The sun had barely risen when the sound of heavy boots clanged outside the barracks. The overseers had come early, their rough voices cutting through the cold morning air. Vek was the first to be dragged out, his arms shackled, face expressionless. Leon watched from his corner, his eyes following Vek's tall figure as he disappeared into the haze of dawn, surrounded by guards.
It was time. The tournament had come.
For the rest of the slaves, the day carried on like any other. Same grueling labor, same cracked hands and broken backs. The whispers about Vek's chances didn't last long. Most of them already considered him dead.
But Leon couldn't shake the unease that settled in his gut. He had given Vek the only advice he could, brief words exchanged in the dark. How to read an opponent, how to strike fast, how to survive. Whether it would be enough, he didn't know.
By mid-morning, the other slaves were already dragging themselves through the familiar routine of forced labor. The overseers, as cruel as ever, cracked their whips and barked their orders, caring little for the lives they held in their hands.
But Leon had other plans. His eyes darted toward the familiar hovel on the edge of the camp where Grig lurked, always plotting, always scheming. This would be the last time. The last deal he'd ever have to make with that snake.
Leon moved with purpose, his body aching from the labor but his mind sharper than ever. He had taken stock of the guards, their routines, their blind spots. Every small detail had been etched into his mind, a soldier's discipline guiding his every thought. He knew what he needed, and this time, he wasn't leaving it to Grig's slimy fingers.
As he approached the hovel, Grig saw him coming and immediately stiffened. The look on his face was pure fear, and rightly so. The last time they'd spoken, Leon had nearly choked the life out of him. Grig hadn't forgotten that.
Leon stepped into the dim, cramped space, the smell of stale alcohol and rot filling his nostrils. Grig's hands trembled slightly as he reached for his flask, trying to appear casual but failing miserably.
"What do you want, Leon?" Grig's voice cracked, trying to mask the fear that gripped him. "I told you, I can't—"
"I'm not asking," Leon cut him off coldly. His voice was steady, but his eyes burned with the same fire that had terrified Grig before. "You're going to give me what I need, and you're not going to fuck this up. Not this time."
Grig swallowed hard, his eyes darting to the door as if looking for an escape. But there was none. Leon had him cornered, and he knew it. His cowardice reeked from him, his body language betraying the fear he tried to hide.
"I can't... I can't go back to the guards. They'll ask questions. You don't understand. If they find out I'm—"
Leon took a step forward, his broad frame casting a shadow over Grig. "I don't care what they ask. You're not going to them. I am."
Grig's eyes widened in panic. "No, no! They'll know something's wrong! You... you can't just—"
Leon's hand shot out, grabbing Grig by the collar, pulling him in close. The sound of fabric tearing filled the small room as Leon's grip tightened. Grig whimpered, his face draining of color.
"Listen carefully," Leon growled, his voice low and threatening. "You're going to get me the medicine, and I'll handle the rest. You don't speak. You don't ask questions. You don't do anything unless I tell you to. Or next time, I won't stop."
Grig's breath came in shallow gasps, his face a mixture of fear and desperation. He nodded quickly, too afraid to even speak. Leon let go of his collar, shoving him back against the rickety table. Grig slumped against it, his body shaking, sweat beading on his forehead.
Leon's eyes never left him, watching as Grig fumbled to grab the small pouch of medicine he had been hoarding. His hands shook so badly he nearly dropped it.
Leon snatched the pouch from Grig's trembling fingers. "Who's the guard this time?" he asked.
Grig's voice was barely above a whisper. "J-Jerik. He's the one on rounds near the southern watch."
Leon nodded. Jerik was one of the more corrupt guards—easy to bribe if the price was right. It was no wonder Grig had been able to work with him before. But now, it was Leon's turn.
"If you try to screw me over again, I'll make sure you never leave this camp alive," Leon said, his tone cold and devoid of emotion.
Grig nodded frantically, his eyes wide with fear. "I won't. I swear. I'll... I'll keep my mouth shut."
Leon didn't bother responding. He turned on his heel and left the hovel, the pouch of medicine tucked securely into his belt. The midday sun beat down on the camp, but Leon barely felt it. His mind was already racing ahead, calculating his next move.
He would meet with Jerik. He would make the exchange. And then, he would prepare. Because this camp was just a temporary cage. One way or another, Leon would break free. But first, he needed to survive. And for that, the medicine was crucial.
As he made his way through the camp, the other slaves paid him no mind, their heads bowed, their spirits broken. But Leon wasn't like them. He was already planning, already thinking five steps ahead.
The camp was a battlefield, and Leon had no intention of losing.
---
Back in the barracks, Leon sat in the corner, carefully dividing the medicine he had managed to acquire. It wasn't much—barely enough to treat a few wounds—but it would have to do. He applied some to the gash on his leg, wincing as the sting shot through him, but he didn't falter.
Some of the other slaves watched him from a distance, their eyes filled with a mix of curiosity and desperation. They had seen him share before, and they knew he wasn't like the others. He wasn't just looking out for himself.
Leon glanced up, meeting their gazes. Slowly, he began to hand out small portions of the medicine, enough to ease their pain, even if only for a short while.
"It's not much," Leon muttered, "but it'll help."
One of the slaves, an older man with hollow cheeks and sunken eyes, nodded gratefully as he took the small bundle. "You're a good man, Leon. Better than most."
Leon didn't respond. He wasn't doing this to be a hero. He was doing it to survive, to keep those around him strong enough so they could fight when the time came.
Because one thing was certain: this hellhole wouldn't last forever. Not if Leon had anything to say about it.