Sand came to, coughing and sputtering, as icy water was splashed on his face. Rapidly taking stock of his situation, he relaxed slightly as he noticed no immediate threats to his person.
He was sitting on a bed in a room reminiscent of the clinic back at the mines. Except that this one was furnished much more luxuriously. The bed was a proper bed, replete with a mattress and sheets, instead of a slab of stone with pretensions. The chairs and couches were upholstered in leather, the doors of the medicine cabinets weren’t barely hanging off their hinges, and the paint wasn’t peeling off. Most importantly, there wasn’t a makeshift laundry cum dyeing vat in one corner of the room.
The better circumstances were to be expected seeing that the medic in this case was an orc. A female orc who was looming over Sand with an empty tumbler in her hand – the source of the water that had woken him up.
Like all females of their race, she lacked the protruding tusks that characterized the males. Her hair was tied back with a colourful bandana. What surprised Sand was that her stomach was heavy with child, her loose medical smock failing to conceal the outlines of her twelve teats swollen with milk. He wondered why the orc would risk her unborn children by using magic so close to term.
Seeing that he was awake, the medic huffed and flung the tumbler away. Bouncing off a wall, it clattered onto the ground. Without another word to him, the female waddled off towards a particularly overstuffed couch and sank into it, proceeding to ignore his existence.
That suited Sand fine as he busied himself with inspecting the condition of his body. His arm had been re-attached and his mana had been fully depleted. Both conditions were within his expectations. Flexing his left arm, testing it for any sequelae, he found that its range of motion was unimpeded.
When he had decided to chop his own arm off, it wasn’t just on a whim. With the orcs, it was always a cost-benefit computation when it came to human lives. If healing him up became more expensive than the returns they could expect from him, he wouldn't be healed. So, if he let the wyrm rip his arm off and use it as a chew toy, even if he managed to kill it, they wouldn't consider making him a Gladiator. Regenerating an entire appendage was costly – requiring a healing shard at Tier 3 at the very least. Rather than invite a Tier 3 medic to heal him, they would find it more feasible to just use him as a logistics mage.
As for letting him fight with one arm – why would they waste their money on subsidizing a disabled slave? Battle-mages were costly to raise and they didn’t really produce any revenue. Unless they could keep winning in the Arena, Gladiators were a money-sink. Investing in a sinking ship wasn’t something the likes of an astute businessman such as Torak Silveros would do.
By chopping his own arm off, not only had he demonstrated exceptional grit and fighting spirit, he had managed to preserve his arm perfectly. Even the break in the bone had been clean. That had reduced the cost of healing him by several scales. A Tier 1 healing shard would be sufficient to re-attach his arm.
Sand had gambled that his potential would be more valuable in Torak’s eyes than the cost of his treatment. He had succeeded.
He slicked back his sopping wet hair and sat cross-legged on the bed, leaning his back against the wall beside it so that he was facing the brooding female orc. His hair had grown long in the month at the mines. The slavers in the caravan had the slaves shave their hair close to their skull irrespective of man or woman. It made maintenance easier and the lack of the jet-black hair inherent to their people helped keep their heads cool under the harsh desert sun. At the mines, he had been too busy working to worry about the issue. Now as his fingers passed through it, they were obstructed by several knots and tangles.
Giving up, he slumped back against the wall. Ruefully, he shot a glance at the empty tumbler lying on the ground. That was probably the water he was supposed to drink. Sighing, he licked the droplets at the corner of his lip. His tongue felt like old leather in his mouth. His throat was parched. But he knew better than to ask the moody woman in the chair across from him for a drink. Closing his eyes, he waited for someone to come fetch him.
‘They healed me, so they’ll want me to fight. As my patron, Silveros will supply me with resources and shards. All I need to do is to keep winning and I’ll be treated better and better. If I recall things correctly, then there will be a chance to escape around two years from now. I’ll have to hold out till then.’
The Arena of Sin was the most popular entertainment destination for the population of Gehenna. Human slaves, crime-slaves, wild beasts; they all fought and bled on the sandy grounds of the arena for the amusement of the spectators. Victory and defeat were bet upon and entire fortunes were gambled away. The popularity of the blood-sport even drew visitors from other cities of the Tyhr and even from the lands beyond the desert.
The earnings constituted a large chunk of the city’s revenue, causing the Chieftain in charge of Gehenna to promote the Arena's development vigorously.
Pushing the door to the clinic open, Kreg cautiously poked his head in. The female turned her head at the sound. Noticing that it was him, she crossed her arms across her chest and turned away with a disgruntled huff.
Closing the door behind him, Kreg chuckled nervously. “Now, don’ be like that, sweetums. The orders came from upstairs. Ain’t nothin’ I can do about it.”
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
She rounded on him furiously. “Nothin’ ye can do, eh? Then what use are ye if ye can’t even protect yer unborn kids. Can't ye tell that boss of yours to find another medic? I ain’t the only Tier 1 medic in the whole place, ye know? Ye made me use up my mana. What if… what if…” Choking up, she buried her face in her hands and began to cry with great heaving sobs.
His eyes widening in panic, Kreg crossed the room in several strides. “Shh. Shh, sweetums. Don’t cry. I’m sorry, ‘kay? Ye know that ye can’t just say ‘no’ to a Silveros. Shh. Don’t cry. It ain’t good for the kids.” He cajoled as he rubbed her back comfortingly.
Slapping his hand away furiously, the woman looked up and berated, “Don’t ye tell me ‘bout the kids!"
When the agitated woman made to slap him, Kreg grabbed her wrist. “Let me go, ye brute!” she yelled as she tried to pull her hand away. His grip was an iron band around her wrist. No matter how she struggled, she couldn't break free. Not even when she tried to pry his fingers apart with her other hand.
Reaching into his pocket, he took out a wooden box and stuffed it into her hand. Letting her go, he took a step away from her.
Calming down slightly, “What’s this?” she asked suspiciously as she sniffled. “Don’t think ye’ll get off with giving me a trinket or something.”
“Open it.” He said.
Opening the latch of the box, she flipped it open, her eyes widening in pleasant surprise at the sight of its contents. Sand couldn't see what it was as Kreg’s body was blocking his line of sight but he could guess that it was probably something to aid her safe delivery.
“Husband!” she exclaimed joyfully, throwing her arms around Kreg’s waist and hugging him from her sitting position on the chair.
Meanwhile, Sand had become an unwitting spectator to this family drama. He could easily deduce the reason for the woman’s distress. In order to heal his arm, she would have had to use her shard several times. As a Tier 1 mage, there was no way she had enough mana to do it in one go. She would've had to fill her mana in the middle of the process. As strenuous physical exercise was impossible, she would've had to use some sort of mana-replenishing pill or potion. Whatever it was, it would put her unborn litter at risk.
He couldn't help but feel faintly uncomfortable at this reminder of the orcs’ ‘humanity’. But soon, his gaze grew cold. There was no right and wrong. Their standpoints were just different.
Kreg chuckled happily. “Still angry?” he asked as he patted the woman's head.
“Nay. How could I be?” she replied as she rubbed her face into his stomach.
“Master Torak ain’t the bad sort. He gave it to me as compensation for having ye use magic ta heal the brat. He favours ‘im and doesn’t want other’s ta know about ‘im till he debuts in the Arena.”
Letting go of Kreg, she stared at Sand curiously. “What’s special about ‘im? All I can see is that he’s younger than the usual.”
“Ye had ta join his arm, right?”
“Ya.”
“He cut it off ‘imself. Didn’t let out a squeak while doin’ it. If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn't believe it myself.” said Kreg, causing her to stare at Sand in amazement. “Anyway,” he continued, “I have to get ‘im his shard and then put ‘im in his quarters. I’ll be back in a bit, 'kay?”
“Sure.” She said with a smile as she held the box to her chest like the most precious of treasures.
“Come ‘ere brat. Ye don’t know jest how lucky ye are. Make it snappy.”
‘So, they finally stop treating me like air. Should I feel gratified?’ sneered Sand internally as he hastily clambered off the bed and followed Kreg out of the room.
As they walked down winding stone corridors, Kreg introduced, “This ‘ere is the Arena. It’ll be yer new home from now on. Here, ye can get anythin’ ye want. Ye want food? Ye can have it – however much, whenever ye want it. Ye want a skill shard? There’s a whole storehouse fer ye to choose from. All ye need to do is win.
“Ye’ll be fighting, against criminals, against beasts, against others like ye; and either ye die or yer opponent does. So, ye gotta keep winnin’. Remember, Lord Silveros is yer patron. He’s spending a hella lot of cash on ye to get ye some advantages over the rest. If ye die, he’ll lose quite a bit of gold. So, if ye want ta show yer gratitude ta ‘im, just stay alive longer. Who knows, he might take a shine to ye and take ye on as a family guard. He’s done it before.”
He shot a glance to the side to gauge Sand’s reaction. Seeing that there was no change in the boy's expression, he felt his interest waning. Falling silent, he sped up his steps, forcing Sand to jog to keep up.
Traversing several corridors and taking several flights of stairs down, they finally stopped before a huge stone door that spanned from floor to the ceiling. Sand found it odd that they hadn’t met anyone on the way down here but recalling Kreg’s statement back in the clinic that Torak wanted his existence to remain a secret till his debut, he discarded his doubts.
The mural of a demonic face was sculpted into the door. It had ram’s horns on the sides of its head and elephantine tusks sticking out of the corners of its mouth. A vertical third eye remained tightly shut in the middle of its forehead but when the two of them approached, it snapped open.
A violet-black beam of light originating from it illuminated both their forms. A strong sense of crisis covered Sand’s heart. He was sure that if he made a wrong move now, he would be eliminated by the light.
‘A Trial Light shard. By the colour of its light, it’s at Tier 5. For the Arena storehouse to have such stern protection… Maybe the rumours were true and the Gehenna treasury is directly connected to this place. In my previous life, just before I was besieged, a few human groups were planning to take this place as a breach and attack the treasury. I heard that they met with a disastrous defeat. This shard is probably why.’
As he was thinking, Kreg took out a palm-sized hexagonal token made out of a material that seemed to absorb all light that fell on it. The third eye moved in its socket, focusing the beam on the token to examine it. After a moment, the light dimmed and finally extinguished as the eye shut, restoring the demonic mural to its former inactive state.
Turning to Sand, Kreg handed him the token. Pinching it in his fingers, Sand could feel its cold, smooth edges. For such a small piece of stone, it was surprisingly heavy.
“Now, take this and walk up to the gate, it’ll let ye in. Inside, ye’ll see all sorts of shards. Each one has a description written on a wooden plaque by its side. Ye don’t havta read it. Jest touch the token to the plaque and the information will flow into yer mind. Remember, ye only get ta pick one shard with that token. If ye try ta grab more, or don’t behave yerself in there… Well, ye saw that light didn’t ye? There’ll be nothing left of ye. Not even ash.”
Nodding to indicate that he had taken the warning to heart, Sand held the token in front of himself and walked up to the gate. When his outstretched arm holding the token touched the stone, the demonic face suddenly opened its mouth impossibly wide. Lunging forward, it swallowed him whole.
Slowly, the stone face sank back into the gate, leaving Kreg standing alone in the desolate corridor.