The morning sun bore down on the camp, baking the ground beneath Leon's feet as he hefted another sack of scrap onto the cart. The overseers were making their usual rounds, shouting orders, cracking whips at anyone who dared slow down. But there was something different in the air today—an underlying tension that Leon couldn't ignore.
Vek was missing.
Leon's eyes scanned the worksite, searching for any sign of the man, but it was no use. The other slaves had noticed too, their whispered conversations mixing with the sound of labor, everyone wondering the same thing.
"He's been chosen," a voice muttered from behind Leon.
Leon turned to see a thin man with sunken cheeks and hollow eyes working beside him. "Vek," the man continued, his voice low. "Word is, he's been selected for the tournament. That's why he's not here."
Leon clenched his jaw, the weight of the words sinking in. He had hoped to have more time, to prepare for the inevitable. But it seemed the tournament was moving faster than he had anticipated.
"Where is he?" Leon asked, keeping his voice even, though his mind was racing.
"Back at the barracks," the man replied. "They told him to stay there until the overseers come for him."
Leon gave a curt nod and returned to his work, though his thoughts were far from the task at hand. Vek had been chosen, which meant he didn't have long. If Leon was going to help him—even in the smallest way—he needed to act fast.
The rest of the day passed in a blur, the hours dragging on as Leon planned his next move. By the time the overseers finally called an end to the workday, his muscles ached, his body protesting every step as he made his way back to the barracks.
The camp was quieter than usual, the usual grumbling and chatter replaced by a heavy silence. Everyone knew what was coming, and no one wanted to be the next name on the list.
When Leon entered the barracks, he found Vek sitting on the edge of his bunk, his head in his hands. The man looked up as Leon approached, his eyes bloodshot and his face drawn tight with fear.
"They picked me," Vek said, his voice hoarse, as if he had been yelling or crying. "They fucking picked me."
Leon sat down across from him, his eyes scanning Vek's face. The man looked exhausted, but there was still some fight left in him. Good. He'd need every ounce of it if he was going to survive what was coming.
"I heard," Leon said quietly. "You're a soldier, right? You've been through worse."
Vek let out a bitter laugh. "I was a soldier, yeah. But this... this is different. I fought men on the battlefield, not... whatever the hell they're going to throw at me in that arena."
Leon nodded. He understood the fear, the uncertainty. This wasn't war—this was entertainment for the rich and powerful. The rules were different here, but if Vek still had some of that soldier in him, there was a chance. A small one, but a chance nonetheless.
"You need to focus," Leon said, his voice firm but calm. "Whatever they throw at you, you need to treat it like a battlefield. Assess your opponent. Find their weaknesses. If it's an animal, go for the legs, the eyes. Keep moving, don't let it pin you down."
Vek stared at him, his expression a mix of disbelief and desperation. "You really think I have a chance?"
Leon's eyes hardened. "Everyone else will panic. They'll run, they'll scream, and that's when they'll die. You're a soldier. You've been trained. Use that. Stay calm. Think."
Vek nodded slowly, though his hands still trembled. "What if it's not an animal? What if it's... another man?"
Leon's lips pressed into a thin line. "If it's another man, you need to fight like it's your last day on earth. Don't hesitate. The moment you hesitate is the moment you die."
Vek swallowed hard, his face pale, but there was a flicker of determination in his eyes. "I won't hesitate," he whispered.
Leon stood, placing a hand on Vek's shoulder. "Good. Now get some rest. You'll need your strength."
As Leon turned to leave, Vek spoke again, his voice trembling. "Why are you helping me? You don't know me."
Leon paused, his back to Vek. "Because I've been where you are. And because you're not dead yet."
With that, Leon left the barracks, the weight of the conversation still heavy on his mind. Vek was strong, but strength alone wouldn't be enough. The arena was designed to break men, to strip them of their humanity before finally ending them. Leon had seen it before, in different forms, in different wars. This was no different.
But Vek wasn't the only concern on Leon's mind.
He made his way toward Grig's usual spot, the corner of the camp where the shadows were deepest, and the guards rarely ventured. When he found the man, Grig was hunched over, counting coins he had likely extorted from other desperate slaves.
Leon approached, his voice low but firm. "I need a favor."
Grig glanced up, his eyes narrowing. "I don't do favors, Leon. You know that."
Leon stepped closer, his gaze hard. "Can you rig the name picking? Get someone else chosen instead of Vek?"
Grig's sneer faltered for a moment before he shook his head. "That's out of my hands. The overseers make the selections, and they don't tell anyone how it works. Even if I wanted to, I couldn't change it."
Leon cursed under his breath. He had expected as much, but it still left a sour taste in his mouth. He didn't like leaving things to chance.
"There is one thing I can do, though," Grig said, his voice taking on a sly edge. "Betting. They don't talk about it much, but the guards, the overseers... they love to bet on the tournament. You win, you make a lot of coin. You lose, well... you don't lose much, considering you're already a slave."
Leon's eyes narrowed. Betting? He had never considered it, but it made sense. In a place like this, everything was a game to the people in power. Even the lives of the slaves were just pieces to be wagered on.
"You're saying I could bet on Vek?" Leon asked.
Grig nodded, his grin widening. "If you've got the stomach for it. But it's risky. If he loses, you're out whatever you wagered. But if he wins..."
Leon's mind raced. It was a long shot, but it could be useful. If he could find a way to manipulate the bets, to gather enough leverage, it might give him an edge in the future.
"How do I place a bet?" Leon asked, his voice steady.
Grig shrugged. "Talk to the guards. They'll handle the rest. But be careful—bet too much, and they'll start asking questions."
Leon nodded, turning to leave. He didn't like relying on Grig, but the rat had his uses. For now, it was enough to know that there were options—however slim they might be.
As he made his way back to the barracks, Leon's thoughts churned. Vek was about to walk into a death trap, and there was nothing Leon could do to stop it. But maybe, just maybe, there was a way to turn this to his advantage.
In this game, every move mattered. And Leon was just getting started.