Chapter 188: Footwork

"You do know I came to spend time with you and not teach you, right?" Orion asked her.

"I know," Sophia said, her tone soft but insistent, "but I really want to understand this first. I’ve not been able to get them out of my head ever since we finished training this morning."

She leaned forward again, her elbows on the table, the book open before her like a puzzle waiting to be solved. "If I can just understand how it works, how to use it properly maybe I can become a good fighter? I wouldn’t need to wait for you or Brynhild or anyone to come help me if I’m in danger."

Orion almost told her that he’d never let her be in danger, but he had to admit that sometimes, things were just beyond their control and there was only so much he could do. Except he chose to hover around her which he knew she would hate, there was every probability that danger would find them and like what she said, the best way to save her would be to teach her to be stronger. To teach her to be able to defend herself.

Orion stood still for a moment, just looking at her. He didn’t know if he should laugh or scream. The part of him that wanted to pull her into his arms and forget the world warred with the part that respected her hunger to learn. But the fact that she was insisting on doing this now...in the end, all he managed was a sigh that fogged faintly in the cold air.

He rubbed his temple and muttered, "Gods help me..."

Sophia glanced up, her brows knitting. "What?"

"I’m asking the gods to help me because I didn’t expect that when I snuck into your home this was what I was going to face. I did not come here for this," he told her with a shake of his head.

"I know," she told him. "But it’s hard to satiate my curiosity unless I have an answer or at least something close to the answer. And besides, you are here so..."

He exhaled sharply through his nose, the faintest ghost of a laugh. "Fine. Since you want to know so badly."

He moved closer, his presence filling the space around her. She sat back down, the book still open to the page with diagrams and arrows. Orion leaned against the desk beside it, arms crossed loosely.

The fire crackled in the hearth, the soft hiss of burning wood weaving through their quiet conversation. Outside, snow tapped against the window like a patient drummer.

"Alright," he began, "yes, I said your footwork should flow with your weapon and the way you fight. The way you move has to match the way you strike. That’s what makes a fighter whole. The weapon is only as smart as the feet and hands that carry it."

Sophia’s gaze sharpened; she was listening closely now, her mind already cataloging every word.

He went on, his tone shifting into something between instruction and rhythm, "And like I said before, every warrior’s steps should be unique. Just theirs. Because no one fights the same way. You could give ten people the same weapon, same training, same stance and they’ll still move differently when it counts. One person’s movements may be heavier, and another person’s may be lighter. It’s the same step but they made it theirs, choosing what works best for them."

She nodded slowly, her fingers absently tracing a curve on the page.

Orion uncrossed his arms and pointed at the diagram. "And for every step having a purpose, it’s important so yes. Every step should have a purpose. You can feint, you can evade, you can strike but every step has to say something."

Sophia frowned slightly. "But if every step is supposed to say something, wouldn’t that make it easier for the opponent to read you? Wouldn’t that give away what you’re trying to do?"

A smile tugged at the corner of Orion’s mouth. "That’s why I said it has to be yours."

She tilted her head, her brows scrunched up in confusion. "I still do not understand, even if it’s ours, wouldn’t the opponent still be able to read it?"

Orion smiled lightly, he tapped a finger against the book. "Your steps should say what you want them to say, but not necessarily the truth."

"I’m still confused," she told him.

Orion tsked at her. "If you were not so eager to interrupt me, you’d get an idea about what I’m trying to say."

"Sorry, it’s just that you are speaking too slow," she told him.

"Or you are being faster than your shadow. Sword fighting isn’t just about theory, shorty. You need to understand what it’s about. Don’t be too eager to jump to conclusions when you haven’t even got the tip of the iceberg yet," he told her.

Sophia rolled her eyes at him but could make sense from what he was saying. "Fine, can we get back to it now?" she asked him.

Orion chuckled lowly. "As I was saying, your steps should say what you want them to say but not necessarily the truth. That’s what separates fighters from tacticians. The best ones don’t just move because they are fast or strong. They move with intention — they lie with their bodies. You might make a feint look like an attack or an attack look like hesitation. The opponent sees a story, but it’s not the one you’re actually telling."

Sophia’s expression softened with dawning understanding. "So the point is to mislead them through how you move."

"Not exactly," he said, nodding. "You can attack through deception, yes but footwork is as much about storytelling as it is about balance. It’s as much truth as it is a lie. Too much deception will give you away. So you should be as truthful as you are deceptive. When you control the rhythm, you control the battlefield."

She was silent for a heartbeat, absorbing it. The candlelight flickered against her pale skin and the shadow of thought behind her eyes.