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Naolin moves quickly, fluttering like a butterfly, and this comparison is simply ridiculous, given that he is currently fighting on the mats. His opponent tries unsuccessfully to adapt to his movements and fails once again, and there is a crunch as blood sprays from his nose onto the floor. Naolin grins and arches his back, as if his spine is about to break, but instead, he plunges his blade into his opponent's hand, causing him to howl in despair.
Brennan watched this scene with undisguised delight and adoration, and watching Naolin's movements was a particular pleasure in his life within the walls of Basgiath. Even during his earliest trials, he was captivated by the carefree yet frenzied nature of Naolin's dance. One day, he managed to ask Naolin where he had learned this style of combat...
***
"My mother was an artist...” Naolin replied, closing his eyelids and reminiscing. He still remembered the ringing laughter that echoed in the backyard of the family home when little Naolin would do something silly. His mother was a beautiful, blonde woman with mesmerizing emerald eyes, and at parties, everyone in the neighborhood would wait for her to arrive just to watch her graceful and elegant movements as she danced. People would wonder how such a woman could choose a simple laborer over a wealthy duke, whom her dancing would surely captivate. They would whisper about her unwavering love, but the truth was laughably simple: she had no choice. After her entire troupe, along with her father, perished in a fire, Lilliana found refuge in a remote village, where the locals were initially unfriendly. However, there was one person who treated her with understanding and allowed her to express her emotions through unrestrained dancing. This person was her husband in name, but in reality, he was more like a neighbor. Of course, he didn't need Naolin, but she did. It was she who taught him to walk on a rope stretched between trees and throw knives at painted targets. With her guidance, he learned to soar above the ground as if he had wings, his face lit up with a mischievous smile.
After her death, Naolin had absolutely nothing to do in the village, so he decided to seek his destiny outside of it. During his relatively short life, he visited numerous pubs, met merchants and magicians, slept under the stars, learned languages through fragments of other people's conversations, and explored the world and dragons. He also danced passionately, as if it were his last dance, just as his mother had taught him, earning a living through this art.
And then he stepped onto the parapet, not knowing why, not being prepared, wearing what he had on: an old jacket, someone else's patched-up trousers, and a bag filled with necessary items. He stepped onto the narrow path without thinking about anything, his mind far away, and it felt like walking on a tightrope, the same one stretched between two apple trees in their garden.
And then Naolin danced his death dance for the first time, leaving his opponent no chance, and then Brennan, whose last name seemed to be known to everyone Naolin met, asked him to show him how he did it. Then he finally understood his only path.
***
In this state, with this man, and being connected to one of the largest dragons on the Continent, Naolin could go for a biss.