The forest blurred around him—branches snapping, mist parting, silk lines hissing through the air. Leonhardt launched from tree to tree, hands and feet gliding with fluid precision. Every movement was smooth, rehearsed. Animal.
The golden flare behind him surged again. A crash of metal followed.
Whoever chased him wasn't just fast.
He was trained.
Leonhardt twisted midair and lashed a fresh line of webbing around a tree trunk, swinging wide and looping behind a cluster of thorns, vanishing into shadow.
He paused for half a second, breathing in through his nose. A familiar scent filled the air again, burning with a disgusting sense of purity and holy magic.
There was no mistake.
It was stronger now, burning his nose like pepper. As if someone had torn open a divine altar and poured its contents into the soil.
Then the knight appeared.
