Indeed, Norvin was fast. His whole life had been spent running from pain and suffering, and no matter his speed, it always followed him closely, like a shadow, always ready to drag him back into the darkness. This man was no different; he quickly closed the distance.
In an instant, the knight unleashed his full might, swinging the massive sword to cut through whatever was in front of him. Numerous trees began to fall, violently cut down by the sheer force of the blow. Norvin looked back, carefully examining the man's face in mid-air as he dodged the sweeping attack—the knight wore a vicious smile, as if he had already won. Norvin then fell, hitting the ground hard, and rolled for a few feet before managing to right himself. The pursuing knight continued his ragged coughing, momentarily stalled by his own exertion.
The man walked closer, hacking a wet, rattling cough into his gloved hand. He stood in the center of a jagged clearing—a wound in the forest he had carved himself with a single swing of his sword. Basking in the pale moonlight, Norvin scrambled backward, using the trunk of a fallen tree to haul himself upright. He let his heavy bag slide from his shoulders with a thud.
His escape route was gone, blocked by the looming figure in front of him.
"Cough... Ah, look what you have done to me." The man pulled his hand away from his face; the palm was slick with crimson. He was coughing up blood.
Norvin's chest tightened, but a flicker of hope ignited within him. His desperate gamble hadn't been in vain; the poison had already taken hold.
But hope was a dangerous thing. The man was a seasoned knight, a veteran of slaughter, while Norvin was just a kid who couldn't even manifest numen. He had never fought an enemy one-on-one. In the past, Remus had always been there, fighting side-by-side, taking down enemies before they could reach him.
'I have to hold on a bit longer, Norvin thought, his hands trembling. If I turn my back now, he'll cut me down instantly. I can't die here. Not now. Never. And certainly not to a half-dead man.'
Reaching into his bag, Norvin slowly drew his weapon—a small, single-bladed axe. It felt light in his grip, almost too light against the monster standing before him.
The man wheezed a laugh, the sound bubbling in his throat. "Hahaha! Look! A rabbit holding a cute toy." His voice was clear of any pain; it was dripping with mockery. despite the poison coursing through his veins, he seemed to be having the time of his life.
Norvin ignored the taunt. He lowered his stance, gripping the axe handle with both hands and stretching his arms back. He planted his feet firmly on the blood-stained earth. He looked less like a victim and more like a cornered beast—this little rabbit didn't just jump; he had sharp teeth, and he was ready to bite.
'Remember the basics', he told himself. 'Just like the last few weeks on the battlefield with Remus.'
Norvin lashed out. He didn't swing blindly; he aimed his blows at the critical points—the neck, the joints, the gaps in armour. But none of them connected. The knight swatted the attacks away with his sword, blocking the barrage as if it were child's play.
"You think you can touch me, boy?" the knight sneered, wiping another trail of blood from his chin. "I am not going to make the same mistake twice."
Though he spoke with arrogance, his face was pale, and Norvin's continuous barrage was forcing the poison to circulate faster, worsening his condition with every parry.
"I don't really need to touch you," Norvin panted.
Without waiting for a reaction, he spun on his heel and dashed in the opposite direction, plunging straight into the gloom of the Marsh Forest. He knew that putting obstacles between himself and the knight was his only chance of survival.
"You little brat! You will die by my hand!" The man's shout was punctuated by a wet, hacking cough. "You think you can outrun a Knight of the Bronze Falchion?"
Despite the poison coursing through him, the man followed with terrifying speed, swinging his heavy curved falchion with vicious intent. Norvin didn't have the strength to block such heavy strikes; a single direct hit would shatter his bones. He could only dodge, weave, and hope.
"Running to the Marsh Forest... this is your escape plan?" The man wheezed a laugh, mocking Norvin's choice. "Did no one tell you, boy? You can never outrun the Marsh."
The knight wasn't wrong. The Marsh Forest was widely known as a death trap. It was a dense, suffocating labyrinth of ancient flora where the air hung heavy with rot. The ground was a treacherous soup of mud and decay that refused to let travelers pass at full speed. But worse than the terrain were the trees themselves. They were colossal, ancient things with bark like iron scales, and they were alive. From the corner of one's eye, the massive trunks could be seen shifting their weight, moving their branches like the limbs of a restless, slumbering beast, seemingly rearranging the path to trap the unwary.
But Norvin had chosen this hellscape for a reason.
He didn't need to run on the ground. Utilizing his lighter frame, Norvin leaped from the gnarled roots of one shifting tree to the low-hanging boughs of another, moving like a squirrel evading a wolf. He made it look like he was barely evading the man's blows, baiting him deeper.
The knight, heavy with armour and pride, tried his best to keep up, but the Marsh was hungry. With every step, he sank into the churning mud up to his knees, his movements growing sluggish as the living roots seemed to subtlely tighten around his path. The trees were so large and closely spaced that Norvin was certain they were now hidden from the outside world.
'Good', Norvin thought, risking a glance back. 'If he could use Awen, I'd be dead already.'