The journey to Blackfang Hold was a blur of agony and darkness.
Every jolt of the wagon sent fresh waves of pain through my broken body. Chains heavier than any I had worn as a slave bit into my wrists and ankles, rubbing raw skin against iron. My ribs were shattered. Breathing felt like swallowing glass. The enchanted axe was gone, taken by Thragor as a trophy, no doubt. I drifted in and out of consciousness, hoping this journey would end as quick as possible.
[HP: 21% (Slow Regeneration Active)]
[Status: Captured. Multiple Fractures. Internal Bleeding Stabilized.]
[Followers Remaining: 4 (Status Unknown)]
Four. Out of the twenty-two who had once followed me from the burning slave camp. The number haunted me more than the pain.
When the wagon finally stopped and rough hands dragged me out, the stench hit first, smoke, blood, waste, and fear. I forced my eyes open. Blackfang Hold loomed around me like the maw of some ancient beast. Massive black stone walls rose into the night, reinforced with looted dwarven blocks and human iron. Banners of conquered kingdoms hung limp, stained with old blood. Slave pens stretched in every direction, hundreds of broken figures huddled behind bars. In the distance, the fighting pits roared with bloodthirsty cheers.
I was thrown into a reinforced holding cell beneath the main arena complex, a damp stone box with iron bars and a single flickering torch outside. The guards laughed as they slammed the gate shut.
"Grimgor’s going to enjoy breaking this one," one orc grunted before they left.
I remained still for a moment, completely unsure of what to do next. I was healing, but slowly, and at full strength I was certain I could break out of this cell. But breaking out meant getting into more trouble, there were hundreds of guards here, plenty that I couldn’t even hope to defeat at my current level.
Why am I still alive? The thought gnawed at me. In my old life, I would have already planned three escape routes and a way to burn this entire hold down. Now? I was just meat waiting for the pits. My empire had lasted barely a week. Kharadun was ash. Lira, Garrick, Elara, most likely dead or worse. The dream of rising above this brutal world felt like the arrogance of a fool who had forgotten what he truly was.
Hours passed, or days, time blurred in the darkness.
The cell door eventually opened. Two guards dragged in a new prisoner, a gaunt human man in his forties with rebel brands on his arms. He was tossed beside me.
I paid him no attention at first, but he seemed rather interested in me for some reason.
"You the Orc Slayer?" he whispered once the guards left. His voice was hoarse but steady. "Heard stories on the way south. Name’s Harlan. Fought with the Liberation Army before they caught me."
I studied him carefully. "What do you know about the south?"
"Enough to know Grimgor fears it. Humans have begun to stand for themselves. Mages, old nobles, freed slaves, they’re uniting. If you’re really the one who killed Karg and raided his caravans... you could be the spark they need."
I laughed bitterly, the sound turning into a cough of blood. "Spark? I’m in chains waiting to die."
Harlan leaned closer. "Not yet. Grimgor likes his spectacles. You’ll fight in the pits first. Survive long enough, and there might be a chance."
Before I could press him further, the guards returned. They hauled me out for "preparation." What followed was hours of calculated cruelty, beatings, cold water, and questions about how a simple slave had killed so many. I gave them nothing but silence and defiance. My assassin training from the old world helped me endure. Pain was just information.
Back in the cell, the system offered a small mercy.
[Pain Resistance Passive Unlocked (Lv.1)]
[Effect: Reduce pain perception by 15%. Increased tolerance to torture.]
It wasn’t much, but it helped. I used the quiet moments to plan. Weak points in the cell bars. Guard shift patterns. Possible weapons. The old killer in me was waking up again. Empire or not, I would not die on my knees.
Then he came.
The entire cell block seemed to grow heavier as Lord Grimgor entered. The warlord was even more imposing up close than I had imagined from stories. Towering, scarred, with gold-adorned tusks and eyes that saw through every lie. Thragor the Crusher stood at his side like a loyal attack dog, my enchanted axe now hanging from his belt.
Grimgor studied me through the bars like a prize beast.
"So this is the famous Orc Slayer," he rumbled, voice dripping with amusement. "A human who thought he could build an empire from nothing. Pathetic. Your little ruin is burning as we speak. Your followers are either dead or will be soon."
I forced myself to stand, ignoring the screaming pain in my ribs. "Then why am I still alive?"
Grimgor smiled, a terrifying sight. "Because I want the south to watch you break in my pits. I want every slave who dreams of rebellion to see the mighty Orc Slayer beg for death. Your head on a pike will be the final nail in their coffin."
He stepped closer. "Tell me, slave. How did a farmer from Harr learn to fight like that? What power did you awaken?"
I met his gaze coldly. "Come into this cell and find out."
Thragor growled, but Grimgor laughed. "Defiant to the end. Good. You’ll last longer in the pits. The people love a show." He turned to leave, then paused. "Your fox-eared bitch and the old soldier still live... for now. Perhaps I’ll make them fight you tomorrow."
The words hit harder than any blow. Lira and Garrick were alive. But he didn’t mention anything about Elara. Perhaps she was dead? For some reason I felt sad, but at the same time we were at war, death was almost unavoidable.
As Grimgor and Thragor departed, the system chimed again.
[Hidden Quest Generated: Survive the Pits]
[Objective: Win three consecutive fights in Blackfang Arena.]
[Reward: Major Healing, New Skill Unlock, Reputation Boost Among Slaves.]
[Failure: Death.]
I slumped against the wall, breathing shallowly. The empire was ashes, but I was still here. Still breathing, and that meant that I still had a chance.
Harlan watched me from the corner of the cell. "You really think you can survive this?"
I closed my eyes, already running through every possible scenario.
"I don’t need to survive forever," I whispered. "I just need to survive long enough to make them regret every chain they ever put on me."
The distant roar of the fighting pits drifted through the stone. Tomorrow, they would throw me into the sand.
And I would paint it red.