The Sound Of Despair

"Group Five assemble to eat now! Stand in line and behave in an orderly fashion. Slavers prepare to whip anyone disturbing the order."

Sturm was sure he had calculated the time right and concluded he was part of group five. He stood in line and, as always, was ignored by all the other slaves. It was not surprising as everyone looked exhausted and hungry.

One of the slavers noticed the armband Sturm was wearing and whispered something to the cook handing out food. They probably had been informed of the incident an hour earlier, so Sturm wondered why they did not address him.

He simply waited in line, got his food, and sat on a rock. No talking, no comments, not even any looks thrown at him. Inside the wooden bowl, they handed him some cornmeal mush, rice, and a few old vegetables. Sturm had not paid attention to the other slaves, so he did not notice his portion was less than what they had.

The ingredients were the worst of the worst. But the taste was not as bad as Sturm had imagined. It actually tasted better than stambread.

"Have you heard how the slave drivers used the whip of despair on a new slave? I heard it is just a child!" commented one of the slaves.

"That's horrible! Do they have no hearts? That kid is probably dead, isn't he?"

"No, he survived, but you know what happened to the last guy they bound to the pole. While on the verge of death, some other slaves wanted to support him. They carried a few of his carts for him, and do you remember what happened to them?" The slave looked scared.

"I remember. They got whipped as well because 'if you want to share everything, you might as well share the pain.' Half of them ended up dying."

"That's right. It is everyone for themselves, so while you may pity him in your heart, you better stay away and mind your own business."

While eating and listening to the people around him, Sturm finally understood why the slaves seemed so detached from each other. It was no wonder why everyone would ignore him. The only exception was One Ear, who did not seem to have any inhibition at all.

Sturm thought about the fights he had witnessed. Even if he joined the combat slaves in three years, the fights would not give him any excitement nor any real training. It would be basically him bullying a few poor children. The question was if the level at the town's fighting arena was higher, but Sturm seriously doubted it.

Even the best of trash would still be trash. On the other hand, the guards did not just look much better trained, but the fluid way they moved showed they were also more agile and in control of their bodies. Especially the guards he had seen carrying tower shields, it was obvious they were on a whole 'nother level.

The shields they carried were massive and seemed to be made out of pure steel. Sturm had noticed they were holding them slightly above the ground without breaking a sweat. Their arms were perfectly still as if they did not struggle with the weight at all.

Even if they were elite guards, that display of strength was impressive. Sturm was intrigued by how they achieved such physical prowess.

<<If the agreement with the merchant does not work out, maybe I could find a way to join the town guard.>>

The question was how he could get rid of his slave status and fulfill the guards' requirements. While Sturm was still deep in his thoughts, he suddenly noticed only a few people were left around him. Most had finished their meal and were on their way back to the quarry.

The last few slaves were directly swallowing the rest of their food as the surrounding slave drivers were approaching. One of the slavers walked towards Sturm.

"Just because you can rest for today does not mean you can waste our time. Do you want to waste our time?"

"N… no Sir!"

<<Shit. Please, please, please.>>

Sturm had been trying his best to avoid problems with the guards and slave drivers, but somehow trouble had found him anyway. The slaver approached Sturm and stood in front of him.

*WACK*

The slaver hit the wooden bowl out of Sturm's hands. He had not been able to finish his food, and approximately a third landed on the ground. The hot sand did not absorb the cornmeal mush, leaving a tiny puddle behind.

"You are lucky we have been told to restrain ourselves until the quota is met. Take this as your last warning."

To ensure Sturm would not eat the food off the ground, the slave driver proceeded to spit on the food and then stomp on it. He had a grin on his face as he enjoyed humiliating Sturm, expecting him to cry at any moment. Sturm knew he had to show despair; otherwise, the punishment would be harsher.

He did not look at the slave driver at all and just dropped on his knees sobbing loudly. The slaver, satisfied with his actions, walked towards his companions, receiving applause for how he had handled the situation.

Sturm could not believe how pitiful the current situation was. He had been through a lot in his previous life but never had he been humiliated this much. He was not just some random professional fighter, but one of the, if not the best, and not some kid anyone could just bully. Looking at himself now was just saddening.

<<Survival comes first. My chapters will steadily advance as long as I just survive. As long as I live, there will come a day when I can make them suffer. I… just cannot risk getting whipped again. Nothing else matters.>>

While he knew he had no choice, he was still disgusted with his powerlessness and tried to suppress the anger with thoughts of revenge. It did not help that he had lost food. That was nutrition he badly needed, not just to recover but to prepare for the following days.

He briefly thought about going to see the merchant but dismissed the thought shortly after. Sturm could not risk annoying Edgar and losing the opportunity he had been given. He would follow Edgars orders to the smallest detail. Only then, a path towards hope may open up in front of him.

Even if Edgar ended up abandoning Sturm, he would need to survive for three more years to be able to fight in the pit. Could an eight-year-old survive the hard work in a quarry without proper meals, hygiene, and rest? Maybe it could, but Sturm was not one to gamble on his life. Except in fights, that was, of course.

Sturm got up and took a deep breath. Some food was better than no food, after all. He decided just to lay down the rest of the day to save energy.

After arriving at his tent, Sturm laid on his back and forced himself to breathe in a slow and steady rhythm. A little while later, he fell asleep.

The following day Sturm got up early and heard his stomach growling.

<<Not as bad as I thought it would be. Finally, let's see what the future has reserved for me today. Can't always be unlucky, can I?>>

While following his morning route, Sturm could not help but feel a sense of hope growing inside him. He tried to suppress it, but any person would try to cling to salvation in the face of suffering.

After going through his yoga routine, he felt better. There was nothing that calmed Sturm more than training. The exercises he had been doing were firmly engraved in his muscle memory.

Sturm could do them without thinking, just letting his mind go blank. With a refreshed feeling, he left the tent and started walking towards Edgar's merchant camp.

Wiping away a few drops of sweat on his forehead and following the path he took last time, he quickly found his way.

Arriving at the cart, Sturm saw Edgar waving at him with a serious face.

<<He does not look happy. Does it mean he has bad news?>>

Sturm's mood instantly plummeted. He felt like something was grabbing his heart and twisting it.

"Sturm, I have good and bad news for you. Which one would you like to hear first?"