Chapter 8 - Escape Part 2

Manfred led them on, urging their horses faster as the trail wound through the thick forest. Hooves pounded on the uneven ground, and the sounds of battle gradually faded behind them, replaced by the stormy crash of the waves against the cliffs ahead.

The trail narrowed as they approached the cliff, and the towering rock formations cast long shadows in the moonlight. The roar of the river grew louder, drowning out all other sounds. Manfred looked back, scanning the dark forest for any sign of pursuers.

"We must keep going" he urged. "The Templars will not be far."

As they rode along the edge of the cliff, the cold spray of the waves below them wet their faces. The moonlight reflected off the churning water, creating an eerie glow. For a moment, it seemed as if they had lost their pursuers. The only sounds were the labored breathing of their horses and the incessant crashing of the waves.

Suddenly, two figures emerged from the shadows in front of them, blocking their path. Young men in Templar uniforms, their swords drawn, their eyes full of fervor.

"Halt, heretics! Let yourself be purified!" one of them shouted, his voice barely audible over the roaring waves.

Naemon's heart was pounding in his throat. He looked at his mother, whose face was pale with fear. Without thinking, he urged his horse on, his body moving instinctively. He jumped off his horse and threw himself at the nearest Templar.

"Mother, go! I will hold them back!" he shouted in a determined voice.

Anne, in shock, tried to turn her bolting horse around, but it was too late. Sensing danger, the animal charged forward, carrying her away from the confrontation on the cliff. Anne's anguished cries echoed through the night as she desperately clung to the reins.

Naemon landed heavily on the rocky ground with a Templar beneath him. The second Templar slammed his fists into Naemon's back. Naemon screamed in pain and rolled to the side.

The world around Naemon blurred. Pain shot through his back. He picked himself up, barefoot and in his pajamas, and gasped for air. The knocked-over Templar stood up, and Naemon saw his two opponents more clearly for the first time.

'Templars... young Templars?' Naemon suddenly realized, barely older than himself.

The training with his father flashed in Naemon's mind. He remembered his father's rough voice: "Dodge, parry, disorient. Don't forget, son, surprise and speed are your only advantages." He crouched down, imitating the position his father had taught him. His pajamas fluttered in the wind.

The young Templars exchanged a hesitant look. Fear flickered in their eyes, masked by a facade of fanaticism. They were clearly used to overpowering defenseless opponents with brute force, not facing someone who could fight back.

Naemon took advantage of their hesitation. He darted to the side, narrowly avoiding a downward slash from the first Templar's sword. The wind whistled past his ear, whipping his hair into his face.

"In Mebus' name, face his judgment!" the first Templar roared, his voice cracking in a desperate attempt to show bravery. "You disrespect the purity of the Temple?" the other Templar added.

Naemon sprinted forward, crouched, and used the momentum to launch himself at the second Templar's legs.

The Templar stumbled, surprised by the unorthodox attack. Naemon used the gap to grab a handful of dirt from the loose ground at the edge of the cliff and hurled it at the Templar's face.

The young man screamed, momentarily blinded. He lashed out wildly, his sword clattering against the rocks. Naemon scrambled back, the edge of the cliff dangerously close behind him. He couldn't believe it. These were not hardened warriors, but frightened boys barely out of their teens, indoctrinated into a fanatical ideology.

"No!" the second Templar shouted, wiping the dirt from his eyes. His voice trembled, not with anger, but with sheer fear. "We must... we must..." he stammered.

"Cleanse!" the first Templar finished, his fear replaced by desperate zeal. He charged at Naemon, his sword poised for the fatal blow.

Naemon turned away, the blade grazing his leather bag. He stumbled back, the edge of the cliff a constant reminder of his precarious situation.

Naemon's heart pounded against his chest. He was outnumbered, his body screaming in protest. Every evasive maneuver tensed his muscles, every near-hit left him breathless. He couldn't keep this up much longer. His only hope was to create an escape route.

He looked in the direction his mother had fled and back at his opponents.

The two Templars sought their strength in numerical superiority and came at him at the same time.

'I can't give up, or they will follow Mother!'

Panic gripped Naemon by the throat. A thought pounded in his head: 'I won't let them!'

With a roar, Naemon threw himself—not at one Templar, but at both. A desperate attempt to get them all off the cliff.

They fell backward, a tangled mess of limbs and armor. The first Templar hit a rock with a sickening thud, but the second fell into the churning water with Naemon.

The cold took his breath away. The current pulled him under. He struggled to the surface, limbs heavy and vision blurred. He saw the second Templar struggling beside him, a look of pure terror on his face.

Darkness crept to the edges of Naemon's vision.

'Father, I'm coming to you sooner than I thought,' was Naemon's last thought.

Naemon surrendered and let the angry river do the rest.