The night air clung thick and stagnant around the camp, a humid suffocation that made every breath feel labored. The sky was a sheet of black, with no moon to illuminate the grim prison they called home. It was the perfect cover for what Leon had planned.
He moved with the quiet confidence of someone who knew how to slip unseen. His time in the military had taught him how to walk soundlessly, how to use the shadows to his advantage. He kept low, his eyes sharp, watching for any sign of movement from the guards. But it was Jerik's day off, and that meant the rest of the guards were more lax, confident without their usual watchman looming over them. It would be their downfall.
Leon approached the guards' quarters, a small stone building separate from the rest of the camp. Inside, laughter and the sounds of clinking metal echoed through the cracks in the walls—guards getting drunk, their senses dulled by cheap alcohol and the illusion of power. Perfect.
The slave barracks and ration shed weren't far from the guards' post, close enough for him to slip between the two unnoticed. He'd scouted the area before, memorizing the layout, the locations of supplies, and the rotation of guards. His mind was always calculating, always strategizing.
He slipped into the shadows beside the ration shed, his heart steady, his body moving with the precision of someone trained for this kind of work. With quick hands, he grabbed a sack of slave rations, the dry, nearly inedible gruel that barely kept them alive. The guards would never notice the switch—at least, not until it was too late.
Inside the guards' post, he could hear them talking, voices slurred with drink. He crouched low, waiting for the right moment. One of the guards stumbled outside, muttering curses under his breath as he fumbled with his pants, too drunk to notice the shadow that crept past him and into the storeroom.
The guard's equipment was laid out neatly—helmets, armor, weapons. It was a place of order, one small corner of this chaotic hellhole where the guards felt safe, secure in their superiority. But Leon was about to change that.
He moved quickly, silently. He switched the guard rations with the slave gruel, replacing the salted meats and bread with the tasteless sludge that was barely fit for animals. He knew they'd notice eventually, but by the time they did, the damage would already be done. There was a dark satisfaction in knowing they'd choke on the same filth the slaves were forced to eat every day.
Next, he turned his attention to their equipment. With a smirk, Leon carefully loosened straps, unbuckled belts, and tampered with the bindings on their armor. Not enough to be immediately obvious, but just enough to ensure that when they tried to put it on in a hurry, it would fail them.
The guards were careless, trusting in their routine, in the fact that no one would dare challenge them. Leon wasn't challenging them—he was undermining them, eroding their sense of security bit by bit.
As he worked, a wave of dark humor washed over him. It was almost too easy. These men thought themselves untouchable, gods among slaves, but in reality, they were just as vulnerable as the rest of them. They just hadn't realized it yet.
One of the guards stumbled back into the storeroom, still fumbling with his pants. Leon slipped behind a stack of crates, his body tense but controlled, ready to strike if necessary. But the guard was too drunk to notice anything out of place. He grabbed a flask from one of the shelves and staggered back out, leaving the door wide open behind him.
Leon waited a moment longer, then finished his work. He slipped back out the way he'd come, moving like a shadow through the darkness. The night was silent except for the occasional laughter and crude jokes from the guards inside. They had no idea how their night—and possibly their week—was about to go downhill fast.
As he made his way back to the barracks, Leon felt a cold satisfaction settle in his chest. It wasn't much, but it was a start. Every small act of sabotage, every little disruption to their routine, brought him one step closer to his goal.
He wasn't just here to survive anymore. He was here to dismantle the very foundation of this place, piece by piece. And if he had to break a few guards along the way? So be it.
Before slipping into the shadows near the barracks, Leon gave one last glance at the guards' post. The night was still, the air heavy with anticipation. It was only a matter of time before they realized what had happened, but by then, it would be too late.
Leon smiled to himself, his face cold and hard in the dim light. Let them choke on their own arrogance.
It was only the beginning.