Jaune's Resolve

4 - Forever Fall

Cardin raised his mace with a yell, swatting and dodging as the insects descended. His aura flared in bursts of light as a few connected—but he didn't fall. He growled and spun, slamming his weapon into a tree trunk to scatter the cloud, his combat instincts kicking in hard.

He swung wide, caught one with a loud crack, and sent it tumbling. Another struck his shoulder and fizzled against his aura.

Jaune watched from the brush, both impressed and grim.

Cardin was a brute—but he wasn't weak.

Eventually, the swarm thinned, buzzing angrily as it finally dispersed, likely searching for easier prey. Cardin lowered his weapon, panting, his aura flickering around him in soft orange pulses.

He turned.

And locked eyes with Jaune.

For a moment, neither said a word. The forest held its breath.

Cardin's expression darkened. His fists clenched tighter around his mace.

Jaune stood his ground, Crocea Mors drawn and ready at his side. His stance wasn't aggressive—just steady.

He wasn't flinching.

He wasn't backing down.

Not this time.

"How dare you?!" Cardin growled, stalking forward with his fists clenched, eyes burning with rage. "You think you're clever now? Think you're better than me?"

Jaune swallowed hard, heart thudding against his ribs, but his feet stayed rooted.

"No," he said, voice calm. "I just think you should stop picking fights you're not ready to finish."

Cardin snarled, "Don't give me that! You're a speck. An ant compared to me!"

He roared and lunged, mace raised high.

Jaune shifted his weight just in time, narrowly dodging the crushing swing. The mace slammed into the earth where he'd stood a moment before, kicking up dirt and leaves as a shockwave rippled out.

The force knocked Jaune back, sliding several feet through the forest floor. He skidded to a halt, sword still in hand, and forced himself to his feet—shoulders tense, breathing shallow.

Cardin charged again, quicker than Jaune expected for someone his size.

Too fast—

The mace came in a heavy arc. Jaune ducked low, moving on instinct, and swung upward to disarm him. The plan was solid. The angle was right.

But his body—still unrefined, still lagging behind the instinct his mind demanded—moved just a half second too slow.

Cardin caught the blade mid-swing with his gauntleted hand.

Jaune's eyes widened.

"Gotcha," Cardin grinned, his voice low and venomous.

With a sharp yank, Cardin pulled Jaune forward by the blade, and Jaune—gripping his sword too tightly to let go—was dragged off balance.

Before he could recover, Cardin released the sword and in the same motion, snatched Jaune by the throat with his free hand.

Jaune gasped, boots dangling a few inches off the ground as Cardin's thick fingers squeezed around his throat. The bark of nearby trees blurred at the edges of his vision as his aura pulsed in warning—already cracking under the pressure.

"You can train. You can act tough," Cardin growled, his voice low and venomous. "But deep down, you're still that weak little wannabe who probably faked his way in."