Chapter 28: Essentials of Fencing

The identity card York inherited contained the fundamental principles of foil fencing. Therefore, providing Lorina with a brief fencing tutorial at this moment was not a problem at all—though the matter became considerably more significant when conducting such instruction without protective gear.

It is well known that ever since Master Boissier invented the fencing mask, thereby reducing the danger of the sport, fencing has been regarded as an aristocratic activity that is "somewhat dangerous, yet capable of demonstrating a knight's courage." The keyword here is not "aristocratic," nor is it "knight," but rather "dangerous." Although all the training foils in the fencing hall had their tips wrapped in leather strips, being pricked by one still caused pain, not to mention that beginners, due to their nervousness, often applied excessive force.

Inside the fencing hall, Lorina hesitated to step onto the long strip of carpet. She felt conflicted; although she always lost when sparring with Mr. York before, she would occasionally score points. Back then, York had been wearing full protective gear, whereas now, it was as if he were wearing nothing at all.

"Do not hesitate. I am not being arrogant. In our previous sessions, I held back to encourage your confidence. Now that you have improved, it is time for you to see the true charm of fencing."

York extended his foil with his right hand, keeping his hand slightly below his hip and the blade angled upward at forty-five degrees. His left hand was tucked behind his back, casting him in a posture of extreme ease.

Lorina was not one to admit defeat. She did not believe York had been going easy on her during their previous lessons, and she felt that by being so cavalier now, he was bound to pay the price! Yet, if he wanted to suffer, so be it. Men who came to Paris were always like this—once surrounded by women, they would lose their sense of self. York needed someone to wake him up!

Stepping onto the long carpet, Lorina assumed the same posture as York. Their blade tips met, waiting for the referee to call for the start. The scorekeeper approached. He glanced at York, who was not wearing protection, but thinking that it wasn't his own pain and that reminding him wouldn't earn him an extra cent from Frey, he simply let it go and announced the start.

The practice began. Lorina attacked first. Like many novices just starting to learn, she favored lunges and aggression. She took a step forward, her blade extending far. In fencing, only a "thrust" counts as a point; hacking or dragging the blade are considered unrefined violations. York’s hand moved slightly, and with a minimal exertion of force, he deflected Lorina’s blade. He did not rush to counter, however; her forward step was too large, and if he were to lunge recklessly, it would easily lead to bodily contact—a failure for any fencer who values "elegance." Thus, he slid backward, lightly tapping Lorina’s blade to signal that her attack had failed and that she should regain her composure and try again.

Lorina, feeling slighted, changed her strategy. She took small steps forward, feinting a thrust while actually gathering strength for a second strike. York saw through it and immediately slid forward to attack. Panicked, Lorina tried to parry, but because she was too slow, she was lightly pricked. The foil tip barely pierced the fabric of her fencing suit, and the scorekeeper signaled a point for York.

In the second round, Lorina resolved to use her real skills. But there is an Arab proverb: it is best not to use your true ability out of anger, lest others discover your ability is quite poor. In this round, her attack was even less sharp than the first. York merely feinted, tricking her into overextending, and then precisely pricked her on the shoulder.

In the third round, York scolded her for her impatience and demanded she attack in the manner he had taught. Lorina collected herself, and her attack became somewhat more methodical. They exchanged ten passes in this round, ending with Lorina losing after being struck on the hand.

In the final round—the last of the one-hour practice session—York asked Lorina to defend while he attacked. Lorina was slightly breathless by now, having exhausted a great deal of energy. If York were to attack with ferocity, she would surely be unable to withstand it. However, York was always full of surprises; his attack was not swift, but rather leisurely, as if he were strolling through a garden. Every parry and thrust forced Lorina to retreat. Despite being the one on the defensive, she felt compelled to launch attacks to reclaim her space, but the carpet was not infinitely long; being forced off the carpet would also result in a loss.

Unfortunately, whether attacking or defending, Lorina was no match for the man before her. York was neither flushed nor breathless, and his handsome mustache did not even quiver. With that steady expression, he forced Lorina into a dead end step by step until she finally had to concede.

"It is over, Coach York. You have achieved a complete victory. A truly astonishing technique. I guarantee that even Master Yoda did not possess such skill when he was as young as you." The scorekeeper’s drowsiness had long been shaken off by the match. As an insider, he knew how difficult it was to hone such swordsmanship. That such a person should be working for a miser like Frey was a massive waste!

"Thank you for the compliment. I will consider it," York replied with composure, sliding his foil back into its scabbard.

"That was amazing! How did you do it?" Lorina removed her mask and ran to York, asking with genuine humility.

*If you had a martial arts master in your body directing your movements, you might do even better than me,* York mused to himself.

Musing aside, he maintained his coaching demeanor in front of Lorina: "Swordsmanship is a technique that trains both the body and the mind. Maintain an indomitable spirit, carry a cautious heart as if walking on thin ice, and your attacks will be as sharp as mine, while your defense will be impenetrable."

"Of course, on this foundation, you also need sweat, tears, and the tempering of time to etch these techniques into your very blood."

Hearing this, Lorina’s eyes practically sparkled. It was such a blessing that her mother, Walter, had sent her here to learn swordsmanship, allowing her to meet such a philosophical and handsome coach. York was different from all the other coaches; he never scanned her body with greasy, disgusting eyes. Even when she tried to tease him, she only ever received a "Let's fence" in response.

Perhaps it was precisely this seriousness and rarity that made York such a hot commodity at Frey’s Fencing Hall. Thinking of this, Lorina felt a pang of regret. She secretly hated that her mother had only paid for one hour. After she left, York would continue practicing with other ladies and misses. What kind of seductive vixens were they, and what vulgar language would they use to tease this "handsome friend"?

Driven by some unknown impulse, Lorina extended an invitation. "Coach York, I wonder if you have time tonight? My mother has always heard me speak of you, but has never had the chance to meet you... Perhaps you could do us the honor of joining us for dinner at my home tonight?"

"Very well."

Unexpectedly, York agreed readily. It was not strange; he only had one month, and he had to seize every opportunity within the instance to expand his social circle. He knew well that a broader circle would bring more secrets. In an era where information was not easily accessible, conversations over meals often provided the shaping and summary of the entire world. And that was exactly what he needed.