The night was thick with silence, broken only by the faint rustle of the wind and the distant creak of the labor camp's structures. Leon moved with purpose, slipping through the shadows like a ghost. His steps were quiet, calculated. This meeting needed to happen, and it needed to happen now.
He reached the hidden corner of the barracks, where Gorak was already waiting. The towering figure of the slave ex-soldier blended into the night, his eyes sharp as they met Leon's.
"I've got men," Gorak muttered, his voice low but steady. "Not soldiers, but they're loyal. They're strong enough. They've been waiting for something—someone—to give 'em a reason to fight back."
Leon nodded, glancing around cautiously to ensure no one else was within earshot. "We don't need them to fight. Not yet," Leon whispered, his voice calm but edged with tension. "We need chaos. Disruption. We need the guards and overseers afraid to even sleep."
Gorak crossed his arms, his muscles tense beneath his ragged shirt. "They're already scared. That boulder, the accidents... the whispers about Vek? It's getting to them."
"Not enough." Leon's gaze darkened, and he stepped closer, his eyes locking with Gorak's. "We need more. If they think the slaves are organizing, they'll crack down hard. We need them paranoid, desperate. Accidents during the day, fear during the night. Nothing too obvious. It needs to look like fate is against them, like the gods themselves are turning on them."
Gorak's brow furrowed. "And you think my men can do that? They ain't exactly subtle."
Leon smirked, a cold, calculating expression. "They don't need to be. They just need to follow my lead."
Gorak nodded, his respect for Leon growing with each calculated word. This wasn't some reckless rebellion. This was a war of nerves, a game of slow, creeping terror. "What's the plan?"
Leon crouched down, drawing a rough diagram in the dirt with his finger. "We start small, like we've been doing, but increase the frequency. Another 'accident' tomorrow—maybe a loose beam falls on a guard, or a stack of rocks collapses nearby. Nothing lethal, just enough to make them jump."
He glanced up at Gorak, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "At night, we focus on their nerves. You and your men will move through the camp, make noise, shift things around. Let them think they're hearing things. Make sure they feel like someone's always watching them."
Gorak listened intently, his jaw set. "We can do that. But you're playin' with fire. You push too hard, they'll start crackin' skulls to find out who's behind it."
Leon's lips curled into a grin. "That's exactly what I want. They'll lash out, but not at us. They'll turn on each other. The overseers already distrust the guards, and Jerik is playing both sides. If we create enough confusion, they'll start pointing fingers at each other."
Gorak raised an eyebrow. "And what about the slaves? They start hearin' about this, they might get ideas. Ideas that could get 'em killed."
Leon shook his head. "Not if they think it's all Vek's doing. The ghost of a warrior, haunting the ones who wronged him. Let the story spread. Fear is our greatest weapon."
Gorak let out a low chuckle, dark and humorless. "You're somethin' else, Leon. Cold as ice."
Leon's expression hardened. "I've been in worse places than this. I know how to break people without lifting a weapon. We'll turn their own fear against them."
Gorak leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, his mind working through the plan. "Alright. I'll get my men ready. We'll make our move tomorrow."
Leon nodded, standing up. "And don't let anyone outside the group know what's going on. The fewer people who know, the better. We can't afford a slip-up."
Gorak grunted in agreement, his voice gruff. "You can count on them. They might not be soldiers, but they've been broken down by this place. They've got nothin' left to lose."
Leon glanced at Gorak, studying the man for a moment. "And what about you? What are you willing to lose?"
Gorak's eyes narrowed, a flash of something dangerous in them. "I've already lost everything. What I'm doin' now? It's for Vek. And for every poor bastard they've ground into the dirt here."
Leon gave a brief nod, understanding the weight of Gorak's words. The man's loyalty wasn't to Leon. It was to a memory, to a man who had been stolen from them by this wretched place. And that was fine. Leon didn't need loyalty—just cooperation.
They parted ways under the cover of darkness, each retreating to their own corners of the camp. As Leon moved through the shadows, his mind was already calculating the next steps. The fear was spreading, slowly but surely. But it wasn't enough. Not yet.
He would keep pushing, keep tightening the noose around the guards and overseers. And when the time was right, when their fear turned into desperation, he would strike.
For now, though, he needed to be patient. Fear was like a disease, slow to take root but devastating once it spread. And Leon was an expert at making things spread.
As he slipped back into the barracks, unnoticed as always, he saw the looks on the faces of the other slaves. They were worn, broken, but there was something else now—a flicker of hope, a whisper of something more.
The healer ghost. That's what they were calling him.
It was almost laughable. They thought he was saving them, when in truth, he was just preparing them for war.
Tomorrow, the guards and overseers would face another "accident." Tomorrow, the fear would grow.
And soon, very soon, this whole place would be ready to burn.