32- The Tale continue

The sun was barely cresting the horizon when Leon moved. The slaves had already begun their labor, muscles straining under the relentless weight of stone and wood, their bodies bent low as they built the never-ending wall. The overseers barked orders, their whips cracking through the air, as guards patrolled the perimeter, lazily watching over the scene.

But Leon's mind was elsewhere, calculating. He had waited long enough. It was time to push things further—time to send a message, one that would spread like wildfire through the barracks and beyond. Fear was a tool, and he intended to wield it with precision.

The first accident was easy. Leon had been watching the guards long enough to know their routines, their vulnerabilities. As one of them wandered too close to a pile of loose stone, Leon shifted, using a heavy iron bar to nudge a particularly unstable boulder.

It teetered, slowly at first, before rolling down the slight incline. The guard didn't notice it until it was almost on top of him. With a shout, he jumped back, the boulder crashing into the ground just inches from where he had stood.

Panic flared in his eyes as dust kicked up around him. He stumbled back, looking frantically around, but no one had seen what caused it. His gaze fell on the slaves nearby, suspicion etched across his face, but there was no evidence—just an unlucky accident. At least, that's what he told himself.

Leon suppressed a smile, his eyes catching the brief flash of terror on the guard's face before the man scurried off, trying to compose himself.

That was the first step. A nudge.

Then, he moved on to the second target. An overseer, this time. A brutish man named Kran who was more fond of his whip than any actual authority. He often stomped around, shouting orders, beating the slaves for the smallest of infractions. Leon had marked him early—someone whose fear could be easily exploited.

Leon slipped behind a large pile of timber stacked precariously along the path where Kran liked to walk. All it took was a slight tug on the rope, loosening the supports enough for the stack to shift. Kran passed by just as Leon gave the final pull, and the timber collapsed.

With a yelp, Kran stumbled, his foot slipping into a shallow hole Leon had dug earlier. He flailed, cursing loudly as he fell, landing hard on his back. The hole wasn't deep enough to do real damage, but it was enough to leave Kran winded and humiliated.

The slaves nearby stopped, eyes wide, watching as Kran struggled to get back on his feet. His face flushed with rage, but there was no one to lash out at—no one he could blame. And all around him, the whispers began.

"Vek is here."

The murmur spread quickly, like a ripple across a still pond. The slaves exchanged furtive glances, some smiling faintly, others merely nodding in silent agreement. The legend of Vek had grown, and now it had a life of its own.

Leon saw the overseer's face darken, his hands trembling as he clutched his whip. He lashed out, striking the ground near a group of slaves. "Back to work!" he snarled, but the edge of fear in his voice was unmistakable.

The slaves returned to their labor, but their movements were slower now, more deliberate. They weren't just working for survival anymore—they were part of something larger, something that gave them a flicker of hope. And with every accident, that hope grew.

As the day wore on, Leon kept to the shadows, watching as the guards and overseers grew more anxious. The whispers of Vek's ghost haunted their steps, and it was becoming harder for them to brush it off as mere coincidence. They saw shadows where there were none, heard noises in the night that weren't there.

By the time the sun began to set, Leon knew the seed of fear had been planted. It would grow. Soon, they'd be too scared to even lift a hand against the slaves, too afraid of the curse they believed was haunting the camp.

Leon returned to the barracks that night, slipping in as the others settled in for what little rest they could manage. The air was thick with the same whispers that had begun earlier.

"Did you hear? Kran fell."

"A boulder nearly crushed one of the guards today."

"It's Vek."

"He's watching over us."

Leon moved among them, listening, but saying nothing. His hands itched from the day's labor, the dirt still caked under his nails, but the satisfaction was worth the strain. He had begun to turn the tide, subtly, methodically.

As he lay down on his makeshift bed, his eyes stared up at the darkened ceiling, his mind already calculating the next move. There were still overseers to deal with, still guards who needed to fall in line.

The game wasn't over.

But it had only just begun.

The slaves believed Vek was their protector, their silent avenger. They believed in the power of the gods, turning their favor toward them in small, cruel ways.

Leon knew the truth. Vek was dead, and the gods had nothing to do with what was happening.

But as long as they believed in the myth, it was a weapon he would continue to use.