The sword came down.
Aaron didn't dodge it, he couldn't. His body reacted only enough to lean back, and even then the blade grazed across his shoulder, ripping fur and skin in one stroke. Warm blood sprayed the mist.
The knight didn't pause to admire the wound. It simply raised the sword again, methodical like a surgeon and patient like a monk. Its intent showed that killing him was not hatred, but a mission assigned to him by someone to whom he had sworn an oath.
Mist curled around them a little.
Aaron stumbled back, his boots slipping on the wet surface. They were standing on a lake, and by some strange magic both of them could walk on the water. His lungs burned. His vision blurred. If the next strike landed clean, he would be split in half. He knew it. The knight knew it.
The voice beyond the mist screamed again, closer now, almost inside his skull, "STAY ALIVE UNTIL THE DESCENT!"
He had no idea what that meant, but his body was too busy trying not to die to think about it.
'Descent of what?!'
'Why don't you come and help me out a little...'
Even before he could complete the thought...
The knight lunged forward. It had sheathed the sword and now fought with the shield alone, raising it to crush him flat. Aaron threw himself sideways, more out of panic than technique, and rolled across dead leaves and mud. Pain tore through his body, and his breath shuddered with every exhale.
He wasn't winning. He wasn't fighting.
He was surviving between swings.
His small body, which had once given him an advantage, meant nothing now against the trained knight. The attacks were accurate and deliberate, leaving no time for a counter.
He tried to time Blight Bite for the moment the shield swung sideways. The plan was to leap onto the shield's top edge and force his way into the helm. But something deep inside him screamed that it was a mistake.
'Does he even have a head in there…?'
The knight advanced, its steps heavy and relentless. Each impact made the ground tremble. It did not tire. It did not feel.
It moved like a golem powered by some unseen engine, showing no fear, no pain, and none of the emotions a living fighter accidentally reveals in combat.
A duel is usually a symphony of exchanged emotions, a conversation of instinct, rage, and will. Yet now, Aaron felt nothing. Empty. Even though he had never been much of a fighter, he could still tell that this thing was not one.
Aaron called for the system again. Desperate. Nothing appeared.
"What…?" His voice trembled. He had always depended on the system. He expected the usual refusal, the warning about insufficient authority. But there was no message. No response. Nothing.
The knight adjusted its stance. The shield went flying behind it, and now it gripped the sword with both hands.
The sword lifted for the final strike.
Then a sound. Soft. Barely there. A shift of weight somewhere in the mist behind the knight.
The knight stopped mid-swing. Its head turned. Not toward Aaron… but toward the presence behind it.
The ground dimmed. The air pressed in. The mist swirled and bulged upward, as if something vast was pushing its way into the world.
A new window flickered in front of Aaron's eyes:
[Mistborn has arrived on his realm.]
The knight immediately turned away, abandoning Aaron without hesitation, shield raised toward the fog as if facing an ancient enemy.
The first clang of steel against steel echoed, so heavy that Aaron's bones vibrated.
That was all the chance he would get.
He didn't look back.
He didn't check if the knight was winning or losing.
He just ran.
Soon, his foot landed on solid earth instead of cold water.
A forest stretched before him, drowned in mist. He couldn't see what lay beyond it, only faint whispers calling his name. He didn't know how they knew it, or whether something worse waited inside. But he didn't stop to think. He leapt into the forest, letting instinct drag him away from the impossible battle behind him.
Branches tore at his arms. Stones cut into his feet. But the farther he got from that battlefield of titans, the more his senses returned. His body no longer felt like a prison.
Then the helping voice came again.
It wasn't screaming anymore. It spoke from somewhere ahead, rough and steady:
"Over here. Before they notice you're still alive."
Aaron staggered out of the fog and collapsed beneath a cluster of low trees. A small hand caught his shoulder, keeping him from hitting the ground.
A little girl sat in front of him, beside a knight who didn't move at all.
"Hello, Mr. Rat… looks like you've been through a lot."
She tilted her head, leaning closer with slow curiosity. Aaron didn't feel danger from her, yet panic still snapped through his body. He shoved himself back and shouted, "Who are you?! Why are you helping me?!"
The girl smiled, though her lips trembled as she glanced toward the battlefield and then back at Aaron.
"Looks like this battle will be a long one, Mr. Rat."
She clasped her hands together as if about to speak again.
But the knight beside her finally moved.
Its voice came out rough and broken.
"Traveler… how did you come to the catacombs…?"
His armor was ruined, a crimson river leaking from the joints. He was gravely wounded, and it was clear he could die at any moment.
The knight waited for an answer that didn't come. Then he spoke again.
"Not a talkative fellow. Good. I prefer it. Elizabeth here was eating my ears off… this is better."
He let out a long, heavy breath. It was raspy and barely audible.
"I can die in company. Even if it is a stranger… it feels warm."
Aaron tried calling the system again, hoping to identify the two figures before him. But the system still refused to respond.
'Does that mean I can't access the system anymore?' he wondered.
Elizabeth broke the silence first. She pinched the metal plating of the knight with an annoyed pout.
"You're not supposed to interrupt people when they're talking!"
Then she turned her attention back to Aaron.
Her eyes were brown. Her hair was brown too. She looked like an ordinary farm girl, nothing unusual about her at all. Her age seemed young, maybe in her early twenties, yet her voice carried the naïve tone of a teenager.
Aaron waited for her to speak, he could tell she was hiding something.