Chapter 11 - 10 - A Fool’s Resolve
The man was the same one he had seen earlier that afternoon.
His blond hair was a tangled mess, dulled by blood and ash, but his face—though now covered in wounds and dust—was unmistakable. Riven would never forget it. This was the man who had found him spying on the battlefield from the tall grass, who had gripped his neck without hesitation and threatened to slit his throat if he dared speak a word about their infiltration.
An infiltrator from the Kingdom of Arkham.
Riven quickly ducked and slipped behind a thick tree trunk, dropping his sack of weapons without a sound. His chest pounded, but his gaze remained sharp. He peeked through the branches, eyes fixed on the blonde man’s movements.
His condition was horrendous.
His right arm was gone—severed either at the shoulder or elbow, Riven couldn’t tell. His left hand still gripped a sword, though barely. His fingers trembled under its weight. His steps faltered, his body a wreck of burn wounds, the flesh blistered and blackened like charred wood. His every movement looked brittle, as if his frame could collapse at any second.
And yet... his eyes burned with fire.
With hatred. With resolve.
And his path was clear.
He was following the trail of blood.
The same blood left behind by the mysterious woman now sleeping inside Riven’s house.