"We'll wait here for them," Ashley said, his tone filled with a lot more confidence after that initial engagement. "We need to buy time to recoup some of our reserves, and this is a solid defensive point to hold. With any luck, they'll chalk the missing guards up to Sebastian being… Well, Sebastian."

He didn't waste a second after that, moving down the row of cells with purpose. Orders snapped from his lips like a man used to command. Everyone else went about actioning them without a moment of hesitation. Soon enough the remaining prisoners in this block were free, the downed guards were stripped of their weapons and armor, and it had been redistributed among the group. I half-expected him to dump all the best gear on one or two of the strongest-looking people because it's what I would have done, but to my surprise, he spread it out—one piece here, another there—until it looked more like a mismatched patchwork than a standard-issue squad.

I must have been watching too intently because Ashley broke from his work to walk over to me. "You wondering why we're spreading it out?"

I gave a shallow nod but refrained from speaking. The quiet act had become my shield, something that kept me from fracturing under the mental storm raging in my head. Too much had happened in too short a time—Sebastian, Amerigo, those eyes, the mana drain, this escape—and I knew if I started talking, I might unravel entirely. A small part of me wondered if I already had. So I buried it. I buried the thoughts about my body, my drained mana, and the fact that I was surrounded by strangers I couldn't yet trust. Just like before, survival came first. Everything else could be dealt with later.

Ashley seemed unbothered by my lack of words. "We've all got different strengths," he explained. "Take Cain, for example—" he nodded toward the man who'd driven his sword through the second guard earlier, and I noticed Cain's hands were now empty—"he can empower weapons to allow a devastating strike. Like you saw when he drove the sword through that breastplate. Sure it was worth it but doing it cost him all his available mana so now someone else can get better use out of the sword in the next fight.

"Franklin's got gauntlets because all he needs is to get in close, and those'll give added weight and protection to his punches. Quinten and Damo both have offensive powers so they get swords to make use of that. Baz and Clint will turn into wrecking balls with that armour helping them… Once their mana is back that is. We've been feeding the batteries so much mana lately that none of us have much left, but now that we're out of those cells, we'll recover fast. Give us enough time to breathe, and they won't even know what hit 'em."

That last line drew a few murmured cheers from nearby prisoners, the sound low but fierce.

Then Ashley's gaze landed back on me. "What about you? What power do you have?"

His question was casual, but I caught the subtle shift in the air. A few people turned their heads just enough to keep me in their periphery, pretending not to eavesdrop while their attention locked on my answer.

I tightened my grip on the dagger, the handle warm and slick in my palm. My eyes moved from face to face, weighing each one, trying to guess at their intentions. The truth was, I had no real plan of action, no clever way out if things went bad. If they decided to turn on me, I knew I wouldn't be able to fight them all off. Logically, I knew the smart move was to just answer Ashley's question, tell him exactly what I could do so they could plan accordingly. But logic didn't make the unease in my gut go away. I didn't want to get tangled in their schemes, to have my choices dictated by their goals. And it was clear they had schemes.

Gone was the slightly nervous man who had helped me put on the armour. Ashley was quite clearly used to commanding forces. He'd originally said that his men didn't have offensive magic but that was already revealed to be a lie. These men were rebels. Trained fighters if I was reading their movements correctly. That was good for me in one way because I wanted to escape. But bad in another because I did not want to sign on to a cause. Our aims lined up for now, sure, but what about once we were outside? That uncertainty gnawed at me.

Luckily, Ashley didn't push.

"Trust needs to be earned," he said, reading at least part of my hesitation. "You've already done most of the work by killing the guards and handing us the keys. We know we can trust you."

The emphasis on the 'we' made me think that was as much a command as it was a statement. I'm sure there were a number looking on that didn't actually trust me but none seemed interested in contradicting Ashley. I did my best to remain emotionless. I didn't want to let onto the fact that I would never trust them.

"We've heard stories but I won't pretend to understand exactly what Sebastian's been putting you through, but I can imagine it's been horrific. And know that him and his men have put us through plenty as well. We've all been waiting for this moment, for a time where they'd let their guard down enough for us to break free. We've always known we would only ever get one chance at an escape, and this is it."

His eyes hardened, his voice low but full of conviction and promise. "Trust me when I say that we're not letting them put us back in those cages. Anyone who tries will have to do it over my dead body."

The weight of his words, the unflinching certainty in them, sparked something in me. I found myself nodding along with the others almost without thinking.

"So long as you can keep fighting with us," Ashley continued, his voice seeming to gain more weight, "keep cutting down the guards, then that'll be enough. Won't it, lads?"

A quiet chorus of ayes rolled through the group. For just a moment, something powerful passed through the air leaving me with a feeling of magic. It was gone before I could really hold onto it, but it left a mark all the same and I had a feeling that it was some ability of Ashley's, though I didn't know what. My suspicious thoughts receded and my mind turned to the fight ahead.

Ashley's inspiring words had a clear effect on everyone else listening. Shoulders were squared, weapons were gripped, and eyes turned towards the far end of the corridor filled with eagerness as we anticipated the fight to come.

We weren't waiting long before we heard the sounds we were anticipating. Metal boots hammered against the stone, a heavy door slammed shut, and the sounds of hurried bickering preempted the return of one of the lookouts.

"Three guards and the healer, rushing this way. They look worried."

"Ambush positions," Ashley whispered, his voice taut with focus.

People followed instantly, rushing into the cells, their footsteps muted as they moved on the balls of their feet. We left the cell doors pulled almost shut, enough to pass a casual glance but not enough to activate whatever enchantments they held, nor enough to hide the shapes crammed inside. There were too many bodies per cell, too many glints of armour and steel for anyone with a keen eye but by the time a guard looked closely, it would be far too late.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I slipped into a relatively empty cell, two down from the entrance, with only one other man for company. He gripped what looked like a snapped table leg. I thought it was the same material as the table Mundo had been sitting at but I couldn't say for sure. I doubted it would do much against a man in full armour, but I couldn't help respecting him for showing up with whatever he could swing.

"—Dead, then we're all in for it," one of the guards was saying somewhere down the corridor, his words laced with nervous tension. Their boots clattered against the stone as they moved faster than a walk but slower than a full jog. Their rhythm barely restrained from a full blown panic.

"It's not my fault you took so long to find me!" the healer snapped back between sharp breaths. His voice wavered with exhaustion. Clearly, this much physical exertion wasn't part of his daily routine.

I drew my sword in preparation. It was almost time. For some reason I felt more nerves for this than any of my actions so far. It felt different. The other fights had been instinctive and in the heat of the moment. This one was planned. It felt more like a battle.

The man beside me edged forward, restless, his shoulders twitching like a predator about to spring.

Bootsteps grew louder. The bickering sharpened. In every cell, bodies coiled with anticipation, the air heavy with the kind of tension that made your skin buzz.

I tuned out their voices. My plan was to simply let the other prisoners hit them first, create chaos, then slip in for the kill.

They turned the corner into our corridor.

The pressure in the air snapped.

A guard stepped in front of my cell door.

I stopped breathing.

A war cry erupted, a ragged roar that carried down the stone hall. Prisoners burst from their cells in a surge of movement.

The guard in front of us glanced back in confusion just as the healer was shoved forward into him.

Table Leg sprang from the cell, swinging in a wild arc. The wood slammed into the guard's pauldron with a hollow thunk, knocking him sideways. He toppled, dragging the healer down with him.

I stepped out, sword raised, and brought it down in a sharp chop toward the pair… only for the table leg to accidentally smack into me, the force of the blow combined with the surprise slammed my back against the wall. They were still on the ground though and I didn't want to give up my chance.

I lunged forward, stabbing down in the hopes of a clean kill.

It wasn't to be. The guard rolled, shoving the healer aside and twisting his body away just as my blade hit stone. He came up into another prisoner, sending the man sprawling.

The corridor was chaos—shouts, steel on steel, flesh on flesh—but my focus remained locked on the pair.

The guard rained punches on the prisoner beneath him, the man fending them off desperately to stop him reaching his sword. Table Leg was hammering away at the guard's armour with thudding strikes that had little visible effect, but were enough to keep the bastard from getting full control of his fight.

The healer tried to crawl away from the melee, and I saw my opportunity.

I planted my feet, gripped my sword in both hands, and drove it down into his spine. It didn't sever it like I wanted but the damage was good enough as the steel punched through flesh and gristle, meeting the floor beneath. His scream tore through the air and I responded by twisting the blade hard, feeling bones grind and flesh tear. Satisfaction rang through me as I did so. Glad to have put down another of our captors.

The scream snapped the guard's attention toward me, and for the briefest moment, I caught the fear in his eyes. It sang to me. To know that those monsters couldn't match the restraint I showed every day. To see the fear in their eyes when I took their lives. All of the guards deserved a lot more than what they got but ending them was enough.

I thrust my stolen sword toward the man's unprotected face intending to end his life, but it wasn't as smooth as I'd imagined. I'd never truly wielded a sword before, basically all of my training had been done with a spear, and the alien balance threw me off. The blade cut through the air, but the guard jerked his head aside, his eyes squeezed shut, and the tip missed its mark entirely.

I cursed and went for another strike, but the prisoner still straddling him blocked my angle. My skill wasn't sharp enough to risk a wild swing; the last thing I needed was to kill an ally. So instead, I kept the pressure on using feints and jabs, anything to keep the bastard's eyes darting.

The guard's head kept snapping left and right, jerky movements like a man dodging an invisible swarm of hornets. That was all the distraction the prisoner needed. His hand shot out, snatching the dagger from the guard's belt, and in one brutal motion, he drove it deep between the plates of armour. The man's gasp was sharp and ragged, air and blood mixing in his throat. But his killer wasn't done. He stabbed again, then twisted the blade with deliberate cruelty, wrenching another strangled cry from the guard's lips. Only when the man's arms went slack did the prisoner drag the dagger across his neck, severing flesh and spilling life onto the stone floor.

It was gruesome. It was painful. It still wasn't penance enough.

I turned toward the other side of the corridor, where the remaining two guards were locked in a desperate struggle. One lay crumpled on the ground, unmoving, while the last was surrounded by a circle of ragged, furious prisoners. I moved to add to the trap from behind, but it wasn't necessary. Damo stepped forward and with a single precise blow, faster than my eye could see, the steel slipped clean through the gap in the man's helm and pierced the exposed flesh beneath. The guard collapsed instantly, the light gone from his eyes before his body even hit the floor, and with it, the battle was won.

"Well done, everyone," Ashley said into the hush that followed the clash. His voice was steady and carried through the room with authority. "After the noise we just made, they'll either be on high alert and react fast… or they'll assume Sebastian's behind it and leave us alone until the next shift change."

He wasted no time giving orders. A wiry man was posted on lookout at the cell block's entrance while others were directed to tend to the wounded. Several prisoners slumped to the floor, their limbs trembling from exertion or wrapped protectively around bleeding injuries. The rest moved with efficiency, stripping the guards' corpses of anything that could be used in the fight to come. Swords, knives, scraps of armour, belts and boots. All of it was gathered up.

They'd paid for the victory in blood. Five were dead, including Advan, the first man I'd freed. Some glanced at the fallen, a flicker of grief in their eyes, but there were no wails or dramatic vows of vengeance. No one froze in shock. This wasn't the first time these people had buried comrades. They all looked used to it. Like death was part of their everyday life. Which I supposed it likely was.

Still, the fight hadn't been for nothing. Three more sets of weapons and armour were now in rebel hands, along with the healer's gear and anything else of value scavenged from the dead.

"We'll recover for an hour," Ashley announced, stepping into the center of the group. "That should be enough for everyone's mana to be back to a usable level. Then we move to the next blocks, where they house the rest of our people."

He looked each person in the eye.

"This is it lads. Once we free them, the rebellion begins in earnest. Are you with me?"

"Aye!" The group called out.

That strange pressure returned. It was subtle, but unmistakable when I was looking out for it. It was the same as before: a gentle, insistent tug toward unity, toward belief in his words. This time I wasn't swept along so easily.

Ashley was doing something with whatever his ability was, deliberately pushing the group toward zeal. It made sense for a leader to inspire his people. But I didn't like that I could feel it. I wasn't one of his people.

I stayed on the far edge of the gathering, careful not to draw attention. As long as their path aligned with mine, I'd keep pace. But the moment our goals diverged, I intended to vanish into the chaos. Whatever Ashley was weaving here, I wasn't going to let myself get bound in it.

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