"What are you doing here, kid? How did you get in?"
The man asked him in a commanding voice, continuing to walk toward him. Norvin hid his knives behind his back but couldn't hide the bottle that was near his feet.
Norvin took a small step forward, trying to conceal the bottle behind his small legs. He answered in a scared voice, "Oh sir! Please save me... I got lost. I simply tried to venture here out of curiosity and, seeing the dragons, I was scared to death. Please save me, sir!"
The man, of course, didn't buy his lies, continuing his slow, deliberate walk toward Norvin. Norvin could now begin to clearly take in the man's appearance: he was of medium height, wearing a leather tunic where his sigil was intricately embroidered. His sword was made of elegantly refined steel. His hair was short, and his eyes held the cold glare of a murderer. His face seemed to convey that he wouldn't hesitate to strike down a child.
He came to a halt right next to Norvin and glared at him. "Let me ask you again: What are you doing here, child?"
"Sir, I was just searching for food and decided to steal from here. I got trapped by horror seeing those dragons. It's the truth," Norvin lied again, trying to make this one sound more convincing. Norvin had to do anything to get out of here alive. He had already failed his mission by hesitating to pour the liquid; now, the only thing he could do was run away and survive, but even that option didn't seem promising.
"Then what did you steal from here?"
"Nothing, sir, nothing."
"Then what are you hiding behind you?"
Norvin understood he was in deep trouble. He hadn't had time to hide his knives in his pockets, nor the bottle. He was in such trouble only because of that damn red ghost; only if she hadn't left him startled.
"It's nothing, sir," he mumbled.
Just at that moment, the man seized Norvin's hands and yanked them forward, immediately noticing a knife—a truly refined blade that this boy, whether a thief or not, could never possibly own. The man pulled Norvin's other hand and discovered the matching knife. As Norvin struggled in resistance, the man demanded, "Did you steal this from our armoury?"
"No, sir," Norvin denied. "I can't possibly."
"Then where else did you get such high-quality, metal-refined knives?" A small kid couldn't possibly have broken through the defences and stolen a pair of knives unnoticed from the guards.
The man, however, was certain the boy was lying and understood he needed to take him into custody. "I won't steal ever again, sir! I was just hungry, I promise, sir," Norvin pleaded, unable to break free of the man's grasp.
"Stealing, huh? Then what's in your bag and the bottle behind your feet?"
Norvin desperately tried to invent an excuse or a lie, but his mind was blank. Finally, he blurted*, "It's something I stole from a potion dealer, sir. It's a quite famous potion that could enhance oneself."*
The man hesitated and loosened his grip slightly. Norvin quickly pulled the bottle from where it was hidden by his feet, bringing it forward. The room was still too dark to distinguish objects clearly, and both Norvin and the man could only make out vague shapes. From time to time, Norvin could feel the warm, stale breath of the dragons as they slept soundly.
Norvin opened the bottle and made a show of offering the man a drink. The man took the bottle but didn't drink it, instead raising it to his nose, testing the fumes with a slight inhale.
This was Norvin's chance. He plunged hard into the man's hand, shattering the glass container close to the man's face, hoping a few drops of the poison would land inside his mouth. Of course, he didn't waste any time checking the results; he simply dashed toward the gate with all his might.
The man, startled by the sudden action, roared, "Where are you going, brat!"
He tried to steady his footings and then saw the boy darting out of the doors. Norvin continued running toward the forest as fast as possible. The remaining bottles and his meager supplies weighed him down, and the knives were gone. He had nothing to fight with. After dashing about three hundred meters from the den, Norvin heard footsteps rapidly getting closer. The pace of his pursuer wasn't slowing even slightly; it seemed none of the poison drops had fallen inside the man's mouth. This was, unfortunately, obvious: the man, a seasoned knight, had the basic instinct to clamp his mouth shut when something shattered near his face.
"You are dead now, brat," the man announced, chasing Norvin while coughing loudly.
Norvin kept running, not looking back. In a flash, the man quickly cut off Norvin's escape route, appearing suddenly in front of him in mere seconds, having been right behind him. Norvin couldn't control his direction; out of sheer momentum, he smashed violently into the man.
The man flinched, then coughed loudly, taking an involuntary step back. He swung his sword wildly toward Norvin, who jumped back, instantly measuring his chances of survival.
His mission was already a failure. Even if he escaped, the Bronze Falchion now knew about his infiltration attempt, making the Serpent's attack entirely predictable. He not only had to escape this enemy knight but also somehow make it back to his own base to inform them to cancel the assault.
Norvin saw the man lunge forward, murder blazing in his eyes. Norvin ducked, barely avoiding the brutal sword slash, and sprinted past the knight, whose heavy coughs punctuated the sudden silence. Gaining speed, Norvin weaved deep into the forest, his feet a blur as he barely avoided every root, tree, and obstacle that threatened to trip him.
The man was relentless, chasing Norvin like a tiger hunting a rabbit. He roared, "You think you can escape from me, brat? You may be fast, but I can still kill you in an instant!"