The days inside the Darsion outpost became a brutal, mind-numbing cycle. A methodical misery replaced the danger of the climate of Fjellheim's wastelands.
The prisoners were roused each morning before dawn by the guards' shouted commands, the biting cold a constant, inescapable irritation even indoors.
The days were filled with thankless, humiliating chores: scrubbing the frozen floors of the barracks, hauling heavy crates of supplies through the snow, and clearing endless drifts from the outpost's perimeter.
The guards enforced this routine with violence, which seemed to be casual for them, finding small reasons to strike prisoners with the back of their rifles or to punish them with additional, pointless tasks.
Survival was now an act of endurance.
For Leoill, this new environment and lifestyle were a slow, agonizing process of mental decay. He had survived combat and the terrifying environment of Fjellheim, but the unending monotony and humiliation of the prison chipped away at his composure.
'This is the hell I got myself into, huh?'
Every menial chore, every harsh command from a guard, felt like a personal insult to his dignity as a soldier. The physical beatings were not just painful; they were a constant, degrading reminder of his powerlessness.
He became sullen, his movements heavy and slow. He would often stare blankly at the walls, his face a mask of bitter resentment, haunted by the memory of the free, brutal world he had lost.
The wound on his eye, thought healing, throbbed with a constant reminder of their escape, eventually leading them to this hell.
Nico moved through the daily routine calmly; however, it was like he had been doing it for years. He performed every chore without a single complaint or word. When the guards struck him, he would simply fall, rise, and return to his task as if nothing had happened.
The guards seemed to find his impassive demeanor frustrating, and at times, they would strike him harder, trying to provoke a reaction that never came.
***
Leoill, who had promised Nico his trust back on the outside, now found himself simmering with a deep, burning resentment. He watched Nico's composure with a growing sense of rage. The sheer, impassive acceptance of their reality was, in Leoill's eyes, a betrayal.
'Did that shithead manipulate me?'
He had trusted Nico's promise of a pragmatic, quick surrender that would lead to a strategic escape. Instead, they were in a cage, and Nico was acting as if this was perfectly fine, a simple and predictable next step.
Leoill felt as though he had been lied to, not with words, but with a resolve that he simply couldn't comprehend. The promise of freedom seemed to mock him with every menial task and every blow, and Nico's placid face only irritated him more.
Then, he finally lost it.
***
The resentment finally boiled over one evening in the cramped, grimy cell. As the other prisoners settled in for the night, Leoill cornered Nico, his voice a low hiss.
He grabbed Nico's shoulder, forcing him to turn and face him.
"What is wrong with you?" Leoill demanded. "Don't you care that we're trapped here? Don't you care that we're rotting? You told me to trust you. You told me we'd get out. But you're acting like this is home!"
He gestured at the filthy walls, his rage fueled by the humiliation of the day and the terrifying thought that they might never escape.
He accused Nico of having a plan that was nothing more than a lie, a betrayal that had left them both stranded in a living hell.
Nico's reaction was not one of anger, but of unnerving pragmatism. He simply looked at Leoill, his face blank. He then spoke in a voice that was barely a whisper:
"We're alive, aren't we?" he said.
"What—"
"The Akyest didn't kill us. The cold didn't kill us. The patrols didn't kill us. We're getting food and shelter. We're surviving. That was the plan." He explained, with detachment that chilled Leoill to the bone, that emotional outbursts were a luxury they could not afford in this place.
"Anger, resentment, and hope were all weaknesses that a guard could exploit. Their only job was to endure and wait for an opportunity. To fight back now would be a fool's errand."
The confrontation left a deep, silent chasm between them.
Nico remained silent for a moment before speaking:
"My demeanor wasn't surrender, but a part of my strategy."
"What do you mean?" Leoill said, puzzled by Nico's response.
"There's an intricate, secret system within the prison, an 'underground' network of sorts, that operates right under the guards' noses."
Nico, through his observation and resilience, had already begun making connections and had found his way in. He explained that this was a place where information and favors were traded, and where prisoners survived not just by enduring, but by participating.
This shocking admission completely shifted Leoill's perspective, replacing his anger with a bewildered, almost reluctant sense of hope.
"The central place of this underground world is a fighting tournament."
"Why a tournament?"
"To decide the strongest and for entertainment."
He described it as a brutal, high-stakes event that, to the guards, looked like nothing more than random, chaotic prison brawls for their entertainment. However, for the prisoners, it was a way to earn currency and status.
The winners received valuable items, from better food to crucial tools, and earned a new level of respect and protection from the guards and fellow prisoners alike. Nico then delivered the final, most unnerving piece of information:
"I am a part of this system."
He explained that the entry matches were underway and that his next match, tomorrow, was against a notoriously brutal fighter named "Brutal Sloth."
"Brutal Sloth, I'll just call him Sloth. Sloth was a highly revered combatant within Ilbaria's military. From the information I've been given, he had reached the semi-finals last tournament."
"Didn't Ilbaria's sixth division reach Fjellheim like nine weeks ago?"
"Yeah, a tournament lasts for four weeks, then a one-week break. After that break, they form a new tournament season."
Leoill's anger gave way to a mixture of fear and awe. He could not comprehend how Nico had managed to navigate this hidden world while he had been drowning in despair.
"Why don't the guards do anything about it?"
"Well, they enjoy the entertainment."
The revelation that Nico had been playing a different, secret game the entire time, while he had been lost in his anger, created a new kind of chasm between them.
Leoill now saw that Nico wasn't just an ordinary survivor. In his eyes, the knowledge this guy brought was a different kind of terror.
"Well, wish me luck against Sloth," Nico said, as he looked at the palm of his hand.
"I will," Leoill replied.