"Let’s see if you can keep that luck going."
Without warning, he leapt forward.
It wasn’t a run — it was a burst. The air cracked in his wake as he covered the distance between them in a heartbeat.
Avin barely had time to react. He twisted his body, swerving to the left, the sword’s edge grazing the air beside his face — he could feel the heat of friction as the blade sliced past. But the figure didn’t stop there.
Mid-swing, the man’s wrist snapped unnaturally, bending at an angle that made Avin’s stomach churn. The blade curved back from its initial trajectory, spinning into a reverse horizontal slash.
Avin ducked just in time. The tip of the sword carved a line through the bark of a nearby tree, sparks bursting as steel kissed wood.
He stumbled backward, his feet scraping through the dirt and fallen leaves. The man was already upon him again — relentless, his strikes a blur of movement and precision. Every swing whistled through the air with deadly rhythm.
Sparks erupted as Avin brought his sword up to block one. The impact shuddered through his arms, the vibration numbing his grip. He barely managed to twist away before the next strike came.
Another blow — clang!
Then another — shhhk! The blade sliced a few strands of hair from Avin’s head as he ducked.
Avin’s breath came ragged now. Each swing of his opponent’s sword was faster, heavier, more unrestrained — the kind of violence that didn’t just intend to kill, but to break.
The forest around them bore the proof.
Trees split open in clean, deadly cuts. Leaves burst into the air with every clash. The soil was carved by their footsteps, small craters marking every impact.
Avin parried again — the swords screamed against each other, sending metallic echoes spiraling through the woods. His body twisted to the right, and he caught a glimpse of the man’s grin — wide and wild, bloodlust glimmering behind those scarlet eyes.
He’s toying with me, Avin realized. He’s not even fighting seriously.
The thought chilled him more than the cold sweat running down his neck.
He pushed back, forcing the man’s blade away and stumbled a few steps to gain distance. His chest heaved. The red light in his eyes flickered faintly — his body was struggling to maintain the focus that gave him the edge of perception.
"You’re good," the figure said, lowering his sword lazily. "Better than I thought. Not strong, but..." He tilted his head. "Resourceful."
Avin’s grip tightened on his sword. "If you’re so impressed, why not give up now?" ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novelꞁire.net
The man laughed — a sharp, humorless laugh that cut through the air. "Oh, I like you."
Then he vanished again.
Avin’s eyes widened — his enhanced sight barely caught the blur before it was too late. He swung his sword instinctively.
The collision sent a shockwave rippling outward, a blast of wind scattering leaves around them. Avin slid backward several feet, boots carving trenches in the soil. The man, unharmed, twisted mid-air and landed like a cat, spinning his blade once before lunging again.
Avin dodged to the right. The sword grazed his arm — pain lanced through him, hot and stinging. He hissed through clenched teeth, clutching his wound. Blood began to trickle down, but there was no time to check it.
The figure advanced again. Avin barely blocked another blow — sparks flew, the ringing of metal-on-metal deafening.
"Not bad," the man said between strikes, his grin never fading. "You’ve got spirit."
"Spirit won’t die quietly," Avin spat, twisting his sword in a defensive parry, then kicking forward with his leg. The kick hit the man’s shin — not enough to hurt him, but enough to stagger him back half a step.
Avin took that instant to dash away, circling behind a thick tree. He leaned on it for a second, gasping, trying to think.
He’s stronger, faster... but his attacks are linear. Predictable, maybe. He’s confident — too confident.
His eyes darted toward the ground. Roots. Fallen branches. A slope behind him.
The man’s voice drifted through the trees. "Hiding again?"
Avin crouched lower, every sense straining.
"You know..." the voice continued, closer now. "You remind me of a rabbit. Always running. Always shaking."
Avin’s knuckles whitened on his sword hilt. His breathing slowed, matching the rhythm of his heart. The world seemed to narrow — everything outside the sound of approaching footsteps fell away.
When the figure’s shadow crossed into the clearing, Avin moved.
He swung his sword downward from above the tree line, a sudden ambush strike — the blade whistled like a slicing wind.
The man reacted instantly, blocking the attack with his sword raised overhead. The clash echoed through the forest, the shockwave sending both of them skidding back.
"You’re learning," the man said, his tone almost approving.
"I’m improvising," Avin answered, panting.
The man’s grin returned — broader, sharper. "Then improvise this."
But this time, Avin was ready. His crimson eyes flared brighter, tracing the blur of red movement through the air — and he moved preemptively, swinging at where the man would be, not where he was.
A shallow line appeared across the man’s cheek, a thin cut that bled slowly down to his chin.
For the first time, the man stopped smiling.
He touched his face, eyes narrowing at the sight of blood on his fingertips. "...Interesting."
Avin’s breath caught in his throat. He’d drawn blood.
The figure’s expression twisted — amusement and fury dancing together in his eyes. "You shouldn’t have done that."
Before Avin could brace, the figure was gone again — and this time, he didn’t hold back.
The next strike came from above, diagonal and vicious. Avin blocked — but the force launched him off his feet. He hit the ground hard, rolling over dirt and broken leaves. The sword nearly flew from his grip.
Before he could stand, the man was already there, his blade pressed to Avin’s neck.
"Almost impressive," he said softly, his smile returning, cruel and calm. "Almost."
Avin froze, feeling the cold kiss of metal under his chin. His mind screamed for a plan, for anything.
But in that moment, there was only the sound of their breathing — and the quiet tremble of leaves falling through the shattered air between predator and prey.