I Got Married to a Yandere Queen
Chapter 32 - 31 - Pressure and Adaptation

Chapter 32: Chapter 31 - Pressure and Adaptation

On a bright afternoon, as they stopped beneath the shade of a large tree, Riven resumed practicing his slashes, thrusts, and the basic movement patterns they had repeated dozens of times. The sound of his sword cutting through the air echoed steadily, matching the rhythm of his labored breaths.

Ashtoria sat cross-legged on a large rock not far from him, watching intently. After a moment, she spoke.

"Once you’ve mastered all the necessary basics," she said, "the next step is to develop your own fighting style."

Riven paused mid-swing and turned to her. Sweat clung to his temples, but his eyes still burned with focus.

"My own fighting style?"

Ashtoria nodded. "Yes. Everyone is different. Some rely on speed, others on defense, and some on cunning. There’s no single style that fits everyone."

She stood and began walking slowly toward him as she continued, "It’s perfectly fine to imitate others. In fact, it’s a good place to start. But if you want to grow stronger... in the end, you’ll need to find the way of fighting that best suits your body, your instincts, and your goals."

Riven listened to every word with full attention.

Ashtoria stopped just a few steps from him. "And do you know the fastest way to improve?" she asked, rhetorically.

Riven shook his head, holding his breath.

Ashtoria gazed into his eyes. "Fight someone stronger than you. Or fight while putting your life on the line."

Her words fell heavy in the air.

"Under pressure, your body will be forced to adapt. You’ll learn to read your opponent’s movements, find your own openings, and react instinctively. But it’s not easy... and not everyone survives."

Riven didn’t reply. He only clenched his hand tightly around Crysthalis.

He looked back at his sword. He knew he was nowhere near Ashtoria’s level—not even one-tenth of it. But something within him had begun to stir—not just the desire to be strong, but a resolve to survive, to protect, and to prove that he could surpass his own limits.

With a deep breath, he took his stance again.

"In that case," he said with fiery determination, "Please spar with me."

His tone was serious, burning with intent.

Ashtoria looked at him for a moment without saying anything, then nodded softly. That was exactly what she had meant to lead him toward.

She walked over to the cart where the old practice swords were kept and picked one out—a battered blade with a small crack in it, the same as before. Meanwhile, Riven had already assumed his position, steadying his breath and preparing Crysthalis.

They stood face-to-face on a patch of open grass, wild blades brushing their ankles. The evening air had begun to cool, and the golden sunlight cast long shadows behind them.

Without any formal signal, Riven attacked.

This time, there was no hesitation.

His swings were fast, focused, and flowing. The movements were still rough due to his inexperience, but far more refined than before. He began to coordinate his footwork with his strikes, following the rhythm Ashtoria had once taught him. Vertical slash, diagonal cut, quick thrust—all flowed one after the other.

But Ashtoria remained calm.

With only slight movements, she deflected every strike with ease, as if dancing between blades. Sometimes she would simply lean her body aside; other times, she would twist her wrist to redirect the arc of Riven’s attack. Not once did she look pressured.

Clang! Crysthalis bounced off her blade with a jarring ring.

"You’re improving," Ashtoria said as she sidestepped and tapped the back of Riven’s sword with the flat of her own. "But you’re still too open after you strike."

Riven didn’t answer. He just gritted his teeth and lunged again.

They continued to exchange blows. Riven attacked; Ashtoria evaded. Riven defended; Ashtoria countered. Every time Riven nearly landed a hit, Ashtoria twisted her blade to lock his swing. Every time Riven faltered under a counterattack, he absorbed the lesson into his muscles.

After several minutes of relentless sparring and the sharp clang of steel, Riven dropped to his knees, panting. Crysthalis was planted in the earth beside him. He bowed his head, sweat pouring down his face.

"Good," Ashtoria said, stepping closer and resting her sword on her shoulder. "Your movements are cleaner than before."

Riven only nodded, trying to steady his breath.

"But," she continued, crouching slightly to meet his eyes, "your left foot is still too slow when shifting stances. And you’re overusing the same attack angle. A smart opponent will read it."

Riven looked up at her and gave a small smile. "I’ll fix that."

Ashtoria returned the gesture with a faint nod.

Once their training was done, they packed their belongings and continued their journey. The sky had begun to redden, signaling the arrival of evening. A gentle breeze carried the scent of damp leaves and soil.

Their steps continued through thickets and twisted roots until, finally, as night fully settled in and stars began to glitter above, they found a small lake hidden behind the trees.

Its surface was still, reflecting the moonlight like a sheet of glass.

"Let’s stop here," said Riven, taking the lead.

Ashtoria and Mira agreed. They quickly set up a small camp near the water’s edge.

The night air was cool, but the warmth of the campfire and the aroma of roasting fish slowly created a cozy atmosphere. Riven held a simple stick over the flames, turning their catch carefully, while Mira sat cross-legged nearby, watching the fish skin crack and curl in the heat.

Before long, the three of them ate heartily. The lake fish was surprisingly delicious, even with only minimal seasoning. Mira kept praising her brother’s catch until sleep took her, curled up in a thin blanket near the fire like a kitten tired from a day of play.

Riven smiled quietly at his sister, then rose. His body was still sticky with sweat and dust from the road and two days of nonstop training.

He walked toward the lake just a short distance from their camp.

The water was calm and dark, illuminated only by the reflection of the half-moon above. Riven removed his clothes and stepped in slowly. The cold made him wince, but soon his body adapted.

He dove briefly, letting the water envelop him fully, then surfaced, rubbing his face.

"Hah... finally," he muttered. The weariness began to melt away into the quiet night and cool water.

But not long after, a soft rustle in the undergrowth reached Riven’s ears, gentle enough to be mistaken for the wind—until he heard the unmistakable sound of bare feet stepping through grass.

He turned his head, curious—then froze.