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I woke up, roused by the faint sounds traveling in the silent dungeon. Opening my eyes, I hoped, as always, to see something different from the usual darkness.

“It should be morning,” I said to no one, my voice echoing in the empty cell. I still couldn't see anything.

Wonderful, I’m speaking to myself now. This silence will drive me crazy sooner or later.

I sat up with some difficulty, shaking off the remaining drowsiness.

Given how things are going, though, I’ll starve before that happens, I thought as I groaned, clutching my stomach. I just woke up, and I was already hungry.

The sounds I heard before were the guards changing shifts, probably, so it should have been just after dawn.

I didn’t know why there were guards when I was the only one inside. Who would bother to break me out?

They could have just gone to fight in the damn civil war like everyone else, or they could have patrolled the dungeon sometimes, so I could see something.

Or they could have just left a torch.

Evidently, the slave didn’t need light, though.

He didn't even need too much food. It wasn't like he was doing anything after all. Just throw him some scraps once in a while and he’ll be fine.

How pricey can bread be?! Is a loaf made of fucking gold?!?

I raved internally until my limited energies made me stop. It was hard to get worked up when the ever present fatigue and anger plagued you.

“Dammit,” I whispered.

I missed the three-meter cell I had in my gladiator school, and as shitty as they were, I also missed the abundant meals they served.

Just when I was mulling over the state of affairs in that cesspit, when I heard someone walking. Strange, I thought. I didn’t hear the door opening.

I focused on the sounds.

While waiting, I hoped for something to happen — any change would have been welcome at this point — then a flickering light gradually brightened the corridor. I could finally see the stone floor and my dirty cell; not that there was much to see other than stone and steel bars, but even that was nice, after the constant darkness.

The footsteps belonged to at least two people, which was making me even more intrigued — was I getting a new neighbor?

I had to squint a bit as they reached in front of my cell. The low light of the torch stung at my eyes.

The one holding it was a guard that, unlike the usual, had nice, shiny, and expensive looking armor. The other one was a clean boy of around sixteen. He also still had his sword and bag, and I couldn't see any restraint on him. This dashed the hope of a new neighbor.

They didn’t even glance in my direction while the guard put down the bag — why was he holding a bag? — and opened the door of the cage in front of mine.

“Is this cell fine, sir?” The voice of the guard, muffled by the helmet, resounded in the silence. The question surprised me, and even more the answer that came after.

“'Fine' is a gross overstatement, but it’s certainly cleaner than the others. It will have to do.”

His tone was flat, but it also sounded commanding. It reminded me of something, though I didn’t pay that much attention since I was following the scene baffled.

Things kept getting weirder after that. The guard hung the torch in the holder and went inside to put up some kind of magical lights.

It felt like they were stabbing my eyes. By the time I got a bit used to the new brightness, he had set up and lit all the lights. And they still hadn’t noticed me.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Well, comrade or not, time to greet them.

“Hey there! I’m Silvester! Nice to meet you!” I said loudly. And I nearly coughed.

Raising my voice made my throat sore. I've been mostly silent these few months since the kid that brought me food was a tad skittish, and walls, I found out, don't make for good conversation partners.

“Who’s there?!” Yelled the guard as they both drew their sword and twirled around.

I looked carefully at the boy's face. Nice features, no beard, and blonde hair.

Wheat blonde, I'd say. I bet the eyes are blue. I still couldn't see too well.

“Hey-hey, that’s my line,” I croaked out. “You can’t come to a guy’s home and act like you’re the boss of the place. Well, I’m not the boss either, though! Hahaha.”

It was nice talking to people after so long. Life looked as bright as those lights on the wall.

Shifting my thoughts to more urgent matters, I pondered about their reaction. It was a reasonable one, considering they thought they were alone. What I noted, though, and left me surprised, was that I almost couldn’t catch the movement of the guard. The boy also moved much faster and with much more precision than what I expected from someone so young — it almost looked like a Skill.

A high-level guard and an uncommonly strong boy then.

They both looked at me dismayed for a few seconds; the boy, at least, since the helmet covered the other's face.

“Ah, right, it’s you,” said the rude helmet guy while sheathing his sword and stepping towards me. “It’s just a cockroach that refuses to die. I will remove him right away.”

The boy waved his hand, halting the guy. "No, there’s no need. Just finish as soon as you can and leave. The smaller the disturbance, the better."

What a nice dude. The guard though…

"Hey, man, it’s rude to call people cockroaches. And you fit the part more with all those plates. Do you look as ugly as one under that?" I asked with a smirk.

Oh, I missed messing with the guards. Sounds nice to say, too.

He ignored me and kept setting up the cell. Rude.

“Hey boy, whatcha doing down here? Is it a tour?” I asked while he was studying me without answering, “I heard rich people do those things. Are you a noble or something?”

It was brief, and I almost didn’t catch it, but he certainly reacted to that. “So you were a noble, uh.”

This made me quite perplexed. Nobles don’t come here usually.

There may have been a quirky one from time to time who wanted to be a gladiator, but they got the same treatment as the rest of us while under the contract. There wasn't a reason to go through that now that the arena was closed — no matches, no glory.

“Ah! Is that another noble fetish? I heard they do strange things when bored. You came to try the slave life?” he was trying to ignore me too now. He had a bad example to follow, so I didn’t keep it against him. It was the other guy’s fault.

“You have no idea, but it was so nice until a few months ago. It was all bustling with life… well, death too sometimes, but anyway! What was I saying… ah yes, bustling with life, all the screams, the fights in the arena, oh, those were wonderful, not all people liked them, but you lack things to do here, so you gotta enjoy what you can, and–”

“Shut up and mind your own business,” growled the boy, “Or I will take back my previous statement and will have you removed!”

I held a hand against my mouth. I didn’t want to lose my new friend.

“Sir, it’s useless talking to him. He’s The Heathen, barely better than a beast,” said the shithead guard. “His gladiator school closed. I had thought they finally got rid of him.”

Oh, so that's why...

“He’s a follower of an evil god?” asked the little noble, his hand going to his sword with a disgusted and hostile expression. “Why are you keeping such a thing alive?”

“No, sir, he doesn’t follow any god,” said the guard.

The boy looked confused. “He doesn’t? What does that mean?”

I would have thought the lad to be stupid if I hadn’t seen an uncountable number of people giving me various flavors of that same question.

“It means that he didn’t choose a Class when it was his time to, sir. He refused the grace of the gods.” I could hear him almost spitting out the last words behind that helmet.

The guy looked puzzled, which was a common reaction; it was that or thinking I was mentally challenged... or both. The guard's reaction was quite strong instead; probably because he heard me insult the gods, or maybe he just believed so much in the church's propaganda.

Anyway, the conversation ended there, and after they tidied up the cell, the noble boy went inside and got locked in.

I just kept being silent, and after that, the rude guard left. In the meantime, I lost myself while looking at the shadows created on my walls by the lights in his cell. It was so nice to have light again. I’d jump around in joy if I had the energy.

After my stomach protested again, I came back to my senses.

I need to meditate…

It was a surprisingly effective way to fend off the hunger and madness, and I would forever be grateful for the monk who taught it to me.

I wish I had asked about his story before killing him. Or at least his name. Unfortunately, one never knows the next opponent in the arena, and I never had the luxury of holding back.

After that thought, I relaxed and slowly fell into meditation.

These last few months, the time I spent meditating increased considerably. Not much else to do, since, due to the scarcity of food, I couldn’t even work out.

Also, I got a peculiar feeling when I entered meditation lately.

I felt like there was something touching my skin, like a veil, but also like flowing water, and it stung a bit too — it was really hard to describe. It got clearer and clearer these few months; it was strange.

I tried to interact with it ever since I became aware of this anomaly, without success.

I didn’t give up, though. There was no reason to and nothing else to do in the dungeon, after all.

So I tried to reach out; to grab it, move it, or do anything.