While Travis endured his grueling training, the man who had orchestrated his arrival waited in a lavishly furnished room, his posture exuding arrogance. The room itself was adorned with fine tapestries and polished wood furniture, a clear display of wealth and power.
The man, Aaron Woody, was dressed impeccably in a tailored suit with gold embroidery, a shining brooch on his chest, and rings adorning his fingers. Every inch of his appearance screamed nobility—but not the virtuous kind.
Aaron leaned back in his chair, a smug smile plastered across his face. His polished leather boots rested on a nearby footstool, his fingers lightly tapping the armrest.
'' I can''t wait to receive praise. Maybe then Father will finally see my worth and name me heir to the family, '' he thought, his grin widening at the prospect.
His mind wandered back to Travis, recalling the ragged appearance of the young man. From his unkempt hair to his worn-out clothing, Travis had the look of someone barely surviving. Aaron had immediately assumed he was a slave—a toy belonging to some wealthy woman. That assumption only heightened his excitement.
'' The bounty, the recognition, and now this... Today couldn’t get any better, '' he thought, his chest swelling with pride.
The heavy oak door creaked open, and a man walked in. Though not dressed in luxurious attire, his demeanor and the subtle richness of his clothing marked him as someone with influence—a middleman of high rank in this clandestine business.
“Mr. Woody,” the man began with a polished tone, inclining his head slightly. “Thank you for your patience. I’m here to deliver the reward for the bounty. Here it is.” He placed a hefty bag of gold coins on the table, the unmistakable clink of wealth echoing in the room. “Your valiant efforts were essential to catching the fugitive. We’ve also sent our gratitude to your father for your involvement.”
Aaron’s chest puffed out as he beamed with pride. “Yes, yes. Of course. I’m always happy to do my part,” he replied, feigning modesty. Rising from his chair, he grabbed the bag of gold with a satisfied smirk. “It’s better I take my leave now. I’ve done my duty.”
He strode out of the room, the weight of the gold bag a pleasant reminder of his triumph.
Once Aaron was gone, the man who had handed over the reward sat down in Aaron’s abandoned chair. He leaned back, a sly grin creeping across his face as he lit a cigar.
“dumb fuck,” he muttered to himself, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “That was easier than I thought. Let him think he’s done something heroic. That kid’s worth ten times the gold once we’re done preparing him for what’s to come. He’ll bring it all back... and then some.”
Before Travis was sent to the cell, the guards attempted to secure a slave collar around his neck. They struggled repeatedly, each attempt ending in failure as the device refused to latch. Frustration etched across their faces, they exchanged glances, murmuring about his unusual resistance. In the end, they decided to send him to the coliseum, assuming he possessed exceptional strength.
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A day later, Travis stirred awake, his body aching from the cold, unforgiving ground beneath him. His stomach twisted in agony, hunger gnawing at his insides. He clutched his midsection, groaning softly. As if on cue, the sound of footsteps echoed down the dim corridor, and a guard appeared, sliding a tin plate of food through the bars.
The meal was far from appetizing—stale bread, a thin soup, and a few unidentifiable scraps of meat. Yet, it quelled the emptiness in his stomach, and he ate with deliberate bites, forcing himself to savor each morsel. The bland taste was a small comfort compared to the pangs of starvation.
"I don’t even know what my fate is in this hellhole," he muttered under his breath, his thoughts clouded with frustration and uncertainty.
'' Valorim. They said this place is called Valorim. He recalled the name from fragmented conversations he’d overheard. A big town. If I get out of here, I’ll need a map… something to help me find my way. ''
Once he finished his meal, Travis glanced at Xavier, who lay motionless on his bed. The older man had been his cellmate for days, offering cryptic advice and harsh training. Now, he seemed eerily still, his face pallid and void of life.
“Xavier?” Travis called softly, nudging his shoulder. When there was no response, his chest tightened. Panic rising, he pressed two fingers against Xavier’s neck, feeling for a pulse. There was nothing—no heartbeat, no sign of life.
“Damn it, no,” Travis whispered, shaking him harder. “Wake up!” Desperation flooded his voice as he dropped to his knees and began pumping Xavier’s chest, attempting to revive him. Again and again, he tried, sweat dripping from his brow, but it was futile. Xavier was gone.
His mind raced, replaying their last conversations. He knew. He must’ve known he didn’t have much time left. That’s why he pushed me so hard to learn his technique.
Anger and regret welled up in Travis’s chest as he slumped to the floor, his head in his hands. “Damn it!” he growled. “If I had trained harder, then you''d have rested in peace” His voice trailed off, leaving him to sit in silence, the weight of defeat crushing him. Xavier’s absence left an empty void—a mentor gone too soon, leaving behind unanswered questions and unfinished lessons.
Suddenly, the sound of steady footsteps echoed through the dim corridor, growing louder with each passing second. Travis lifted his head, his eyes narrowing as a tall figure emerged from the shadows. A man stood in front of the cell, his posture confident and his expression calm yet calculating.
“Our new gladiator. It’s nice to finally meet you. I’m Svelte,” the man said, his tone smooth, almost cordial.
Travis remained silent, his eyes scanning the man cautiously. He didn’t know what to make of him, nor did he feel like responding to someone who exuded such an air of superiority.
Svelte’s lips curled into a faint smile as he took a step closer to the bars. “Well, I want you to know that starting tomorrow, you’ll be taking part in a life-and-death battle that will decide your fate here. You see, being a foreigner in Valorim comes with a price. A fine, to be exact. But you don’t strike me as someone who can afford to pay it.”
Travis clenched his fists but said nothing.
“So,” Svelte continued, his smile widening, “we’ve decided you’ll fight to earn your freedom. Win enough battles, and you’ll have the money to leave this place. Lose... and you’ll stay here forever as a gladiator. Do I make myself clear? I hope I am.”
Before Travis could respond, Svelte turned and called out sharply. Moments later, two guards entered the cell. Travis tensed, prepared for confrontation, but they ignored him completely. Instead, they approached Xavier’s lifeless body, hoisted it up without a word, and carried it out.
Travis watched them go, a hollow ache settling in his chest. They left behind a small bundle of clothes for him before disappearing into the shadows.
Svelte lingered, gesturing toward the bundle. “Get some rest. Tomorrow is a big day for you. But before I leave, tell me—what’s your name?”
“Travis,” he answered, standing and stepping closer to the bars. His gaze locked onto Svelte’s, unyielding and cold. “And I hope you’ll play fair, Svelte. Because if you don’t, I won’t leave this place without beating the fuck out of you. Not anyone else—you specifically.”
The venom in his words hung in the air, and for a moment, the room felt heavier. Svelte’s smirk returned, as if he welcomed the threat. “See you tomorrow, Travis,” he said coolly before turning on his heel and walking away.
Travis stood in the silence, his anger simmering beneath the surface. He turned and moved toward the small cot in the corner of the cell, collapsing onto it with a heavy sigh.
The moment he sat down, he felt something firm beneath him. Frowning, he stood and lifted the thin blanket, revealing a worn, leather-bound book. Curious, he opened it and began flipping through the pages. His breath hitched as he recognized the diagrams and notes scrawled inside—it was a complete manual of Xavier’s technique.
A small, bitter smile tugged at his lips. He had everything planned after all, Travis thought, running his fingers over the faded writing. Closing the book, he clutched it tightly to his chest. Xavier might have been gone, but his knowledge—and his hope for Travis—remained.
With renewed determination, Travis sat back down, thumbing through the manual by the dim light filtering into the cell. Tomorrow would be a test of everything he had, and he intended to make Xavier proud.
TO BE CONTINUED