Riven lowered his head, forcing his body to tremble as though filled with fear. He even bent his knees, making himself appear all the more pitiful. His voice he made thin and broken, as if strangled by despair.

“Sir… please don’t kill me… I beg you. I’m only trying to scrape a living from this battlefield. I just picked up a few broken weapons… I only wanted to sell them, so my family could eat.”

The large man narrowed his eyes, then curved his lips into a crooked smile. It was not pity, it was scorn. His gaze judged Riven as nothing more than filth, something utterly worthless.

Riven studied the man’s reaction carefully. That dismissive look was plain on his opponent’s face, but Riven knew one truth—being underestimated didn’t always mean being spared. Sometimes it meant the exact opposite. If you were deemed insignificant, you could be killed without a thought, simply for being an annoyance.

Still, Riven kept the act alive. Inside, he was reading his enemy, trying to understand what moved behind those harsh eyes. He definitely looks down on me. But… could he really let me walk away?

There was a chance, however small. But Riven knew staking his life on another’s mercy was sheer stupidity. He had lived long enough in a world drowned in blood and deceit. He had long since stopped trusting the kindness of men.

Finally, the man opened his mouth, his voice deep, cold, dripping with mockery.

“I could let you go. But what if you report me to someone else?”

Riven lifted his head slightly, eyes pleading. “No, I swear… I won’t report you! I don’t want trouble, I just want to live!”

A thin, threatening smile spread across the man’s face. He tilted his head slightly, like a wolf toying with its prey.

“How can I trust you? If you can’t convince me… then the only way is to make sure you can’t talk anymore. In other words… I’ll have to kill you.”

The words struck Riven like a hammer. He clenched his teeth in secret, his eyes sharpening though his face remained pale and trembling. Clear as day, the man still hadn’t dropped his guard.

Riven gambled. Slowly, he raised a hand as if to placate him.

“Wait… I’ll give you everything I’ve got. All the loot I’ve gathered… I’ll hand it over, if only you let me go.”

The man’s eyes stayed cold. From that look alone, Riven could tell the offer meant nothing. The scraps he carried had no value to someone like this. And besides, killing Riven would grant him the loot anyway.

Riven felt his heart pounding in his ribs. His hands shook as he reached to his side, fingers fumbling with the cloth-wrapped length tied at his waist. Awkwardly, he undid the knot.

The moment the cloth fell away, the air between them shifted.

From within the wrappings gleamed a blade white as ice, its surface etched with faint golden runes that shimmered in the dark. The pale light reflecting from the steel was so stark against the gloom of the battlefield that the man’s eyes widened.

In an instant, his stare was flooded with shock, then greed. He had never expected to see such a weapon in the hands of a ragged, skinny youth.

Riven swallowed hard, his voice catching. “I… I’ll give you this… if you really let me go.”

But his words were nothing more than air. The man no longer cared. His strides lengthened, quickened, his gaze burning with greed. The massive axe in his hand rose slightly, but his focus was wholly fixed on the sword.

“Give it to me,” he hissed.

Riven hunched his shoulders, trembling even harder. In a pitiful voice, he whispered, “P-please… promise me first… promise you’ll let me live!”

The man chuckled hoarsely, the sound scraping like steel dragged over stone. “Fine. I promise.”

Riven knew there was not a shred of sincerity in that tone. Still, he pretended to believe it. With trembling hands, he sank back to his knees, placing the long sword on the ground in front of him.

The man stepped closer, his eyes devouring the pale glow of the blade. His face twisted with lustful greed. At the same time, he lifted his axe high, intent plain: the moment he seized the sword, he would split the boy’s skull open.

Riven had been waiting for this exact moment—the second his enemy was blinded by greed, his guard broken.

Before the axe could fall, Riven surged up from his kneel, his face stripped of fear, his eyes flashing with frozen steel. In a blur, he drew the short sword hidden in his right hand, pouring all his strength into one decisive slash.

The man’s eyes flared in shock. He had never expected the pitiful wretch before him to suddenly strike. His guard had slackened. And by the time he realized his mistake, it was already too late.

Riven’s blade cut into his neck. Blood burst out in a hot, violent spray, splattering the earth crimson. The man staggered, clutching the wound instinctively.

But he was still alive. Still standing.

The cut hadn’t been deep enough.

“Damn it!” Riven growled, his eyes blazing. He didn’t give the man time to recover. With a strangled cry, he stepped in, driving the short sword straight into the man’s chest. The blade tore through flesh, pierced his heart, and burst out his back. Blood gushed over Riven’s hands, hot and thick.

The man’s eyes widened, filled with terror and disbelief. His breath rasped, his axe slipping from his grip. A guttural sound rose from his throat, then faded into silence.

His massive body buckled, collapsing first to his knees, then crashing to the ground, lifeless. His blood pooled quickly, soaking into the hard earth.

Riven sank down as well, gasping, sweat cold against his skin. His chest heaved uncontrollably, his eyes locked on the corpse sprawled before him.

His hand still gripped the blood-drenched short sword. He lifted it for a moment, staring at it, then lowered his head.

In his mind, he repeated the words he had drilled into himself from the beginning.

“Don’t think too much.”

He closed his eyes briefly, letting the world fall silent except for the thunder of his own breath.

On ground reeking of death, Riven pushed himself back to his feet.

He grabbed the cloth wrappings he had cast aside, his hands still trembling with leftover adrenaline. Quickly, he bound them once more around the glowing blade, hiding its runes beneath layers of worn fabric. He tugged the knots tight, fastening the weapon back to his waist.

His gaze fell on the corpse, its eyes glassy, staring upward at the dark sky. Riven swallowed, then stooped to seize the bloodied axe that had fallen from its master’s hand. Its weight strained his arm, but he gripped the coarse wooden handle tight.

Then he bent again, pulling up the rough sack stuffed with weapons and petty loot the man had scavenged. Slinging the strap over his shoulder, he felt the burden drag against his aching back.

Riven drew a long breath, his eyes scanning the night with wary focus. The man’s comrades might still be near, waiting to stumble upon this corpse. His pounding heart hammered its warning: don’t linger.

So Riven turned and walked away, not once looking back at the scene of the kill. Each step dragged heavy. Not only from the sack over his back or the axe in his hand, but from the weight of blood that still clung to his memory.

Tonight had already been more than enough. He was sick of corpses and sick of blood. He wanted only one thing: to find his sister, make sure she was safe, and leave this cursed place behind as fast as possible.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep