Chapter 244: v3 - 5: arena fighters I

Chapter 244: v3 Chapter 5: arena fighters I

Cassian woke to the sound of dripping water.

For several seconds, he didn’t move.

He stared at the ceiling above him.

Stone.

Not wood.

His body felt heavy.

Every breath pulled painfully at his ribs.

He shifted.

Pain immediately followed.

Cassian closed his eyes.

The arena.

The wolves.

Robert.

He remembered falling.

His eyes opened again.

Bars.

He was inside a cage.

But it was different from the place where he had first awakened.

There were actual beds.

Simple wooden frames lined against the walls, each covered with a thin mattress and a rough blanket.

Not comfortable.

Not clean.

But enough.

A bucket stood in one corner.

A wooden table sat near the bars, holding several cups and a jug of water.

Several other men occupied the enclosure.

Some slept.

Others were awake.

Across from him, Robert sat on the edge of one of the beds.

He looked up.

"You’re awake."

Cassian tried to sit.

Pain shot through his side.

He winced.

Robert immediately moved closer.

"Slowly. Slowly."

Cassian pushed himself upright anyway.

Robert caught his shoulder.

"Easy."

Cassian breathed through the pain.

Robert handed him a cup of water.

"Here."

Cassian drank.

Slowly this time.

He lowered the cup.

"How long?"

Robert understood immediately.

"Three days."

Cassian’s eyes narrowed.

"Three?"

"Three."

Cassian leaned back against the wall.

His gaze dropped to his body.

Fresh bandages covered his ribs and leg.

His wounds had been cleaned.

Someone had changed the cloth around his ribs.

"You changed these?"

"Some of them."

Robert shrugged.

"The healers came by. I made sure you had water and food when you woke up."

Cassian looked at him.

"Thank you."

Robert smiled.

"You’re welcome."

Cassian was quiet for a moment.

Then he looked toward the bars.

"So you know what’s going on?"

"Somewhat."

Robert leaned back against his bed.

"I’ve had three days to figure things out."

"How?"

"Asked around."

He nodded toward the corridor.

"Watched."

Cassian waited.

Robert continued.

"Guards. Healers. Workers. Other fighters."

He lowered his voice.

"I talked to some of the men in the other cages too. Some have been here longer."

Cassian nodded.

"And?"

Robert looked around.

"This place is called the Arena."

Cassian’s expression remained still.

"I know."

"No."

Robert shook his head.

"That’s actually what they call the whole place."

He gestured toward the stone walls.

"It’s an entertainment venue."

Cassian’s gaze hardened.

"People come here to watch."

"Yes."

"Us."

Robert nodded.

"Us."

He paused.

"Men against animals. Survival games. Sometimes other things."

Cassian looked toward the corridor.

"And the survivors?"

"They keep them."

"For another fight."

"Exactly."

Robert glanced toward the food that had been left near the wall.

"Apparently, once you survive, you’re worth something."

Cassian looked around.

The beds.

The water.

The food.

The clean bandages.

It made sense.

They weren’t being treated well.

They were being maintained.

An investment needed to remain alive.

Robert continued.

"I’ve heard them talking about the next game."

"When?"

"Not sure."

Robert shrugged.

"They said we’d be given time to recover."

Cassian glanced down at his ribs.

"How much?"

"Depends on the injuries."

Cassian nodded.

Then a sharp voice rang through the corridor.

"OUT!"

Several men in the cage immediately stood.

Cassian looked toward Robert.

"What?"

"Stand up."

Cassian pushed himself off the bed.

Pain shot through his leg.

He steadied himself.

The guards opened the cage.

"Move!"

Robert translated.

"Come on."

The survivors filed out.

Cassian followed Robert into the corridor.

They were led through a series of stone passages before emerging into a large courtyard.

More men were already gathered there.

Dozens.

Some wore old scars.

Some had fresh bandages.

Some were sitting.

Others stood in small groups.

Cassian looked around.

This was not the arena itself.

It was where the fighters were kept between games.

A guard stepped onto a raised platform.

The noise gradually died.

He began speaking.

Cassian understood nothing.

Robert listened carefully.

Then he leaned toward Cassian.

"He’s explaining the rules."

Cassian looked at him.

"Tell me."

Robert listened again.

"You’re fed here."

Cassian glanced at him.

Robert continued.

"You receive medical treatment after the games."

Cassian looked toward the other fighters.

Their wounds had been cleaned.

Their bandages were fresh.

Their beds were better than anything they had been given during transport.

Not comfortable.

But sufficient.

The guard continued.

Robert listened.

"The longer you survive, the better your conditions become."

Cassian’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Robert continued.

"Better food."

A pause.

"Better quarters."

Another.

"Better treatment."

Cassian looked toward the other men.

"So they reward survival."

"That’s what he’s saying."

The guard’s voice rose.

He gestured toward the arena.

Robert listened again.

"You can also earn money."

Cassian looked at him.

"Money?"

Robert nodded.

"The better you perform, the more you receive."

Cassian’s attention sharpened.

The guard continued.

Robert translated as he listened.

"If you become popular, you earn more."

Cassian looked toward the arena beyond the courtyard.

"And if you’re good enough..."

Robert paused.

The guard pointed toward the walls.

"...you can eventually attract a patron."

Cassian’s expression remained still.

"A patron?"

Robert listened to the explanation.

"A noble. A merchant. Someone with enough influence to take an interest in you."

Cassian glanced toward the painted portraits hanging along the far wall.

There were dozens of them.

Men in armor.

Men holding weapons.

Men standing beside wealthy patrons.

Some wore military uniforms.

Others wore expensive clothing.

"What happens to them?"

Robert listened.

"Their contracts can be transferred."

Cassian’s eyes narrowed slightly.

"Transferred?"

"The Arena gets something out of it."

Robert shrugged.

"Money, connections, favors. Depends on who wants the fighter."

Cassian looked back toward the portraits.

So a patron could take a fighter out of the Arena.

But that did not necessarily mean freedom.

It meant belonging somewhere else.

The guard continued speaking.

Robert listened.

"He’s saying some of the fighters become very famous."

Cassian watched the portraits.

"Some leave the Arena."

Robert nodded.

"Some become guards."

Another pause.

"Champions."

Another.

"Soldiers."

The guard pointed toward one particular portrait.

Robert listened carefully.

"That one became a general."

Cassian’s eyes shifted toward the painting.

Robert didn’t pretend to know more.

"He’s just giving examples."

The guard’s voice grew louder.

The fighters around them began paying closer attention.

Robert translated.

"He says we’re not here simply to die."

Cassian looked at him.

"You’ve been given an opportunity."

Robert listened.

"To become more than what you were."

The guard gestured toward the portraits.

"Survive."

Robert translated.

"Win."

Another gesture.

"Become known."

The guard pointed toward the portraits again.

"Become one of them."

Cassian stared at the painted faces.

A general.

A commander.

A champion.

Men who had once stood where he was standing.

Men who had begun as captives.

The Arena wasn’t merely offering survival.

It was offering a path upward.

A narrow one.

A brutal one.

But real enough that they could point to men who had taken it.

Cassian understood why.

If the fighters believed there was something waiting beyond the next game, they would keep fighting.

Hope was more useful than chains.

Then the guard’s tone changed.

--

Tbc