Riven descended the cliff slowly, every movement careful to avoid making a sound.

He knew that the remaining city soldiers were few, and many of them were injured. They certainly wouldn’t be able to guard this battlefield tonight. The scattered corpses would remain as they were until the next day, when they might finally start clearing or burying the dead.

Even though the Iskandrian forces had left, Riven knew danger still lurked in the darkness. The scent of blood and fresh flesh could attract wild animals from the forest. Other scavengers like himself might be hiding nearby, searching for leftover weapons. And there was always the chance that surviving Mordune soldiers could return to search for the bodies of their comrades. All of this demanded extreme caution and silent movement.

Riven glanced briefly behind him. Behind the tall grass, where Melly hid, he could see nothing. The night was pitch black, clouds covering the moon and blanketing the battlefield in darkness. Only the wind whispered through the air, as if erasing his sister from sight.

He knew Melly was safe, yet his chest tightened with anxiety. In that moment, he regretted letting her follow him up to the cliff.

Still, his feet pressed forward. The closer he got to the flatlands, the stronger the stench of blood and rotting flesh became, making his stomach turn. Riven reached into his worn satchel and pulled out a cloth, tying it tightly over his nose and mouth. At least it would help dull the worst of the smell.

The moment he stepped onto the flat ground, the scene made his throat dry. Bodies were scattered in disarray, some piled atop each other, some torn so badly they were unrecognizable. Arms and legs were severed, stomachs ripped open, organs spilling onto the soil.

Riven swallowed hard, forcing himself not to gag. He had spent years scavenging battlefields, yet he had never seen anything like this. He imagined the terrifying figure of Queen Iskandrite, as rumors described her.

Moments ago, he had seen with his own eyes that she could slaughter thousands of soldiers single-handedly. The thought made him feel small and insignificant.

He shook his head, trying to push the image away. His focus had to remain on the task. He pulled a large cloth from his bag, laid it on the ground, and began moving carefully among the corpses. His hands were practiced and deliberate as he examined each body.

First, he found a dagger still strapped to a soldier’s waist. The man’s upper body was gone, leaving only the torso to the legs. Riven bent down, forcing back his revulsion, and drew the dagger from its sheath. The blade was intact, and the hilt was only stained with dried blood. He wiped it briefly on the corpse’s clothes and placed it on the large cloth.

Next, he retrieved a gold ring clinging to the finger of a severed hand. Carefully, he removed it and tucked it into a small pouch at his waist. Its golden shine glimmered faintly in the dim light of the night.

From another corpse, he found a short sword with a cracked blade, a bow with a broken string, and a few arrows still repairable. He checked each item one by one, placing the usable gear on the cloth and arranging it neatly so nothing would scatter.

Riven’s hands were dirty and smelled of blood. The metallic stench lingered on his skin. Yet his eyes shone with excitement as he imagined how many silver coins these items could fetch.

One by one, he gathered the loot, feeling a small sense of relief. The dark night, the pungent stench of death, and the horrors of the battlefield seemed to form a grim backdrop to his small hope.

Once he had sifted through the corpses in that area, Riven lifted the large cloth, now half-full. His muscles tensed under the weight, but years of hard work kept him steady. Every step was careful to avoid any sound.

He descended a small hill along the battlefield, navigating the soft, blood-soaked ground, making sure nothing fell from the bundle of weapons and equipment.

At a safe spot, he set the rolled-up cloth on the ground, careful not to tip it over, leaving enough space to move again.

His breathing remained steady, though his heart raced with a mixture of adrenaline and tension. His eyes scanned the surrounding flatlands, constantly searching for missed items of value.

Each exhale formed a thin mist in the night air, mixing with the pungent scent of blood and flesh that clung to his pores.

Riven crouched, feeling the ground with his now filthy hands. He sensed fragments of wood, metal, and bone protruding from the earth. Carefully, he picked up an iron spear that was still intact. The grip felt balanced in his hands, and the tip was still sharp enough to pierce.

He admired his haul for a moment, imagining the market merchants offering high prices. He rotated the spear slowly, watching the faint gleam of metal in the dim moonlight.

A faint sound suddenly reached his ears, like a small footstep or a twig snapping. Riven froze, eyes darting toward the source. He moved even more cautiously, pressing his body low against the ground, stepping gently on dry leaves and mossy soil. The sound repeated, growing clearer, and Riven lifted his head slightly to get a better view.

Through the pile of corpses, he saw quick, graceful movement. The dim light revealed a large, furred silhouette. Muscles flexed as the creature leaned down, tearing flesh from the body of a plump Mordune soldier.

It was a tiger, its thick body swollen from the meat it had consumed, occasionally lifting its head to scan the surroundings, eyes glinting softly in the darkness.

Riven forced himself to remain still. He knew a single careless move could draw its attention.

He had no intention of confronting a predator that size. Slowly, he stepped back, inch by inch, holding his breath and avoiding bones or dry twigs that might snap underfoot. His eyes tracked every movement of the tiger, every breath, every jawful of flesh it tore from the corpse.

Once he felt safe enough, Riven decided to retreat further, putting distance between himself and the tiger until it remained absorbed in its meal, unaware of his presence.

He descended a small hill along the battlefield, eyes scanning the dark shadows of trees and scattered corpses. The night was quiet, save for the wind and the low sighs of a hungry creature. He checked his cloth, making sure his loot remained secure before continuing his search elsewhere.

Among the scattered bodies, Riven found one that was still intact. The corpse lay on its side, head bowed. He crouched and examined it slowly, reaching for the sword still sheathed at its waist. He drew the weapon and placed it carefully on the large cloth.

Time passed.

He continued searching amid death. For someone like him, a single weapon could mean food for a week. One coin could mean hope for one more day of survival.

And hope, no matter how small, was the only thing worth risking for someone who had nothing.

As Riven focused on his search, his hand brushed against the hilt of another dagger half-buried in the wet earth. But something made him stop.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw it.

Only a few meters away.

The body of a man stirred.

Riven frowned, heart pounding. He leaned closer, watching subtle movements in the man’s shoulders and waist. His breath caught. The movement was small, nearly invisible, yet unmistakably there.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep