The icy wind sliced through the encampment, carrying with it the promise of another harsh day. Winter was coming their way fast, and he made no progress in getting the slaves to open up to him. While everyone huddled in the communal tents, he had to sleep outside in the cold even when it rained. He was shivering all over even with the sun out, and it would only get colder from there. On days like that, Cadmun’s discarded tent became a mantle draped over his thin shoulders, whenever he wasn’t using it as a sleeping bag. He gladly carried the pickaxes to the mines every day, since the sack offered additional protection against the cold. Despite his efforts, however, the cold seeped into his bones, and he knew another fever was building that day. Good.

  As dawn broke, the knights arrived at the camp, and Reacher reluctantly dismounted his horse once more. He observed, through bleary eyes, as the Mace drew near. Reacher’s hands glowed faintly as he placed them on his forehead. The fever dissipated instantly, leaving him feeling invigorated yet hollow. Reacher’s magic was remarkable, but it couldn’t substitute for food. That’s okay.

  “You’re expected to work,” Reacher stated curtly.

  A phrase he had heard repeatedly in recent weeks. He nodded, swallowing his frustration. He had noticed that the other prisoners rarely fell ill, and when they did, Reacher didn’t heal them. He received special treatment because he was a Player, much to the dismay of the other captives, but it was all part of the plan. Yes, all part of the plan.

  For weeks, he had to forgo dinner because he couldn’t meet the quota. He stashed his breakfast behind the rock where he’d wash himself, worked on an empty stomach, and ate the cold meal for dinner. He discovered the delicate balance of sustenance he needed to function and deliberately got ill so Reacher would heal him each morning, allowing him to safely skip meals. Occasionally, some animal would find his breakfast, leaving him with barely enough energy, but it was worth it because deep within the mines, he had hidden a bag full of gems. His stash gradually filled up day by day, while he turned in one or two gems to Reacher, blaming his deteriorating health. Reacher, who pitied him, would patch him up daily, hoping he’d get a lucky streak. Which he later would. All part of the plan.

  After enduring much hardship, he “struck it rich” and turned in five gems. In time, five became six, and six became seven. He began using his stash to gain priority at dinner, finally satisfying his hunger after weeks of inadequate nourishment. The change in his demeanour and energy was noticeable. He started to smile more frequently, occasionally receiving a smile in return. Gradually, his body began to strengthen, and he secretly exercised in the evenings. It was gruelling. He constantly had to remind himself that the pain of stones digging into his palms during push-ups was worth it. That scraping his back on the cold ground hundreds of times during sit-ups was worth it. That exhausting himself to the po int of near collapse every evening was worth it. All part of the plan.

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  He’d go to bed drenched in sweat, always freezing during the night, unable to sleep properly whenever illness crept in. He knew he had to endure those agonising nights to be healed in the mornings. On days he fell ill, he’d trade the precious stones while still in the mines to secure extra portions at dinner, which he would eat along with the breakfast he skipped. PP, who had used the same tactic with Montgomery before, remained silent about it all. He better be.

  Becket became immediately suspicious of his increasing yields and demanded he reveal his [Inventory] nearly every day, suspecting foul play. Each time, his [Inventory] was empty, and Reacher sneered at the Sword. Thank the Gods that no one noticed the missing bag Lydia borrowed for me.

  The worn leather pouch was discreetly placed in a crevice just after the large hole in the mines, barely noticeable even when a torch shone directly on it. Seeing his commitment and lightened workload, the other miners began to warm up to him. He’d receive a “hello” in the mornings and a “good night” after dinner. Not much, but at least something.

  Week by week, he began to earn back their trust, working tirelessly in the mines during the day and on his physique during dinner. The pickaxes he carried grew lighter and lighter as his arms grew wider and wider. He could hear the others whispering in admiration about his growing muscles. Weeks turned into months once more, and the grind continued. On a particularly cold and bitter day, he found his first diamond. He held it up in the torchlight with his calloused hands, the sharp edges adding more cuts to his cracked skin. It was small, barely glinting in the light, but to him, it was everything he had hoped for. Reacher’s rare smile when he handed it over ticked some people off, but he would soon win them over too, by giving the new slave rags he received as a reward to Jacoby. Jacoby, surprised but grateful, accepted the gesture. It was a small step towards becoming a beacon of hope. Not a big one, but at least something.

  He knew he had made a name for himself when he lined up for the morning greeting of the two lords, and no one dared to question his presence. Not a single unfriendly glance was cast his way. In fact, the only look he received was from Varyan, who locked eyes with him as he passed. The smile on the young lord’s face signalled his recognition of his position there. That evening, temperatures dropped significantly, and for the first time since his arrival, it began to snow. Just before bedtime, Cadmun approached him.

  “I need to speak with you,” the bald man said.

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