
