Chereads / Rise Of The Chained King / Chapter 14 - 14- Whispers In The Dark

Chapter 14 - 14- Whispers In The Dark

Leon sat on the edge of his bunk, a thin strip of cloth wrapped tightly around his arm as he examined the half-healed wound beneath it. His fingers were slow, deliberate, as he cleaned the gash with the last of the antiseptic from the pouch he'd bargained for. The sharp sting of the alcohol biting into his flesh was a reminder that even in a place like this, pain was a constant companion—one that he couldn't afford to ignore.

The dim light of the barracks flickered, casting long shadows on the walls, making the space feel more like a tomb than a resting place. Around him, the other slaves murmured in low, fearful voices. The air was thick with a sense of dread, as if the very walls themselves were listening, waiting for something terrible to happen.

Leon's body ached from the endless hours of labor, his muscles sore, his bones heavy. But beneath the pain, he could feel something else—something that kept him moving, even when everything around him seemed determined to break him.

His injuries were healing, slowly but surely. The medicine he had stolen—no, earned—wasn't much, but it was enough to keep him going. Enough to make a difference. As he rubbed the salve over his wounds, he could feel the slight relief, the dull throb of pain lessening, if only for a moment.

It wasn't enough for one man, let alone for the others. But it was something. And in this place, something was better than nothing.

As he adjusted the bandage on his arm, Leon listened to the quiet conversations around him. The men huddled together, their voices hushed, their faces drawn tight with fear. They weren't talking about the usual things—the endless work, the overseers, the ever-present threat of starvation.

No, tonight was different. Tonight, the talk was about something far worse.

"The tournament's coming," one of the men whispered, his voice barely audible over the creaking of the barracks. "I heard the overseers talking about it earlier."

Leon's ears pricked at the words, his eyes narrowing as he continued to work on his wound. He didn't know much about the so-called "tournament," but he had heard the word before, in passing. It was always spoken with a mix of terror and resignation, as if it were a death sentence waiting to be carried out.

"They say they'll start picking us soon," another slave muttered, his voice shaking. "It's a slaughterhouse. No one ever comes back."

"They'll throw us to the dogs," a third man said, his voice filled with a dark humor that barely masked the fear beneath it. "Literally. Last year, they made men fight wild beasts. Torn apart, right in front of the king's men. They don't care. It's entertainment to them."

Leon kept his eyes on his arm, his mind racing as the conversation continued. He had seen enough in his previous life to know what kind of "games" these men were talking about. They weren't competitions—they were executions. And the worst part? There was no escape. No running, no hiding. Once you were chosen, you were dead.

"They don't care if we die," one of the older slaves grumbled. "In fact, they want us to. Makes the spectacle more exciting. The bloodier, the better."

Leon clenched his jaw, the anger rising in his chest. This wasn't survival—this was a game for the twisted amusement of the powerful. The thought of being thrown into an arena like some kind of disposable pawn made his stomach churn.

"They pick the strongest first," another voice chimed in. "But sometimes... they pick at random. For fun."

The barracks grew quieter at that, the weight of the words settling like a shroud over the room. The men were terrified, and rightly so. No one wanted to be chosen for the tournament. It was a death sentence—an execution disguised as sport.

Leon finished wrapping his arm, his mind turning over the information. If what they were saying was true, it was only a matter of time before the overseers started selecting men from the camp. Strong or weak, it didn't matter. Once your name was called, you were dead.

He needed to find a way out. Or, at the very least, a way to survive whatever was coming. His mind raced, military tactics and strategies flickering through his thoughts. He needed allies—real ones. He needed more than just the medicine he had been rationing.

He needed to plan.

But for now, all he could do was listen and wait.

As he shifted in his bunk, he glanced at the men around him. Their faces were pale, eyes hollowed by exhaustion and fear. They didn't stand a chance. Not in the arena, not against the creatures they would be forced to face.

Leon's gaze settled on a man sitting a few bunks away, his body trembling as he stared at the floor. His name was Vek, one of the newer slaves. He had been strong when he arrived, a fighter, but the weeks of back-breaking labor had worn him down to nothing.

"They say if you win, you're freed," Vek whispered, his voice barely more than a rasp. "But no one's ever won. No one's ever... made it."

Leon's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "That's because the game isn't designed for us to win," he said quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

Vek's eyes flicked toward Leon, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What?"

Leon shook his head, his mind already moving past the conversation. He didn't need to explain. There was no winning here, not in the way they thought. The only victory was survival, and even that was a slim possibility.

"Whoever they pick," one of the men muttered, his voice low and defeated, "we're all dead anyway."

Leon stood, the ache in his muscles forgotten for the moment as his mind began to piece together a plan. He couldn't rely on luck. He couldn't sit back and wait for his name to be called. If he was going to survive this place, if he was going to see his plan through, he needed to stay ahead of the game.

And that meant figuring out how to manipulate the system before it manipulated him.

For now, though, all he had was medicine and time. And both were running out.

As he lay back on his bunk, the dull ache of his wounds throbbing in the background, Leon's mind raced. The tournament was coming, and when it did, chaos would follow.

And chaos, Leon knew, could be useful.

But only if he played his cards right.