Steel and Sorrow: Rise of the Mercenary king

Chapter 170: Rose's thorns

"Bloody hell," a man muttered under his breath as he trudged through the aftermath of the battle, his armor catching the dull light of the morning sun despite the grime and blood that caked every surface. He wiped a hand across his face, smearing a streak of dirt across his brow. Dead bodies lay scattered like discarded dolls, limbs twisted at grotesque angles, their lifeless faces staring blankly at the sky or at the dirt below.

"This is more tiring than the battle itself," grumbled another soldier, not far behind. He kicked a body lying in his path, watching closely for any signs of movement. The corpse remained still, eyes wide open in a final frozen scream. "These poor bastards really had the balls to attack us while we were sleeping."

With a sickening sound, the second soldier yanked his lance free from the chest of a wounded man who had been groaning softly until that moment. A brief gurgle escaped the man's lips, and then he was silent. The soldier spat on the ground. "You can say that again," he muttered, wiping the blood from his weapon onto the dead man's tunic.

As they moved forward, the first soldier's gaze fell on something struggling in the distance. A figure, barely alive, was crawling across the stony ground, desperate to escape the scene of carnage. "Hey!" the soldier called out, a twisted grin spreading across his face. "What do we have here?"

The second soldier turned his head, chuckling darkly as he saw the man, dirty and bleeding, trying to drag himself to safety. "Where do you think you're going, friend?" he taunted, striding over with slow, deliberate steps. He raised his boot and kicked the man in the ribs, flipping him onto his back with a sharp grunt of pain.@@novelbin@@

 His chest heaved weakly as he tried to push himself up, his hands trembling against the cold, hard earth. Blood trickled down the side of his face from a nasty gash, and he squinted up at his tormentors, lips trembling as if to speak.

"I... I'm a noble... I yield!" He tried to shout the words, tried to plead for his life, but his voice wouldn't come. His lips barely moved, his throat dry and constricted as terror took hold. His vision blurred, and the sound of his own ragged breathing filled his ears.