The icy wind sliced through the encampment, carrying with it the promise of another harsh day. Winter was coming their way fast, and he made no progress in getting the slaves to open up to him. While everyone huddled in the communal tents, he had to sleep outside in the cold even when it rained. He was shivering all over even with the sun out, and it would only get colder from there. On days like that, Cadmun’s discarded tent became a mantle draped over his thin shoulders, whenever he wasn’t using it as a sleeping bag. He gladly carried the pickaxes to the mines every day, since the sack offered additional protection against the cold. Despite his efforts, however, the cold seeped into his bones, and he knew another fever was building that day. Good.
As morning came, the knights arrived at the camp, and Reacher begrudgingly got off his horse again. He watched through bleary eyes as the Mace approached. Reacher’s hands glowed faintly as he laid them on his forehead. The fever broke instantly, leaving him feeling invigorated but hollow. Reacher’s magic worked wonders, but it didn’t replace the need for food. That’s okay.
“You’re expected to work,” Reacher said curtly.
A sentence he had heard a couple of times in the last weeks. He nodded, swallowing his frustration. He had noticed that the other slaves rarely got sick, and when they did, Reacher wouldn’t patch them up. He got the special treatment because he was a Player, much to the other slaves’ dismay, but it was all part of the plan. Yes, all part of the plan.
image [https://i.imgur.com/aUt33hg.jpeg]
For weeks, he had to miss out on dinner because he couldn’t fulfill the quota. He was hiding his breakfast behind the rock where he’d wash himself, go to work on an empty stomach, and eat the cold meal for dinner. He discovered the delicate balance of food he needed to function, then purposefully got sick so Reacher would cure him each morning, allowing him to safely skip meals. Sometimes some animal would find his breakfast and leave him with barely enough to stay upright, but it was worth it because somewhere in the deepest end of the mines he had hidden a bag full of gems. His stash was slowly filling up day after day, while he turned in one or two gems to Reacher, blaming his deteriorating health. Reacher, who took pity on him, would patch him up daily hoping he’d get a lucky streak. Which he later would. All part of the plan.
After a lot of suffering, he “hit it big” and turned in five gems. Some time later, five became six and six became seven. He began using his stash to gain priority at dinner, finally calming his rumbling stomach after weeks without proper nutrition. The change in his demeanor and energy was palpable. He began to smile more often, and sometimes he’d receive a random smile back. Slowly but surely his body began to bulk up, and he’d secretly work out in the evenings. It was gruesome. He had to constantly convince himself that the pain of the stones digging into his palms during push-ups was worth it. That scraping his back on the cold ground hundreds of times during sit-ups was worth it. That tiring himself to the point of nearly passing out every evening was worth it. All part of the plan.
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He’d go to bed drenched in sweat, always freezing during the night without being able to properly sleep whenever a sickness crept up on him. He knew he had to power through those agonising nights to get patched up in the mornings. On days he got sick, he’d trade the precious stones while still in the mines to get extra portions at dinner, which he would eat alongside the breakfast he skipped. PP, who had used the same trick with Montgomery before, kept quiet about all of this. He better be.
Becket became immediately suspicious of his growing yields and ordered him to reveal his [Inventory] nearly every day, smelling foul play. Every time his [Inventory] would prove to be empty, Reacher sneered at the Sword. Thank the Gods that no one noticed the missing bag Lydia borrowed for me.
The worn leather pouch was comfortably placed in a crevice right after the big hole in the mines, and it was barely noticeable even when somebody shone a torch right in front of it. Seeing his dedication and getting some work off their hands, the other miners started to open up to him. He’d receive a “hello” in the mornings and a “good night” after dinner. Not much, but at least something.
Week after week, he began to regain their trust, working tirelessly in the mines during the day and on his body during dinner. The pickaxes he carried became lighter and lighter as his arms grew wider and wider. He could tell that the others were talking in hushed tones about his growing muscles with respect. Weeks turned into months, and the grind wore on. On one particular cold and bitter day, he found his first diamond. He held it up into the light of a torch with his roughed-up hands, the sharp edges adding more cuts to his cracked skin. It was small, barely catching the light, but to him, it was everything he could wish for. Reacher’s rare smile when he handed it over ticked some people off; however, he would soon win those slaves over too, after he handed the new slave rags he received as a reward to Jacoby. Jacoby, surprised but grateful, accepted the gesture. It was a small step towards becoming a beacon of hope. Not a big one, but at least something.
He knew he made a name for himself when he lined up for the morning greeting of the two lords, and no one even dared to question him standing there. Not a single mean look was thrown his way. In fact, the only look he got was Varyan locking eyes with him as he passed. The smile on the young lord’s face indicated that he finally acknowledged his position there. That evening was a particularly cold night, and for the first time since he got there, it started to snow. Before going to bed, Cadmun approached him.
“I need to speak with you,” the bald man said.