[color=goldenrod][i][h2][center]Gerard Segremors[/center][/h2][/i][/color]

He cut to the side again, now recognizing the flicker for what it was, and pressed in behind another swing. Less a hurried throwing of the self now, closer to a true sidestep, but continuing to create that strong angle all the same.

A fruitful endeavor, this approach— from it, he had gained a sense of the ever-important initiative swinging his way, as she was forced to give up ground rather than continue the exchange after feeling the impact of his blade upon hers. He'd learned that, for all her ability to project the cutting edge of her blade onto the realm itself, he [i]did[/i] outpower her, and a prolonged engagement wasn't remotely in her interests. Instead, she elected to spin away and try to reset her distance before he managed to really tie her up. Annoying, but not impenetrable. A quicker step-in might have done it, but in the face of a nimble foe he didn't want to risk overcommitment—

So instead, he would next attack the mobility itself, and begin cutting away at the space she had left to drift through. Past her, he eyed the treeline, measuring its distance against the direction The Pale Lady had chosen. So long as they maintained this rhythm with one another in their little dance, he could maneuver her into a corner— and as she felt the pressure to pile, she'd inevitably show more of her cards, lest she run up against one of those black-bark pillars and be stuck at the end of his power.

Through that process, while he had only this much to work with from her... a moment on the back foot was a moment where she was forced to react rather than cut him up— a margin he could iterate on. As she intercepted his blade with another of those nigh-instantaneous snap-tos and rode off the impact, he chased her exit with not quite a flick of the wrist, but a quick reversal with his false edge.

It wasn't nearly complete compared to Rui's slices, let alone whatever the hell the Pale Lady's deal was, but nonetheless a crude and hammerlike arc of wind rolled off the steel— much befitting his tutelage endured, the last time he was in such a realm.