Grig sat at the edge of the training grounds, perched on an old stone wall, watching the mercenaries go through their grueling drills. Sweat dripped from their faces as they moved in perfect formation, responding to the sharp commands of Rourke and Gorak. Grig's eyes followed their movements, but his mind was elsewhere. It always was these days.
The steady thud of boots and the clanging of steel barely registered in his mind as he chewed his lip, deep in thought. From his vantage point, Grig could see beyond the training grounds to where the villagers were busy rebuilding the homes and structures of Vekara. It was a slow process, but progress was being made. He saw men hammering wooden beams into place, their faces set in concentration. Nearby, a group of women worked in the gardens, pulling weeds and planting crops in the fresh soil. The sight of their hands working the earth brought a bitter smile to Grig's face.
Everyone here had found a place. Everyone had a role to play in the new village. But him? He was just a rat in a cage, waiting for the inevitable.
His eyes flickered back to the mercenaries. Even they had been given a purpose—an army in the making, under Leon's careful instruction. The former slaves and villagers had thrown themselves into their new roles, whether rebuilding homes, growing food, or preparing for the future. Grig, on the other hand, felt like he was simply existing on borrowed time.
Leon's words haunted him. "You're a ticking time bomb."
Grig knew it was true. He had no illusions about his position here. Leon was watching him, waiting for the moment when he slipped up—when he became a liability. And that moment felt like it was closing in on him with every passing day.
His mind raced, trying to come up with a way to secure his place in the village, to get on Leon's good side. Grig had survived all his life by playing the game, by knowing who to side with and when to betray. But here, in Vekara, there was no room for double-dealing or scheming. Leon had made that abundantly clear.
Still, Grig knew one thing: he needed leverage. He needed something that would make him indispensable, something that would ensure his survival. And that something, he realized, was money.
Vekara was growing, yes, but the village was still fragile, still rebuilding from the ground up. It didn't have the wealth or resources to sustain itself for long, not with the threat of the king looming on the horizon. They would need money, and a lot of it, if they were going to fortify the village, build an army, and eventually stand against the king.
Grig watched the mercenaries spar, their swords ringing out as they clashed against one another. They were strong, but strength alone wouldn't save Vekara. Money bought weapons, food, and loyalty. And if there was one thing Grig knew how to get, it was money.
His eyes narrowed as he considered his options. The nearby villages and towns were still under the control of the lords, who answered to the king. But there were other ways to get what he needed—trade routes, smugglers, and, of course, those who operated in the shadows. Grig knew that if he played his cards right, he could tap into those resources, bring wealth into Vekara, and—most importantly—secure his place in the village.
But how could he convince Leon? How could he prove that he wasn't just a liability, that he could be valuable?
Grig's mind raced, thinking through the angles. He needed to approach this carefully. Leon wouldn't respond to greed or ambition. No, he'd see right through that. But if Grig could present his plan as something for the good of the village, as a way to ensure its survival, maybe—just maybe—he could get Leon on board.
He glanced over at the women working in the garden. Their hands were covered in dirt, their faces lined with the strain of hard labor. The village needed more than what they could grow here. It needed trade. It needed wealth to survive the coming storm.
Grig stood up, wiping his sweaty palms on his trousers. He knew what he had to do, but it was risky. If Leon saw through his plan, if he suspected that Grig was doing this for his own gain, it would be the end of him. But if he succeeded… if he could pull this off, he might just have a chance to survive.
He made his way toward the training grounds, his heart pounding in his chest. He needed to speak with Leon. He needed to present his plan, carefully, subtly. Grig knew how to play this game—he'd been doing it all his life. Now, it was just a matter of making sure he played it better than anyone else.
As he approached the group, he caught sight of Leon standing with Rourke and Gorak, watching the mercenaries with a sharp eye. The three men were deep in conversation, but Grig swallowed his nerves and stepped forward.
"Leon," he called, his voice carefully measured. "Can I have a word?"
Leon turned, his gaze landing on Grig with an unreadable expression. He said nothing, but his eyes alone were enough to make Grig's heart race.
Rourke raised an eyebrow, glancing between Grig and Leon with mild interest, but he didn't interrupt. Gorak remained silent, his arms crossed as he watched the interaction unfold.
Leon gestured for Grig to speak, his face still impassive. "What is it?"
Grig cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet Leon's gaze. "I've been thinking about the village. Vekara's growing, but we need more than just food and soldiers. We need money, supplies… resources."
Leon's expression didn't change, but Grig could feel the weight of his scrutiny. "Go on."
Grig took a breath, steadying himself. "I know how to get that money. I can set up trade routes, bring in goods from the neighboring regions. I know people—people who operate outside the king's control. Smugglers, traders, even black-market contacts. If we tap into those resources, we can bring wealth into Vekara, build it up faster. We'll have the supplies we need to defend ourselves when the time comes."
Leon's gaze didn't waver, but Grig could feel the tension in the air. He had to play this carefully.
"I'm not doing this for myself," Grig added quickly, his voice earnest. "I know I've made mistakes, and I'm not asking for forgiveness. But I can help. I can make myself useful to you, to the village. I want to prove that I'm not a liability."
Leon was silent for a long moment, his eyes searching Grig's face as if trying to see through him. Grig felt his palms grow sweaty again, his nerves fraying under the weight of the silence.
Finally, Leon spoke, his voice calm but cold. "And why should I trust you, Grig? You've proven yourself willing to betray anyone if it means saving your own skin. What's to stop you from using these contacts to betray us when it benefits you?"
Grig swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly dry. He knew this question was coming, but it didn't make it any easier to answer. "Because if I betray you, I'm dead," he said bluntly. "And I don't want to die. I know my place here, Leon. I know I'm walking a thin line, and I don't want to step over it. Let me help you—let me prove myself useful, and I won't give you a reason to regret it."
Leon's eyes narrowed, but he didn't respond immediately. The tension hung in the air, thick and suffocating, as Grig waited for his judgment.
Finally, Leon nodded, though his expression remained hard. "You get one chance, Grig. One. If I even suspect you're using this to your advantage, if you so much as whisper the wrong word to the wrong person, you'll wish you hadn't."
Grig exhaled, relief washing over him. "Thank you, Leon. I won't let you down."
Leon's gaze lingered on Grig for a moment longer before he turned back to the training grounds, dismissing him with a simple, "We'll see."
Grig nodded quickly, backing away before turning and walking off, his heart still racing. He had done it. He had secured a chance—a slim one, but a chance nonetheless. Now all he had to do was make sure he played his cards right.