Leon moved quietly through the barracks that night, his footsteps barely a whisper against the dirt floor. The other slaves lay on their thin mats, exhausted from the day's brutal labor. As always, Leon kept a sharp eye out, making sure no overseer or guard was lingering nearby before he began his work.
He crouched beside the first slave, a frail-looking man with cuts and bruises that had festered from weeks of neglect. Leon unwrapped a small cloth bundle, revealing the herbs he'd collected earlier. They weren't much, not even the best medicinal plants he knew from his past life, but they were all he had for now.
Gently, he rubbed the crushed herbs into the wounds, the slave wincing but offering no complaint. The man's eyes fluttered open, glazed with pain, but there was a faint look of gratitude.
"Thanks... Leon," the man whispered hoarsely.
Leon nodded, not saying a word. His mind was elsewhere, already thinking several steps ahead. He moved on to the next slave, repeating the process. Each time, he gave them a few words of reassurance, a small morsel of hope, even though he knew the herbs wouldn't do much more than dull the pain temporarily.
The other slaves had started calling him the "Healer Ghost." Word had spread quickly, and now they sought him out in the dead of night, desperate for any kind of relief. It wasn't much—just small gestures of kindness in a world that had long forgotten what kindness looked like. But it was enough to start planting seeds. Seeds of trust, seeds of loyalty.
As he finished up with the last slave, Leon wiped his hands clean on his trousers, mentally noting how little of the herbs he had left. He needed more supplies. And to get them, he had to keep playing his cards right.
Without wasting any more time, Leon slipped out of the barracks and made his way toward Grig's usual spot by the edge of the camp. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the worn-down buildings and dusty ground. As he approached, he spotted Grig pacing nervously, muttering to himself.
"Grig," Leon called out in a low voice.
Grig jumped at the sound, spinning around with wide eyes. When he saw it was Leon, his shoulders sagged in relief. "Damn it, Leon, don't sneak up on me like that."
Leon didn't smile. He stepped closer, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Business will be good soon, Grig," he said softly, the words slipping out like a promise. "You just have to hold on a little longer."
Grig blinked, clearly confused. "What the hell are you talking about? Things are getting worse! Jerik's still breathing down my neck, and the guards... they're starting to talk. If they figure out what's been going on..."
Leon raised a hand, cutting him off. "Let me worry about Jerik. As for the guards, they'll soon be too busy with other things to care about you."
Grig stared at Leon, his face pale in the dim light. "Other things? What are you planning?"
Leon's eyes glinted, but he didn't answer directly. Instead, he leaned in closer, his voice barely above a whisper. "Just be ready. When it happens, you'll see. You want to keep making deals, don't you?"
Grig swallowed hard, the fear obvious in his face. "Yeah... yeah, I do. But I don't like this, Leon. I don't like not knowing what's coming."
"You don't have to like it," Leon said bluntly. "You just have to stay useful. Do that, and you'll be fine."
Grig hesitated, then nodded, still looking like a man on the verge of panic. "Okay... fine. Just... don't get me killed, Leon."
Without another word, Leon turned and disappeared into the shadows, leaving Grig muttering to himself once more. Leon's mind was already on the next step—Jerik.
He made his way through the camp, moving silently as always, avoiding the watchful eyes of the guards. It didn't take long before he reached Jerik's post. The area was quiet tonight, as it often was when Jerik had his night off. But Leon knew where to find him.
Slipping around the corner, Leon spotted Jerik lounging in a corner of the camp, drinking from a flask. Jerik didn't notice him at first, but when Leon approached, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.
"What are you doing here?" Jerik growled, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "You're supposed to be working, not creeping around at night."
Leon didn't flinch. "We need to talk."
Jerik scowled, but something in Leon's tone made him pause. "Talk about what?"
"Your position," Leon said, stepping closer. "And how you're going to rise in it."
Jerik raised an eyebrow. "You think I care what a slave like you has to say about my position?"
Leon's lips curled into a faint smirk. "I think you care about power. And I think you know that if you make the right moves, you could have more of it."
Jerik didn't respond right away, but Leon could see the wheels turning in his mind.
"You want to rise, Jerik? You want to be more than a guard? I can help you get there. But I need something from you first."
Jerik crossed his arms, still skeptical. "And what's that?"
"Medicine. And one extra ration for me. Just for me."
Jerik snorted. "You think you can bribe me with scraps and herbs?"
Leon's eyes darkened. "No. I think you're smart enough to realize that I'm not just another slave. I've already started something here, and soon enough, you're going to see the results. When that happens, you're either with me... or against me."
For a long moment, they stared at each other in silence. Finally, Jerik let out a low chuckle, though there was no warmth in it. "You've got some nerve, Leon. I'll give you that."
Leon didn't blink. "What's your answer?"
Jerik took a swig from his flask, his eyes never leaving Leon's. "I'll think about it. But you'd better pray I like what I see, or your little rebellion ends in a shallow grave."
Leon turned and walked away, disappearing into the night once again. He didn't need Jerik's answer right now. He knew it would come soon enough.
And when it did, the pieces would finally start falling into place.