The ten men pressed forward in silence, the only sound the squelch of their boots sinking into wet mud. A thin mist clung low over the sodden path, as though conspiring to hide their presence from the world’s watchful eyes. None of them glanced back, as if the existence of the two siblings had already been erased from memory.

At last, one man walking in the middle of the formation dared to break the silence. His tone was hushed, as though afraid to disturb their leader, but clear enough to be heard above the sound of their steps.

“Lord Dyrtose… is it wise to leave them alive?”

Their leader, the white-haired man at the front, did not answer at once. Instead, he let out a long, heavy breath, as though burdened by thought. His broad shoulders rose and fell before he turned slightly, his cold features briefly illuminated by the faint moonlight that pierced the fog.

“There is no need for concern,” he said flatly, though his voice carried unshakable conviction. “They will do nothing. That boy may appear stubborn, but he is no fool. Should he attempt to report us, it would be nothing less than signing his own death warrant.”

His words fell silent as they waded through a deep patch of mud, their steps sinking almost to the ankles. Quiet returned until Dyrtose’s voice cut through again, lower but sharper, each word carved from bitter experience.

“The boy is nothing more than a scavenger of weapons from battlefields. That alone is enough to damn him. If he is foolish enough to report us, he will be interrogated. Once his work is revealed, he will be imprisoned, or, more likely, executed. The Kingdom has never shown mercy to scavengers like him. And beyond that,” Dyrtose paused, turning slightly as if to press the weight of his words, “he does not even know who we truly are. Nameless people like them, without evidence… who would ever believe their tale?”

He lowered his gaze to the slick path ahead, his voice calmer now.

“There is no reason for him to take such a risk. People like him care only about survival. Politics, war, border disputes, none of it matters to them. They live on the edges of ruin, clinging to the hope of lasting one more day. I have seen that look in countless faces before.”

His words lingered in the cold night air. None of his men spoke again. They knew what he said was true. Their question had not come from distrust in their leader, but from the human unease that now found its answer.

Yet Dyrtose himself knew there was another reason he had not spoken aloud. One deeper, more personal.

The face of the little girl resurfaced in his mind. The memory of his brother, frail yet unyielding as he shielded him, tightened Dyrtose’s chest. In an instant, old memories dragged him back to the war, to the darkest hours of his life.

He saw his own brother standing before him, body torn with wounds, fighting desperately to protect him. It was during the battle against the Mad Queen Iskandrite, years ago. His brother had died there, giving his life so that Dyrtose might live.

Dyrtose clenched his fists until his knuckles whitened. His jaw hardened, his eyes fixed on the endless dark road ahead. The footsteps of his men behind him seemed to fade, replaced by the thunder of his own enraged heartbeat.

“That witch…” he thought bitterly. “I will make her pay for every monstrous sin she has committed.”

The fire of hatred roared back to life, scorching away all lingering doubt. In silence, he swore to himself.

This mission was no mere task. It was destiny, one he would see fulfilled even at the cost of his life. He would not return empty-handed. He would not stop until the Mad Queen’s head was severed from her body.

Even if it meant trading his own life, he had accepted that fate long ago.

For Dyrtose, there was no road home.

Only one end awaited—the death of the Mad Queen Iskandrite.

—

Riven awoke with a pounding head, pain throbbing at his temples as though his skull had been struck with stone. His vision blurred before slowly sharpening on a sky smothered by clouds, not a single star in sight. The world felt suffocated in darkness.

A pale face hovered into view. Small, tear-streaked, with eyes raw from crying. Melly. His sister’s gaze trembled as more tears threatened to fall, and without warning, her small body threw itself against him. Her embrace was fierce, nearly choking the air from his lungs.

“Riven!” her voice broke, trembling with suppressed sobs.

He groaned softly, his hand lifting instinctively to his aching head. His fingers pressed against his temple as he tried to shake off the dizziness. A bitter thought seared through him.

“Damn it… do they want me brain-dead? Do they want me turned into an idiot so I can’t report them?”

From the start, he had never once considered reporting them. Opening his mouth would only bring trouble heavier than he could bear. He was nothing but a scavenger of weapons, a man who picked through the wreckage of war among corpses and dried blood. People like him knew too well that meddling in others’ affairs was nothing more than an invitation to death.

He exhaled heavily, lowering his gaze to Melly. She still trembled, her small shoulders shaking. For a fleeting moment, Riven wanted to reach out and ruffle her hair, the way he always did to comfort her. But he stopped himself when he noticed his hands, caked in blood and mud that reeked of corpses.

So instead, he spoke softly, his voice hoarse but trying to reassure her.

“I’m fine, Melly. Don’t worry. What matters now is getting out of here as fast as we can. We’re not safe yet.”

Melly lifted her tear-stained face to him, messy but resolute. She nodded quickly, then reluctantly loosened her hold.

Riven forced himself upright, his head still pounding. He turned toward the scavenged goods he had abandoned before the chaos began. Their night’s hard-earned haul still lay there.

He hefted the load carefully onto his back, steadying its weight. At once, Melly stepped forward.

“Let me help,” she insisted.

Riven hesitated, staring at her. But her stubborn eyes refused to be denied. At last, he handed her the massive axe he had carried. The weapon was nearly the size of her body, but she gripped it tightly, though her hands trembled.

She staggered under its weight, her small frame struggling. Yet she endured. After so many nights crossing from one battlefield to another with her brother, her body had grown used to bearing burdens heavier than a child ever should. Her cheeks flushed with strain, but she kept her eyes forward, voicing no complaint.

Riven let out a short, weary sigh. Each time he saw her forcing herself to be stronger than her years, something in his chest ached.

Without another word, the two began walking away from that place. Each step was heavy, not only from the weight of their haul but from the shadow of danger still looming behind them.

Riven fixed his eyes on the dark road ahead, mist curling like restless spirits among the ruins. He did not look back. To turn his head, he feared, would be to summon trouble once more.

In his heart, a bitter murmur echoed, cold as the night that smothered them.

‘This night… is the most dangerous night I’ve ever had as a scavenger.’

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep