Chapter 7: The Weight of Expectation

The following days blurred into one continuous strain of effort, pain, and exhaustion. The Boy returned to the dimly lit chamber each morning, greeted by the same cool air and the oppressive weight of the chains that had become his constant companions. Each day, the overseer pushed him further, testing not just his body, but his will. It was no longer about just enduring the pain—it was about learning how to stay composed through it.

The Boy felt the change, slow but undeniable. His body was adapting, even as it protested every strike, every movement under the weight of the chains. His muscles, once thin and weak, began to thicken, his limbs becoming sturdier. Still, the growth was agonizingly slow, and the overseer kept his expectations in check. He wasn't yet ready for the pit. He had to become more than just quick on his feet—he needed to be unbreakable.

Each morning, he was bound to the post, the chains shackling him with their unrelenting weight. He'd start with the exercises the overseer assigned—lifting, pulling, moving against the resistance. Each movement made his muscles burn, the iron cuffs biting into his wrists as if they were alive, demanding more from him. His limbs felt like they would tear themselves apart, but he never complained.

The overseer stood nearby, watching, always assessing. "You're learning," he'd say. "But learning isn't enough. You need to know it in your bones."

The Boy understood. It wasn't just about avoiding pain anymore. It was about embracing it, making it part of him. In the pit, pain would come, whether he liked it or not. His body would be tested, pushed to the brink, and his enemies wouldn't care how much he could endure. They would only care if he could outlast them.

One morning, the training took a different turn.

The Boy stood in the center of the chamber, his muscles already sore from hours of pulling against the chains. The shorter overseer approached him, eyes narrowed with a different intensity than usual. He held a wooden sword in his hand, but it wasn't for The Boy.

"We're moving to something harder," the overseer said. He tossed the wooden sword to a tall, broad-shouldered boy who had followed him into the chamber. The new arrival was older, stronger—his name was Urek, and he had been training in the upper levels for years. His arms bulged with muscle, and his eyes were cold, predatory.

The Boy tensed, already knowing what was coming. This wouldn't be like the practice sessions he had endured before. Urek was one of the most promising older trainees, known for his brute strength and merciless style. Facing him in this chamber, without the advantage of speed or agility, would be different.

"Urek will teach you another lesson," the overseer said. "You've been learning how to take the pain. Now, you'll learn what happens when the pain comes from someone stronger."

The Boy nodded, his heart pounding. His grip tightened around the chains that still hung from his wrists, and he prepared himself for the worst.

Urek smirked, clearly relishing the opportunity. He stepped forward, twirling the wooden sword lazily in his hand. "You'll break today," he said, his voice low and menacing. "The overseer might have hope for you, but I don't."

The Boy didn't respond. He couldn't afford to. His mind raced, trying to remember everything the overseer had taught him. Protect the ribs. Twist away from the worst blows. Don't let yourself get cornered. It wasn't about winning—it was about lasting long enough to learn.

The first strike came hard and fast. Urek swung the wooden sword with terrifying force, aiming straight for The Boy's midsection. He barely managed to twist his body in time, the blade grazing his ribs but not landing with full impact. Pain still radiated from the contact, but it was manageable. He could endure it.

Urek grunted, clearly annoyed that his first strike hadn't crippled The Boy. He swung again, this time aiming lower, trying to take out his legs. The Boy leaped back, but the weight of the chains slowed him. The sword caught the side of his thigh, sending a sharp jolt of pain up his leg. He stumbled but didn't fall.

The overseer watched silently from the corner of the room, his arms crossed. His face gave nothing away.

"You can't run here," Urek sneered, advancing again. "Not with those chains weighing you down."

The Boy knew he was right. There was no running. No escaping. He had to stand his ground, but he also had to be smart. Urek's blows were powerful, but they were also wide, overcommitted. The Boy could use that.

Urek came at him again, swinging with all his strength. This time, The Boy stepped forward, ducking under the strike, moving inside Urek's reach. He jabbed with his elbow, aiming for Urek's side—not enough to hurt him, but enough to make him back off. It worked. Urek stumbled slightly, surprised by The Boy's sudden aggression.

But it wasn't enough.

Urek roared, swinging his sword again, this time with less precision and more fury. The Boy couldn't move in time. The blade slammed into his side, knocking him to the ground. Pain exploded in his ribs, and his breath was ripped from his lungs. He lay there, gasping, the weight of the chains pulling him down.

The overseer's voice cut through the pain. "Get up."

The Boy tried. His arms trembled as he pushed against the stone floor, but Urek's blow had left him winded. He could taste blood in his mouth, and his vision blurred for a moment. The chains felt like they were crushing him, dragging him deeper into the earth.

Urek loomed over him, his chest heaving with exertion, the wooden sword still gripped tightly in his hand. "Stay down, or you'll regret getting up."

But The Boy wasn't listening to Urek. He was listening to the overseer. Get up.

With a grunt, he forced himself to his knees, the chains rattling as they fought against his weakened body. His arms screamed with every movement, his ribs felt as though they were on fire, but he refused to stay down. Slowly, painfully, he stood.

Urek's eyes narrowed. "Stubborn little thing, aren't you?"

Before The Boy could fully steady himself, Urek struck again. This time, the blow landed squarely across his back. The pain was immediate and blinding, but The Boy didn't fall. He staggered, his legs barely holding him up, but he stayed on his feet.

The overseer finally spoke, his voice calm and measured. "Where did that blow land?"

The Boy blinked through the haze of pain, his mind trying to focus on the lesson. "Low… lower back," he gasped, his voice ragged.

"And what did I tell you about strikes like that?"

"They… cripple."

The overseer nodded. "Good. Remember that."

Urek, growing frustrated, swung again, aiming for The Boy's shoulder. But this time, The Boy was ready. He twisted his body just as the sword came down, letting the blow land on his upper arm instead. It hurt, but not as much as it would have if it had struck his shoulder directly.

The overseer watched closely, nodding approvingly. "You're learning."

The Boy could barely keep his eyes open now, his body screaming for rest. But he had to stay focused. He had to survive.

Urek, panting from exertion, stepped back, clearly annoyed that The Boy was still standing. "Enough of this," he growled. He swung his sword with all the strength he had, aiming to finish the fight once and for all.

The Boy saw the strike coming, but he was too slow. The sword connected with his side, and this time, it was too much. His legs gave out, and he crumpled to the ground, the chains pulling him down hard. He gasped, his body limp, the weight of the iron unbearable.

The overseer stepped forward, motioning for Urek to stand down. "That's enough."

Urek sneered, but he obeyed, stepping back as The Boy lay motionless on the cold stone floor. The fight was over.

The overseer knelt beside The Boy, his voice soft but firm. "You held out longer than I expected. That's what matters. You learned how to take the hits. How to endure."

The Boy lay there, his body broken, his breath shallow. The chains still pulled at him, pinning him to the ground. But he had survived—barely.

"You're not ready for the pit," the overseer said, rising to his feet. "But you're getting closer."

The Boy closed his eyes, his body too exhausted to move. He could hear Urek leaving the chamber, his footsteps echoing down the hall. The overseer remained for a moment longer, watching him in silence.

"Rest," the overseer finally said, turning to leave. "You'll need your strength for tomorrow."

As the door creaked shut, The Boy remained on the ground, his body battered, but his mind still sharp. He had taken the pain, learned from it. And tomorrow, he would face it again. The chains might pull him down, but he would always get back up.

He had no other choice.

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