Nox lay on the cold stone floor, blood pooling beneath him. His body ached from the beating, ribs fractured, skin torn. A third-rate villain—nothing more than an afterthought in this world of swordmasters and mages. He was supposed to die here.
The knight standing over him sneered, pressing the edge of his blade against Nox''s throat. "Beg," he said, his voice filled with arrogance. "Beg, and maybe I''ll make it quick."
Nox didn''t move.
Beg?
It was almost funny. As if begging had ever saved him before.
Once, he had believed in loyalty. Once, he had thought people could be trusted. But he had been betrayed too many times—sold out, discarded, left to rot. He had learned the truth: Words were worthless. Only survival mattered.
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The knight sighed. "Pathetic." He raised his sword.
Nox''s fingers twitched. Something sharp beneath them—a small shard of stone. It wasn''t a weapon. It wasn''t even a real chance. But he didn''t need to win. He just needed to survive.
The moment the knight swung down, Nox threw the shard into his eye.
The man screamed, staggering back, his blade missing its mark by inches.
Nox moved.
His body screamed in pain, but he ignored it. He kicked out, hitting the knight''s injured leg, then scrambled to his feet. He was too weak to fight. Too broken to stand his ground. So he did what he did best.
He ran.
The sounds of battle raged beyond the crumbling castle walls. Explosions shook the ground—mages and knights clashing in a war that had nothing to do with him. He was just a footnote, a forgotten villain in someone else''s story.
And that was exactly why he could survive.
He reached a shattered balcony, wind howling around him. Below, jagged rocks lined the dark forest floor. Behind him, the knight roared.
"There''s nowhere left to run!"
Nox turned, met his furious gaze, and smirked.
Then he jumped.