"It's all wrong."
Caerth's voice was firm, without anger—but filled with a coldness that weighed more heavily than any shout. The veteran watched Damon with his arms crossed, his expression like someone assessing a structure about to collapse.
"Using a spear alone without training has destroyed your entire foundation," he continued, circling the blond slowly. "Your entire posture is wrong. Essentially, any martial art or bladed weapon requires a firm foundation. Yours…" He paused behind him, his voice dropping to an almost didactic tone of disdain. "It's garbage in every way."
Damon turned his head, casting a sideways glance—somewhere between irritation and disbelief. The silence that followed was broken only by the sound of the wind rustling leaves on the ground.
"…Well, you don't have to say it like that," he muttered, raising his eyebrows and letting out a heavy sigh.
Caerth didn't laugh. He didn't even seem to hear.
"Straighten your right foot," he ordered.
