Chapter 3: Gladiators

 "Excuse me, sir, do you know where Belial is?" At the break time, Zenith walked toward the gladiator ring and approached a stern-looking man who was standing in guard at the entrance.

 The man scrutinised him, not in a perverted way, but of his strength. When the man saw an abundance of bruises on him that could only be made one-sidedly, his gaze became a tad bit softer. He then said, "Room 8".

 "Thank you, sir," Zenith bowed and walked in. The inside had two paths, one toward the gladiator ring and one to an upper stairway. Someone was guarding the two paths and when he saw that it was just a slave, he yawned, and looked away in disinterest. 

 Zenith too, looked away from the guard, and went up the stairs. At the end of the stair was a corridor with door numbers written on the wooden doors.

 Room number 20, 19, 18… 10, 9, 8… found it.

 He stood in front of a door. It was a wooden door with number 8 carved out on it. He then knocked three times and he did not have to wait long before someone opened it.

 "Hmm, who are you?" It was a burly man with a scar on his face. He asked and glared at Zenith. Zenith, perhaps, came at a bad time. The looming shadow seemed to be hanging on the man's face; he was apparently in a bad mood.

 Zenith almost flinched and he held the urge to shrink himself to appear smaller.

 "I–"

 "Zenith!? Is that you? Wait a second, I'm coming!" 

 He heard something falling on the ground in the room and some hurried footsteps. Soon, a green-eyed man shoved the burly man to the side and showed a somewhat roguish grin to Zenith. It was undoubtedly Belial.

 "Come in," before he had the chance to say anything, he was already dragging Zenith into the room. The room was small in size and there were only 6 people including Belial in the room. But they seemed to have the whole room for themselves. 

 Some people glanced at Zenith curiously but some were indifferent and only minded their business.

 "Sit here," Belial gestured to a wooden bunch and headed toward the wooden boxes in the corner. Zenith sat down obediently and looked down at his feet. He, well… wasn't thinking about anything in particular. He was honestly tired after carrying bricks a few times. But he preserved until the end, and he even got to rest a little before coming here!

 He also had breakfast… a mottled, slightly rotten, and hard bread paired with clearly undiluted water. He grimaced, it wasn't a taste he was used to. And he didn't think he could get used to it. I must escape fast!

 "Here you go," Belial murmured and knelt down on one knee in front of Zenith. He was now working on Zenith's wounds with herbs and ointments and bandages– very focused, and practised.

 Zenith's eyes wandered over the harsh injuries on Belial's body. Some were new, some were old with only scars left, some were old wounds reopened, and some were just healing with pink flesh showing. It was because Belial was a gladiator slave. It was common for gladiator slaves to have injuries, just like the man with a scar on his face who just opened the door for him. The gladiator slaves with no wounds could only be the new gladiator slaves.

 When they were in the ring, there were only two outcomes– they either die or survive with injuries.

 As he let Belial work on his wounds, a woman briskly opened the door and walked in. Their eyes met in the air and the woman then asked, "Who is this?"

 The man with a scar on his face shrugged, and the others shook their heads. "Ahem," it happened that Belial had just finished bandaging. He glanced over the room and cleared his throat in faux, "Everyone, this is my younger brother, Zenith".

 He looked back to Zenith's cautious form and said, "Zenith, these are my… friends".

 "Friends, my ass," a bald guy in the corner rolled his eyes. "We are just some unfortunate slaves being put together in a room".

 Zenith was confused.

 "I will explain it to you later," Belial whispered.

 The woman who just walked in hadn't averted her pale eyes from Zenith's. She had a head full of curly golden hair, tanned skin, lean yet clearly powerful body, and she stood a little over half a head taller than Zenith.

 Her muscles were taut in tension, as if she would suddenly throw a punch to someone. She was taller than Belial, and right now, they were facing each other.

 Pale eyes and green eyes met, and Belial's voice came out shakily as if he was pretending to be calm, "Valerie, do you need anything?"

 Valerie shook her head and moved away from the door, took her usual position in the room, and started bandaging her injuries.

 Belial glanced around the room once more and took Zenith out of the room. "Whew," Belial sighed.

 "You look nervous just now," Zenith observed. Belial tried to smile, but failed, and he rubbed his face with his hand. He didn't say anything but his actions were his answer.

 "Follow me," Belial went down the stairs. At the junction between the gladiator ring and the stairs, the guard who ignored Zenith before nodded his head at Belial, and Belial did the same. 

 Belial walked along the wall and they soon arrived at a corner. 

 "That woman just now," he started, and Zenith listened quietly, "Her name is Valerie. She is also a slave just like us. Normally, women aren't made gladiator slaves, but there was something. Something happened that I have no knowledge of, and she became a gladiator slave. Many people looked down on her at first. Making bets everywhere that she would soon die, or become a strong man's mistress to get out of here. Clearly, all of their assumptions were off. That woman, she… killed one gladiator after another in the ring. She shot up the rankings and is now the number three."

 Belial's hands started shaking and terror appeared in his eyes, "I was once her opponent. And I was just one step away from being killed. I had brushed with death back then, Zenith. I thought I was going to die. I survived barely because I forfeited before I was killed. We have no idea how a woman who is supposed to be weak, possesses such prowess."

 Belial was incredibly bitter. Despite surviving, he could not control his body from trembling whenever he met her.

 "I'm sorry," Belial's voice was chaste and airy as he lightly pushed Zenith toward the entrance, "Let's talk about the gladiators, the rooms, and the ranking system later."

 Zenith's face was carefully blank as he stood outside the entrance. He understood the truth. He was kicked out.

 Zenith then heard the gong ringing in the distance. The break was over, and he went back to the leader of construction slaves, Cross, to receive his new task.

 Soon, the days turned into the nights, and the nights turned into the days. It had been nearly a week since he transmigrated, and he slowly got used to the new life without a choice.

 The original Zenith had been a weak, cowardly man. And the new Zenith was not. At least, he believes that he is not. Slowly, he had been acting, changing his character from someone who dared not look into people's eyes to a guy who grew a bit of a backbone.

 "How is it going?" Zenith asked a fellow cellmate in a hush whisper. He was the middle-aged man named 'Oleg', and nicknamed 'Old man'. 

 Oleg looked around, seeing that there was no one around them, he sighed in relief, and started talking. 

 "The progress is not bad, but it's not that good either. I don't know what kind of medicine Xavier fed them to be this damn loyal," Oleg cursed, "Damn it. The guards aren't so easily moved. The only good thing is that they haven't told Xavier about this."

 About half a week ago, Zenith happened to have a talk with Oleg. The man was nice to people, kind of like a social butterfly among the slaves, and even some guards. Once, Oleg was tired to the bones and in some stupor, he confided some matters to him. And one of them was about his family.

 Oleg was not a single man. He had a wife, three children, and even his old mother was alive. 

 He was originally from some island between the Southern and Northern continents. He was a merchant specialising in his island's traditional goods. He was kidnapped to be a slave when he crossed over to the Southern continent to do the business.

 Although the man had been getting along with everyone, this was not his home. He very much missed his family, and wanted to go back to them. 

 "My children… The oldest boy was about fourteen the last time I saw him. He is a mature and independent boy. He is very dependable and is a role model for his younger siblings. But he will always be a child in my eyes. The second boy is a bit mischievous. He is jealous of his older brother… that silly boy. He doesn't know that we love them the same." Oleg laughed helplessly. His eyes were filled with love and nostalgia. "The youngest daughter was only three. We had her a little bit late in our lives. But she's precious all the same. Now, she should be around six or seven."

 Zenith blinked and Oleg's voice in his memory faded. Oleg in the present looked at him anxiously, "What do you suppose we do?"

 After Oleg got comfortable with him after talking his heart out, Zenith came up with a plan.

 Every slave, guard, and all the bacteria in the air knew that Zenith, no last name was a repeated offender. They all knew that he tried to escape twice, failed, and lived to tell the tale. 

 All the guards were cautious around him, afraid that this escapist would try to escape once more. They always stared at him like sharp-eyed eagles. Thus, it was not convenient for him to make a move.

 When Oleg the social butterfly came into the picture, it got a bit easier. He was friends with everyone and even the leaders of the slaves acted nice with him.

 So, he had him use his connections to bribe the guards. And to probe and memorise their routines.

 "The guards aren't entirely moved by the bribes but some of them slipped?" Zenith's face was thoughtful and he slowly rubbed his lips with his knuckles. At Oleg's nod, he made a decision, "Go after the ones who made the slips."

 Oleg froze, "You suspect that they intentionally let out the information?"

 "Yes. Be careful though, they could be acting as well." He then continued, "Make sure to put on an act for those tight-lipped guards."

 "What kind of act?" Oleg could see a devious smile on the young man's face. 

 "The kind of act where you lose all hope of escaping. And do not talk or associate with me on the surface. Yes, remember, you are enticed to escape by me. However, once you lose hope, you refuse to associate with me. You even have a little bit of a grudge on me for trying to destroy your 'friendship' with the guards," he then paused for a second, "And do remember to observe the guards who slipped. Act cautious. They could be secretly loyal to Xavier."

 Zenith made eye contact with Oleg's weathered eyes. "After all, you don't want to die before you could see your family again, do you?"

 Zenith's words lingered in Oleg's ears as he went toward the leader to receive his tasks for the day. 

 His voice was fleeting in the air as he said, "As for me, I will go and search for the reinforcements."

 "What kind of reinforcements?" Oleg had asked, and the answer almost made him lose his mind.

 Zenith's lips curved gently. The boy had always been shy and his smiles had always been gentle. However, at that moment, Oleg had a feeling that this smile was somehow different. Although he could not pinpoint where the difference was.

 "The kind where they are insanely strong. The gladiator slaves number one, two, and three."

 "Yes?" Oleg felt as if he had misheard. He had heard that these top gladiators were very unreasonable. He had heard that they could and would kill people at the drop of a hat. His far-reaching circle of acquaintances didn't include these people.

 "That… are you sure? Do you know them?" Oleg was hopeful although it was unlikely. If these people were their allies, their chances of escaping alive increased by more than sixty percent!

 Then, he heard Zenith say almost too cheerfully, "Well… there's plenty of time to make friends."

 Wasn't that the same as saying he didn't know them?

 Oleg's eyes shook and he almost had a heart attack.