Her mother was the very picture of a proper lady, holding a thin, tall glass of Grove’s Gold by its stem. A steel sword hung from the hip of her flowing, lacy dress. “Come, let me have a look at you,” Mother said to Daphne.

She presented herself to her parent as any filial daughter would. Her dress was slashed at the sleeves, the periwinkle blue fabrics mixing with her beige undergown. The sleeves were tight to the elbow, but widened at the wrist. A laurel of sweet-smelling roses rested on her crown and blonde hair flowed down to her shoulders in waves.

“You are a flower, my dear,” Mother said, “but even a flower must have its thorns.” Her mother’s personal maid stepped forward, carrying an applewood box. It was immediately obvious this was the work of a master craftsman, for the trees of Greenglade were etched finely into the grain.

Daphne received the gift graciously, which of course meant her maid stepped forward to accept. Actually carrying things was the lot of strawborn and servants. Her maid returned to her side, and carefully opened the box, revealing a set of hairpins sharpened into small staves, a small dagger, and, best of all, a pair of new stilettos. A lady could never have too many shoes to step on people with.

“Weapons,” Daphne said.

“To be noble is to balance courtesy and combat,” Mother said, nodding. This was not the first time Daphne had heard her say this. She was, Daphne had surmised, an avid practitioner of the Scriptures of Glove and Fist. “If you are set on returning to the academy, you must be ready to defend yourself whether with word or sword.” She paused. “With summer nearly over, we don’t have the time to have a runesteel sword crafted for your hand, so these will have to do.”

She knew not what this runesteel was, but if Daphne had to guess it was an artifact of some sort. “I can make do with a regular sword for now.” She was not a master of the sword styles, but her master had trained her in two-sword style of shuangdao, as well as the swan sword scriptures.

“There is no time to teach you the basics of swordsmanship. Besides, carrying plain steel is not good enough for the likes of us. We are not so poor that we cannot afford better for you,” Mother said.

Loss of face—that Daphne understood. Better that a jade beauty wear nothing than have her perfection marred by rags! “But bronze is better?” Daphne asked, picking up the dagger and holding it up against the sun.

“You should know that bronze channels magic better,” Mother said, setting aside her drink. She stood, and gestured for Daphne to follow her to the war yards where their knights traded pointers daily under the purview of the master-at-arms. “Bearing a sword is a right of the stoneborn, but rights must be defended. To your peers, they would take a sword at your hip as a declaration of your will and your willingness to defend that right.”

Greetings of “Margravess” and “Lady External” filled the air at their approach. “How may we be of service?” the master-at-arms asked, stroking his thick mustache.

“I require a demonstration for my daughter,” Mother said. “Steel on bronze. The classical spells will suffice.”

The master-at-arms pointed to two men clad in chainmail and hauberk. They stepped forward, drawing their swords from sheaths. At some hidden signal, Daphne sensed qi flowing into their swords, taking its shape, not unlike water poured into a cup. The bronze sword had a scalding reddish tinge to its edge as it came down in a graceful arc, releasing a burst of killing intent that left a deep mark on a hardwood post twenty meters away. If it were a man, he would be gutted like a pig, causing the five viscera and six bowels to spill out.

On the other hand, the steel sword was colored by a warm pink glow, and the qi blast was more wounding than killing judging by the scratches it left. It was half a breath slower too, which might not seem much, but in a fight, to be second was to die in seconds.

All of this took some time to describe, but actually happened in the span of a single breath.

“The difference is staggering,” Daphne said. Though they were both swords, the difference in their cultivation was the immensity between heaven and earth. What was a carp to a dragon? What was a regular beauty to a jade beauty?

Mother nodded. “And that is just bronze. In a formal duel, steel against runesteel can only result in ruined steel.”

She committed her honored mother’s wisdom to her heart. The wise woman was one who knew what she did not know. And besides, it was not unlike the differences that emerged between the stages of cultivation. It was comforting to know that even in this world the truths remained true.

“Now, with weapons like yours, surprise will always be your greatest asset,” Mother said as her maid pinned her hair into a bun with the hairpins. The dagger Mother slipped into a hidden pocket inside a fold of her sleeve, and her feet slipped into the heels with a practiced ease. “Embody the flower, let others admire your beauty from afar, but if they think to pluck you, then bleed them with your thorns.”

“Sir Ronald, if you will,” Mother said.

The red-haired and freckled man bowed to her mother, as a dog bowed to its master. Daphne would never disgrace herself by letting her head down except to admire her shoes.

They went through some exercises in slow motion so that Daphne could comprehend their cultivation. Mother’s movements were simple, yet profound, leaving little in the way of openings. She did not meet force with force, though she could have, but instead sought to redirect the knight’s strength to the side before countering.

Against a mighty overhead blow, would step into his guard so that the full swing could not be finished, before sliding her hairpin into the exposed eye slits in his greathelm. Other times she flowed like water, dancing around him and driving the dagger into his back.

She could feel her awareness grow in leaps and bounds as she memorized their actions and played it back in her head. There was a rhythm to it, a flow, a dance to some song half-remembered.

All of this was to say it was a cultivation technique perfectly suited for Daphne’s weaker body! She did not need so much strength to mimic these motions, only speed and style.

“Senior knight, trade pointers with me next!” Daphne declared, settling into the exact stance her mother used.

Ronald nodded. “Ready?”

“An opponent would not ask me if I’m ready. They would simply attack,” Daphne said, eyes narrowing into a scathing glare. Was he looking down on her?

“Let us begin slowly then,” Ronald said. “Some of these techniques are rather advanced.”

So he was looking down on her! The gall of this dog! She nearly fainted from intense anger and her blood started flowing in reverse. Just because a tiger does not roar does not mean that others can take it for a cat.

As his swing came at a turtle’s pace, using maybe a tenth of his power, Daphne exploded into action, driving straight into his guard. The burst of motion caught him by surprise, and he stumbled back a few steps to avoid Daphne’s dagger from taking his eyes out as recompense.

“My daughter is feeling spirited today,” Mother said. “If she wishes to be like this, humor her, but ensure there are no accidents.”

“As you say, Lady Greenglade,” Ronald said, adjusting his feet into a solid stance.

Daphne’s smile widened as he attacked closer to thirty percent of his power! His speed was not insultingly slow now, and far more appropriate for the lesson she wanted. He even unleashed some of his killing intent on her, striking beyond striking range as even the wind bowed to his will and sharpened itself to a paper’s edge. They danced to a tune unheard, like the soft strumming of the guqin on a rainy day. There was no time for thought in moments like these, only action and reaction.

It had to be instinctual, habitual, unconscious. Doing less and less, until doing became not doing, until fighting was simply being.

When nothing was done, nothing was left undone.

Daphne was not even close to there yet, but it was a start. The journey of a thousand li begins with the first step. These heels stepped heavenward.