Chapter 252: v3 - 13: training grounds II

Chapter 252: v3 Chapter 13: training grounds II

The first few days were harder than Cassian expected.

Not because he lacked the strength.

He had spent years training his body.

But the Arena demanded something different from him.

Sometimes, when the training finally ended and the yard began to quiet, Cassian found his thoughts drifting elsewhere.

To the capital.

To the life he had left behind.

To Marian.

He wondered what she was doing.

Whether she was still waiting for him.

Whether she had heard anything at all.

The last time he had seen her, they had been preparing for their wedding.

It felt like another life now.

Cassian lowered his gaze to the wooden sword in his hand.

He had no way of knowing what had happened since the ambush.

No way of sending word.

No way of telling her that he was alive.

For all she knew, he was dead.

The thought unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

He hoped she was all right.

He hoped she wasn’t crying for him every day.

And, selfishly, he hoped she was still waiting.

Cassian pushed the thoughts away.

He had survived this long.

He needed to survive what came next.

Marian would have to wait.

If he was fortunate, he would return to her.

--

Every morning began before sunrise.

The six were woken, fed, and brought into the training yard.

They ran first.

Long laps around the grounds.

Sprints.

Climbing.

Strength exercises.

Then came weapons.

Swords.

Spears.

Shields.

Axes.

The instructors rotated them through each one.

Cassian adapted quickly.

Too quickly, perhaps.

He learned the local techniques with little difficulty, but he was careful not to make that obvious.

When another fighter struggled with a movement, Cassian sometimes allowed himself to struggle with it too.

When the instructor corrected him, he accepted the correction without argument.

He never volunteered to demonstrate.

He never sought praise.

There was no reason to.

The less they noticed him, the better.

Robert, however, had no such problem.

He was constantly asking questions.

Not about fighting.

About everything else.

After one training session, the two sat beneath the shade of the stone wall while the others rested.

Robert watched the instructors speaking to one another.

Then he looked at Cassian.

"You need to learn the language."

Cassian glanced at him.

"I know."

"You don’t understand anything."

"I’ve noticed."

Robert smiled.

"Then start with the useful words."

Cassian looked toward the training yard.

"Teach me."

Robert raised an eyebrow.

"You actually want me to?"

"I need to understand what they’re saying."

"Fair enough."

Robert pointed toward one of the instructors.

"That word means stop."

Cassian repeated it quietly.

Robert gave him another.

"Move."

Cassian repeated that too.

"Again."

"Eat."

"Sleep."

"Wait."

"Come."

"Go."

Cassian listened carefully.

He repeated each word until he could remember it.

It was slow.

Awkward.

But it was something.

And over the following weeks, he continued.

He learned the words used during training first.

Then words for food.

Water.

Pain.

Weapon.

Tomorrow.

Today.

Again.

Enough.

Little by little, the sounds stopped being meaningless.

He still couldn’t understand a conversation.

But when an instructor shouted a command, Cassian could sometimes recognize what was being asked of him before Robert translated.

It was progress.

And he needed it.

He could not remain completely dependent on Robert forever.

--

The six newcomers were not the only fighters training in the yard.

More men came and went.

Some had arrived only days before them.

Others had already been here for months.

And some had been fighting long enough that the newcomers knew them by reputation alone.

The training grounds were never still.

There was always someone running.

Someone sparring.

Someone receiving treatment.

Someone being called toward the Arena.

Someone returning afterward.

Cassian gradually learned to recognize the different rhythms.

A fighter leaving for a match was often quiet.

A fighter returning was different.

Sometimes he came back laughing.

Sometimes limping.

Sometimes carried between two men.

And sometimes—

he did not return at all.

No one stopped training when that happened.

The empty space was simply filled.

A weapon was picked up.

Another fighter took the place of the one who was gone.

The Arena continued.

Cassian noticed.

He said nothing.

--

One afternoon, the atmosphere changed.

Cassian and Robert were finishing their training when a cheer rose from the far side of the yard.

Cassian turned.

Several fighters had gathered near the entrance.

They were surrounding a man Cassian had seen before.

He was older.

Not elderly.

Perhaps in his late twenties or early thirties.

His body carried years of training in the form of scars across his arms and chest.

He had just returned from the Arena.

His clothing was torn.

There was blood on one side of his face.

But he was smiling.

One of the older fighters slapped him on the back.

Another embraced him.

Someone handed him a cup.

Robert watched.

"What happened?"

He approached one of the men nearby and spoke with him.

After a moment, he returned.

"He won."

Cassian looked at the fighter.

"That’s why they’re celebrating?"

Robert shook his head.

"Not just that."

He pointed toward the man’s arm.

"The man just finished his last fight."

Cassian looked at him.

Robert continued.

"Three years."

Cassian’s gaze sharpened.

"His contract ended today."

For a moment, Cassian said nothing.

The fighter was still being congratulated.

Someone brought him a small wooden chest.

Another man clasped his shoulder.

Even the instructors seemed less severe than usual.

The fighter looked around the yard.

Perhaps saying goodbye.

Then one of the guards approached.

He checked something on a parchment.

The fighter handed it back.

The guard checked the mark on his arm, then said something to him.

Robert listened from nearby.

"He’s done."

Cassian looked toward him.

"His contract?"

Robert nodded.

"He completed it."

The outer gate opened.

The fighter walked through.

No chains.

No struggle.

No guards dragging him away.

He simply walked out.

Free.

Cassian watched until the gate closed behind him.

Robert stood beside him.

Neither spoke for several seconds.

Then Robert said quietly,

"So it really works."

Cassian looked at him.

Robert glanced toward the closed gate.

"Three years."

Cassian’s eyes remained there.

A man had entered the Arena as a captive.

He had survived every fight.

And now he had walked out.

Not bought.

Not transferred.

Not rescued.

He had simply completed what was written in his contract.

Cassian looked down at the brand on his arm.

Three years.

For the first time since he had signed that contract, the number no longer felt like an impossible stretch of time.

It was still long.

But it was real.

Someone had done it.

Someone had survived.

And if that man could walk through those gates—

so could Cassian.

"Again," the instructor called.

Robert sighed.

"Already?"

Cassian picked up his sword.

"Apparently."

And they returned to training.