7.2| The Thief's Misfortune

This was the worst kind of scene that the thief had imagined to happen. Noct had not considered or even thought that Worick, of all the people in the kingdom, would be the one to arrive at the worst possible moment—wounded, weak, and teetering at the brink of unconsciousness.

Noct grit his teeth, tasting the blood in his mouth. His vision blurred for a moment. His breathing was heavy and uneven. He raised his good hand shakily, lightly pressing his palm over his gushing wound in order to control the blood flow. Amid the semidarkness, he stared at the hunter in silence. Noct didn't dare to make any sudden movements. Worick also continued to look at him. A clear glint of malice was in his eyes.

The thief glanced over at Quann by the hunter's feet. By some miracle, the fatally wounded dagger meister was still somehow alive, the evidence brought upon by the subtle rise and fall of his chest. At the back of his mind, Noct couldn't help but wonder if Worick had left him alive on purpose or if maybe he had just made a mistake. After all, Worick was most known for being a merciless, vile, and cold-blooded hunter.

Noct's vision clouded once again, and he blinked. A few ways in front of him, Worick took a step forward. The shadowed parts of his body were immediately illuminated, and his axe shone in a sharp arc as it caught the sun rays. The first thing that Noct noticed were the bloody cuts and wounds Worick had gotten from his exchange with the dead knight. It seemed worse now that he was close enough to look at them. One wound was pooling red, dripping down his arm and staining his blade. He looked down at the thief with a wicked expression and eyes that gleamed with madness.

A jolt of fear went over him. Noct's mind immediately signaled a warning. I need to get away.

But it was impossible. In his current state, Noct was certain that escape was not attainable, not when he couldn't even manage to move himself without flinching in the pain. That meant he would have to make the only choice left. E ace the hunter head-on. But that was also impossible. He hardly had enough energy left to spare after the fall. Noct knew this fact very clearly as the hunter started to walk towards him, a demon grin creeping up his face. It was obvious in Worick's expression that he also knew that Noct did not stand a chance. The thief clenched his fist. A single thought repeated in his mind.

I am not going to die here.

Worick was merely five feet away from him now. The clanking of his armor echoed dully against the alley wall. Noct hated being helpless, but he knew he couldn't do anything. Not yet, at least. He closed his eyes and readied himself for what he was about to attempt, conserving every last bit of strength he could find. He was not planning to give up. All he needed was a chance, an opening. Very quietly, he slipped three of his remaining daggers from his sleeve.

A wide grin spread all over Worick's face, threatening to split his face apart as he bore down on him. The hunter stopped in front of him. Noct stayed completely still, eyes now open. The silence that surrounded them was deafening.

"Well, well," The hunter finally spoke, voice rasped and low. "Look at what we have here—"

He cut off, quickly raising his axe to stop a flying dagger that Noct had suddenly threw at his face. The blade made a shrill cry as the metals collided. The dagger was tossed into the dark corner, clattering loudly as it hit the ground. Worick growled, face darkening into anger. "You dare—"

Noct sharply cried out as he moved, ignoring the pain from his wound, the ringing in his ears, the blurring of his vision. His body felt like it was on fire, every joint, bone, and muscle groaning from the effort. He grit his teeth until they felt numb. He threw another dagger at Worick's face, moving behind his blind spot as the hunter deflected the weapon again with his axe. With the hunter's head turned from him, Noct slipped out another dagger from his sleeve. He raised both blades to strike at the chink in Worick's armor, aiming for his shoulder. Noct found himself slightly smile in triumph as the dagger came down in a quick metal blur. Hope filled inside of him. If he could land a strike that could wound Worick fatally, there was a chance he could win. However, that hope disappeared into void the moment later.

At the last second, Worick managed to twist around with surprising agility despite his build, narrowly missing the blow. Noct cut at his arm instead, creating a deep but nonfatal wound. The thief's eyes widened in surprise. It had happened too fast for him to change the course of his swing.

Then, a hand suddenly grabbed onto his neck, choking him and pinning him to the wall. Noct winced in pain as cracks appeared on the wall behind him. He was certain something had broke. A few ribs, perhaps. His vision started to swim. He coughed, streaks of blood spurting from his mouth. Noct gasped for air, retching some more as his head spun.

Just when he was at the edge of blacking out, Worick suddenly let go of his hold. Noct collapsed on the ground in a heap of flesh, all of his strength spent. As his head hit the surface with a loud thud, a pain more worse than what he had felt before overtook him. A sharp, piercing, dizzying, overwhelming pain. His body felt like it was being roasted on fire. No, it was being pricked with a thousand sharpened knives. No, he was being cut into separate pieces. No, his limbs were being ripped apart flesh by flesh. Noct could not even manage enough strength to scream aloud. At the corner of his clouded eyes, he saw Worick look over him with a look of retch and disappointment. When he spoke, his words sounded distant and garbled, as if he were speaking from a distance.

"See what happens if you make me mad?" he asked, as if it was Noct's fault that he was in that state. "Fool."

He listened to Noct's quiet groans for a few more seconds before continuing with what he had to say. "... I'll get to the point. If you don't want to go through pain and suffering, then I suggest you answer my question, boy."

The silence was deafening. Or maybe it was because Noct's ears were ringing loudly. Worick continued on.

"... Where is the witch?" he asked.

Noct blinked hard as he thought of his question, doubting whether he had heard right. He stayed quiet, refusing to answer to him. After a moment, Worick clicked his tongue. Then, he raised his foot. Very slowly, he pressed down on the thief's wounded side. Noct gasped in pain, a raspy scream emitting from his mouth.

"Where is the witch?" Worick repeated, pressing harder and placing more weight into the injury. Noct wanted to give up. The pain was too much to bear.

"Tell me. Where... is... the... witch?"

I don't know, I don't know, I don't know. He was having a hard time thinking straight because of the exploding pain. Black spots filled the corners of his vision. Was he dying or was he simply falling unconscious? How serious was his wound? After a few more seconds, Worick sighed.

"I see... Not planning to tell me, then?" The hunter asked. When he was answered with silence by the thief, he muttered, "What a waste of time you are, you useless bastard... All that's left for you is to die here right now."

A shadow suddenly passed over Noct, although he might have been mistaken. From the corner of his eyesight, he recognized the glint of Worick's axe as he raised it high in the air, the metal caught in the sunlight. Fear gripped at him the moment he realized what it meant, when he realized what the hunter was about to do to him.

Am I... going to die?

"How unfortunate you are, child," Worick sneered.

Noct blinked slowly. Very slowly.

No. Not like this. He could not just die so easily like that. There were still so many things he needed to do before he would accept such a fate. Noct still needed to make his big steal as a thief and become rich before he did. He would buy a huge mansion, hire servants who would carry him around, and live a life of luxury without a thought of having to go hungry again. He still needed to make a name for himself as the Crow Thief, making his name go down in history as Terrall's best one. He still needed to take a familiar and calming look at the kingdom scenery from atop a roof, feel the comforting breeze of the night air, see the nostalgic torchlights of the city during nights and hear the loud buzz of a jostling crowd before allowing himself to say goodbye. Most of all, he still needed to find the witch he was looking for, the one who had taken everything away from him, the reason why his life had ended up the way it was, and take his vengeance.

I will not die like this, he thought firmly.

"Good bye," Worick mused. A hint of amusement was evident in his tone.

No. Noct closed his eyes tightly, awaiting the fall of the blade, tasting the blood in his mouth. He braced himself.

However, the blade never fell.

Instead, what he heard was the sound of a stifled gasp, followed by the loud thunk of heavy armor falling close by his side. It sounded too sharp and shrill to Noct's ears, making his ears ring painfully.

Then... there was a silence.

It came without warning, confusing the thief. After a few seconds of a steady stillness, Noct hesitantly opened his eyes. His vision blurred for a moment before it rightened to a slight degree. A hazy figure appeared. Someone was kneeling in front of him, he realized. Noct focused his gaze. Never before had he been so relieved to see anyone in the entirety of his life.

With glowing silver eyes, fluttering white hair, and a pained expression on her face, it was no one else but the little miss, his escape partner. The Snow Witch.

"... Y...ou...," he managed to whisper weakly.

The girl looked at him for a second before giving him a very slight shake of her head. Noct wondered hazily if maybe she was just a hallucination, one that his mind had created again. But his doubts were eased when, with a little bit of hesitation, she raised a small, pale hand over his bloody wound. Her touch was cold, but it was there. It was real. Then, she mumbled out a single spell word, the very same one that she had used in the cell. "Mend."

Immediately, a layer of snow started to cover over his injury, a thin frost spreading all over the wound underneath his bloody shirt. Noct felt the spell gradually working on him, a strange feeling that he couldn't quite put into words. The magic seemed both warm and cold at the same time, both painful and soothing. He could feel the bones righten in his body, his flesh sew together, his blood circulate better. His breathing turned even. He was healing, though not that quickly. Despite the spell, he could barely lift his head from the ground, much less speak a full sentence.

From the corner of his eye, Noct saw the blurred outline of the witch hunter on the ground close beside him, limp and unconscious. Blood was pooling from his turned head, and his leg was twisted at an odd angle, broken. Noct thought he was dead, until he saw the controlled rise and fall of his chest that indicated his breathing. Worick was still alive.

How wonderful it would be to kill him right now, he thought. If only I had enough strength.

Noct turned his eyes away and focused back on the witch. It felt unreal to him that she was there. Everything felt numb. It still seemed as if he was floating in a dream, a separate field of reality. He waited for the moment when she would disappear all of a sudden. But she did not. The witch was still looking at him in silence. Though it might have been his imagination, Noct thought he spotted the small look of worry on her face. Then, a second afterwards, the witch suddenly whispered two words he did not expect to hear out from her mouth.

"... I'm sorry."

She had said it quietly. So quietly, that Noct couldn't have heard it if not for the stillness of the alley and the silence of the place. He looked at her, eyes slightly wide in surprise. She looked away from him and trained her eyes at his wound as she continued to heal him. Her expression was hard to discern.

Noct found, in spite of himself, using most of his regained strength to whisper back.

"... Don't... apologize," he whispered. The moment the words came out of his mouth, he chided himself. Why am I saying this?

The witch, however, didn't answer and continued to stay silent. Noct decided to shut his eyes slowly, listening to the silence and trying to ignore the gradually receding pain. Then, surprising himself even further, very quietly, he breathed out two necessary, four words he felt the incessant need to say before anything else happened. With as much sincerity coated in his tone as he could manage, he parted his lips and mumbled softly.

"Thank you... little miss."

----> thank you for reading!

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