The two men moved quickly, their steps light yet cautious. They headed behind the shattered war chariot, the last place they had seen the young man. As soon as they arrived, their eyes swept across the area, searching for any trace of him. But they found nothing.

One of them frowned, his eyes narrowing sharply as if trying to pierce through the shadows of the night. “Where did he go?” His voice was low but laced with unease.

His companion did not answer immediately. Instead, he approached a large bundle of cloth lying not far away. He crouched down swiftly, loosened the crude knot, and froze for a moment. The faint moonlight reflected off cold steel within the bundle. Swords, spears, throwing knives, and other weapons—all still in good condition.

“Look at this,” he finally said, turning to his companion and pointing at the loot. “He must have realized he was being followed. He dropped everything and ran.”

The first man stepped closer, staring at the treasure for a while before sweeping his gaze across the surroundings again. His jaw tightened. In his mind, he weighed the situation.

This battlefield was already under their group’s full control. It was impossible for another band to be moving nearby. Which meant that young man must have been alone. Even if he did have companions, their numbers would not exceed two or three. Hardly enough to challenge their group of over a dozen.

But there was something far more dangerous. If the boy really was working alone, and if he slipped away to report their presence to the city guards, everything could turn into disaster. The city would send patrols, maybe even the regular army. They would be surrounded, and all their loot would be lost.

The man exhaled heavily, then turned to his companion. “I’ll go after him,” he said firmly.

His partner lifted his head, his gaze reluctant. But after a long breath, he nodded. “Then I’ll keep watch over the loot. Be careful! Don’t underestimate him!”

The man only snorted in response, not bothering to look back. He turned immediately, his steps swift and light. His shoulders hunched slightly, his body leaning forward, carrying the tension of a hunter who had locked onto his prey. Cold vapor drifted from his breath as he moved farther away.

His companion watched his back until it vanished into the mist and wreckage, then shifted his full attention to the scattered plunder.

The man marched quickly, forcing his way through piles of rotting corpses. The stench of blood and decayed flesh stabbed at his nostrils, churning his stomach, but he pushed it down. Each step weighed heavily, his ears sharp for every whisper of wind scraping against broken ruins. He gripped his sword tightly, eyes darting restlessly, searching for the boy and for danger alike.

But he did not sense the shadow creeping up behind him.

Riven suddenly emerged from behind a mound of corpses. His breath held, his body crouched low, his eyes sharp and cold without the slightest hesitation. He moved like a serpent, silent, swallowed by the night itself.

In a fraction of a second, he drew his sword with a flash of steel. Muscles in his arm tightened, his strike fast and absolute. The blade gleamed faintly under the moonlight as it drove into the man’s back with full force.

Slash!

The sound of metal tearing flesh, mixed with a muffled slice. The man staggered forward, his face twisted into a mask of shock and pain. His hand clawed at his back, his mouth gaped open, but only a hoarse, blood-choked groan escaped.

Riven inhaled sharply. He had wanted to kill in a single strike, just like he had imagined during training, but reality was not so simple.

He stared at the man now collapsing to his knees, blood pouring freely, soaking the ground beneath him. Riven knew he could not allow him another chance.

Immediately, he swung again, this time downward. The blade sank into the man’s shoulder, crunching against bone. A final groan escaped before the body toppled completely, crumpling into the bloody dirt.

Riven stood still for several seconds, his hand gripping the blood-drenched sword. His breath came in gasps, his eyes quivering slightly, his face pale. Yet beneath it all flickered a strange satisfaction, mixed with horror at himself.

He glanced left and right quickly, ensuring no one had seen. Slowly, he wrenched the blade free, droplets of blood dripping dark onto the earth. Then he turned, his steps swift yet silent, vanishing back into the shadows, leaving the corpse cold and helpless, unable to call for help.

Riven moved quickly, keeping low. His feet barely made a sound as he advanced. The broken posts and burned wagons cast long shadows that shielded his movements.

Inside his chest, a single phrase echoed, cold and steady.

Don’t think too much.

He repeated it again and again, as if the mantra itself could freeze the doubts trying to rise. The weight of the life he had just taken tried to surface, but he forced it deep down. Useless feelings would only slow him.

He paused behind the wreck of a shattered wheel. His shoulders rose and fell rapidly, his eyes sweeping the darkness. How many are following me? he wondered. He did not know. But one thing was certain, he could not afford recklessness. Perhaps the looter he had just killed was only one of several.

Riven clenched his teeth, gripping his short sword tighter. The blade was still wet, cold against his palm. The plunder on his back… was gone. He could never return for it. The risk was too great.

“I guess I’ll have to settle for this,” he muttered softly, touching the rough cloth tied around his waist. That, the short sword in his hand, and the two daggers hidden beneath his cloak—those were all that remained of tonight’s spoils. He knew he could not afford greed.

He drew a long breath, then ran again. His body darted swiftly, slipping from shadow to shadow, his eyes searching desperately for a way out of the silent battlefield.

But then he froze.

Before him stood a man, his figure rising from the mist. Broad shoulders, a towering frame, eyes gleaming like a beast that had caught the scent of prey. In his hand was a short axe, its blade catching the pale moonlight. Beside him lay a coarse sack filled with dirty, broken weapons. It was clear, he too was a scavenger.

“Well, boy… what are you doing in a place like this?”

Riven cursed under his breath.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep