Luca looked at Sigrid for a moment. Then he shrugged, as though the question were simpler than breathing.
"I've just been analyzing you since the very beginning."
Sigrid blinked. "...Analyzing me?"
"I never tried to overpower you." He lowered his blade from her throat, letting it rest at his side.
"I only looked for the weakest point your body created."
"My...body?"
"You see, Sigrid, your sword doesn't exist by itself."
He began gesturing as he spoke, tracing invisible lines through the air.
"It moves it's place because of your feet. It accelerates because of your hips. It changes direction because of your shoulders. It's stabilized by your elbows."
He paused. "And it is ultimately held together by the tension in your fingers."
His gaze met hers, utterly devoid of arrogance—which somehow made it worse.
"If any one of those links becomes imperfect, your sword becomes imperfect."
A chill crawled down Sigrid's spine.
