Chapter 6 - 5 - A Mercy in Blood
Riven carefully placed all the items he had brought onto the ground, arranging them into a small pile behind the ruins of a burned war chariot. The battlefield was cloaked in a heavy silence, broken only by the whisper of the night wind weaving through corpses and bloodstained steel. Holding his breath, he crouched low and crept behind the large body of a man clad in black armor who lay motionless on the ground.
That corpse—or what he thought was a corpse—had just moved.
With sharp eyes, Riven watched.
The crest of the Arkham Kingdom was still etched clearly on the charred breastplate of the man. His body was scorched in many places, blackened wounds marring skin and flesh, making him look like living charcoal. And yet, despite it all, he moved. Just a little. His breathing was shallow, barely audible. His eyes were half-open, blinking slowly as if waking from a nightmare.
Riven didn’t react immediately. He simply observed.
It took a few minutes for him to be certain the man posed no threat. He crept closer, brushing the ground as he moved to avoid making noise. Their eyes finally met.
The soldier’s gaze was clouded, but a trace of awareness lingered. His eyes bore into Riven’s, as if to say, "Do it."
His mouth parted slightly, but no sound came. His throat was too dry, as if exhaling would be enough to end his life.
Riven exhaled. Cold air filled his lungs. He edged closer until he was just an arm’s length from the man’s broken body.
"All right," he whispered, voice soft as a prayer. "I’ll kill you. Now, pray to whatever god you believe in."
The man closed his eyes. Not out of fear, but acceptance. As if this end was the last mercy he could hope for in a world far too cruel.