The air around the field was calm — filled only with the faint crash of distant waves and the rustling of palm fronds at the edge of Vaelstorm's outskirts. The forge smoke from the city drifted faintly through the air, a reminder that even amidst the peace, the world still moved.
Hunnt and Willa stood opposite each other in the soft glow of the late afternoon sun. The faint shimmer of the sea reflected across their weapons, the light catching the edge of Willa's sword like fire licking at steel.
Hunnt crossed his arms, studying her stance. She held her sword tightly, almost too tightly, her knuckles pale from tension. Her breathing was short, shallow — the kind of breathing that came from nerves, not focus.
"Alright," Hunnt said at last, his tone calm but firm. "Listen carefully. The sword and shield may look simple, but every motion — every strike — must be deliberate. You must control your body before your blade."
He stepped closer, adjusting the tilt of her shoulders. "If your balance breaks, your defense collapses. If your breathing falters, your rhythm dies. That's where most hunters fall — not to monsters, but to themselves."
He took her sword for a moment, testing its weight before raising it to eye level. "These are your foundation — the seven basic moves. Learn them by heart, not through memory, but through instinct."
He moved fluidly, the weapon glinting as though it belonged to him.
"First — Overhead Slash. A fast downward strike. It's your opener, the start of every rhythm. Quick, clean, no hesitation." The blade cut through the air with a low hum, smooth as water cutting through rock.
"Second — Rising Slash. The upward follow-up. It's not just a swing. It's a lift — like breathing life back into your strike. The upward motion balances what you've given in the first swing."
His stance shifted seamlessly into the next. "Third — Side Slash. Horizontal. It connects your rhythm from left to right. It's not power that carries this move — it's timing. Too early, and you miss. Too late, and you're wide open."
He pivoted and lunged. "Fourth — Thrust. Fast, direct, short. You don't strike into the monster — you strike through the moment. You read the heartbeat between its movements."
"Fifth — Shield Bash." Hunnt raised the shield and twisted his torso, striking forward. The dull clang rang out across the field. "The shield isn't just protection. It's your weapon, too. It can interrupt, disorient, and if timed right — it can save your life."
He stepped forward again, this time moving in one fluid sequence — block, shift, counter, slice. "Sixth — Guard Slash. It's an offensive parry. You deflect, then retaliate. The movement should feel like breathing after a heartbeat — natural, unstoppable."
Finally, Hunnt stepped back lightly, one foot dragging across the dirt. "Seventh — Backstep. A short hop back. Not retreat, but reset. From this position, you regain momentum or flow into Perfect Rush. Never think of it as running — think of it as breathing room."
He exhaled, lowering the sword. His movements were efficient, practiced, but what struck Willa most was their rhythm. There was no pause between his breath and his blade — the two moved as one.
Hunnt turned to her. "That's your foundation. But none of this matters if you don't understand the one thing that binds them together."
"What's that?" Willa asked, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow.
"Breathing."
Her eyes blinked in confusion. "Breathing?"
Hunnt nodded, his expression serious. "Every sword and shield user must learn Balance Breath. It's the rhythm between your strikes, your thoughts, and your heartbeat. It's what keeps you from breaking under pressure. Without it, your sword is nothing but dead metal."
He circled her slowly, his voice low but sharp, every word sinking in. "Breathing decides everything. It steadies the blade, calms the heart, and connects you to the rhythm of your enemy. There are four phases of breath — four tides in a single battle."
He demonstrated slowly, letting her see the subtle rise and fall of his chest.
"Inhale before you engage or when guarding. It centers you, clears your pulse. You prepare for what's coming."
"Short Exhale during your slashes. Keeps your arms loose. Too much strength, and you'll shatter your flow."
"Steady Exhale during shield attacks. That's when you hold your ground. You release power evenly — not all at once."
"Long Inhale," he said, stepping back, "after your combo or backstep. This resets your rhythm. It keeps your body alive and your mind sharp."
Hunnt stopped in front of her again, meeting her eyes. "Balance Breathing is what separates rhythm from chaos. It's your shield when you're exhausted, and your weapon when you've got nothing left. When your breath falters, you die. When it flows, you live."
Willa nodded slowly. "I… think I understand."
Hunnt smiled faintly. "You will. Make Balance Breathing part of everything you do — fighting, resting, eating, talking. It should live in you."
He gestured to her sword. "Now, try it."
At first, Willa's movements were jagged. Her breath caught between swings, breaking the rhythm. Her Overhead Slash was too tense, her shield raised too high. Hunnt sighed softly and stepped closer.
"Stop. You're fighting yourself, not the air."
He lightly touched her shoulder. "Relax. You're breathing from here—" he tapped her chest, "—not from your core. Try again."
She closed her eyes and took a deeper breath. The air filled her stomach instead of her lungs. Her shoulders dropped. She moved again — slower, smoother, her blade whispering through the air instead of tearing it.
"Good," Hunnt said quietly. "Now again. Apply breathing to each move."
He stepped back, calling them out one by one.
"Overhead Slash."
Her inhale was deep, her exhale sharp — the swing clean.
"Rising Slash."
The next cut rose naturally, like wind pushing against water.
"Side Slash."
Her body flowed, breath matching her movement.
"Thrust."
Short inhale, quick release — the blade darted forward.
"Shield Bash."
Her exhale met the clang of metal.
"Guard Slash."
The motion was smooth, instinctive.
"Backstep."
Her breath drew in long and steady as she regained her stance.
By the end, Willa's chest heaved from effort, but her form didn't waver. Her movements had grown slower, but each was deliberate — calm.
Hunnt crossed his arms, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. "Better. You're not just swinging anymore — you're breathing with purpose."
Willa leaned on her shield, panting. "It's… harder than I thought."
Hunnt chuckled softly. "That's because you're fighting against everything that's been drilled into you by the guild. They teach survival, not connection. You're learning something deeper — balance."
Her eyes met his, determination replacing fatigue. "I'll get it right."
Hunnt nodded once. "You will. Train until your breath and your blade move together — until your body doesn't think. That's when you'll understand what it means to be a sword and shield user."
The evening sun began to sink, painting the sky gold. Willa stood again, lifting her sword. Each motion after that carried rhythm — breath and blade in harmony.
Hunnt stood by, silent, watching the new hunter find her pace. As the waves crashed in the distance and the forge lights flickered awake, only one sound filled the air — the steady rhythm of Willa's breathing.
Balanced. Controlled. Alive.