The inside of the maze wasn't how Belial expected. Where he expected echoes, there was instead silence. He guessed that the moss had some form of sound dampening properties, or maybe it was just the stone itself.
Belial continued to walk at the end of the rope, eyes flicking to different paths they could take, but still, he continued to follow Gilus, who seemed more knowledgeable on the maze than he was.
When they first entered the maze, he memorized whether they went left or right, but after the 50th turn, he stopped counting. Even he knew his mind's limits.
Above them, the walls curved slightly, blocking out most of the already-gloomy light, leaving some of Gilus's men and women feeling claustrophobic. He could damn near feel their unease.
Hours passed.
And then days.
Belial and everyone else had stopped counting.
They passed water down the rope every hour or so in silence, afraid any little noise would alert the wraiths even if their smell was masked.
Even the dried meat they ate was soaked in the boy's blood to not attract the wraiths.
Still, it wasn't just the wraiths Belial was wary of. It was the people as well. He was smart enough to realize he was a misfit; he wasn't one of Gilus's foot soldiers like the rest of them. If someone needed to be sacrificed or used as bait, it would be him.
And so, he watched them. Every single one of them.
So far, he had found weaknesses for a few of them already.
The archer woman with short hair flinched every time someone coughed, and her knuckles turned white on her bowstring, even when they weren't in danger. Nervous trigger. Panics under pressure.
The other young male archer next to her had an uneven stride, favoring his left leg. Torn ligament, maybe. Either way, he's slower. Break the rope pulling him forward, and he's dead weight.
The third archer never made eye contact with anyone. His arrows were carved with runes, but his hands shook when he cleaned them. Looks dangerous. Isn't. Afraid of blood.
Out of the warriors, the second tallest, was too confident. His sword was pristine, barely used. He followed Gilus like a loyal dog, following orders blindly. Separate him from the rest, and he's lost on his own.
There was one who was a problem out of the ones he'd watched so far, though.
The bald one had cracked leather armor and scars all over his hands. He didn't speak much, and his eyes stayed on the shadows, never on people. He was experienced. Dangerous.
Belial would avoid fighting him unless it was necessary. Or maybe take him out first.
However, there was good news and also bad news he figured out from watching Gilus.
Previously, Belial hated the way Gilus carried himself. Like a man who had never lost. Like the world was something to carve up and consume. He hated it. Reminded him of someone.
But as the days passed, Gilus's shoulders had started to tighten. His hand stayed near his dagger longer, and he checked the map more often.
The good news there was that Gilus would soon lose a lot of the confidence his soldiers had in him. The bad news was that them losing confidence in him is because he, and subsequently they, are lost.
They had passed five dead ends in the past hour. Then six, then twelve.
Eventually, Gilus stopped.
He stared at the thirteenth dead end with wide eyes, muttering under his breath as he fumbled with the map he was apparently no longer even trying to hide.
"This isn't right," he muttered, his voice low. "It should've been a straight path with a left or right turn here."
"Maybe you misread it?" Asked the archer with the limp, trying to sound helpful.
Gilus turned slowly, crumpling the sides of the map with clenched fists. "Are you suggesting I don't know how to read a map?"
"N-No, sir. I just meant—"
"You just meant to open your mouth and say something as dumb as 'maybe you misread it?'" He mocked, making a dumb face.
Belial held back a laugh.
The silence after that was deep. No one spoke again.
That night, like usual, they slept in a tight line along the wall, sticking to each other for warmth. They couldn't afford to light a fire, otherwise the wraiths might find them from the smell of the smoke.
The moss on the walls was cold, but it gave them a thin cushion to rest on.
Belial stayed awake watching the others for a while. He watched their breathing patterns, the way they twitched, and the way some mumbled in their sleep.
He watched Gilus too. The man hadn't slept for the past two nights.
***
In the morning, Gilus finally snapped.
They reached another dead end. The path they were on looped into itself, landing them back at the place they fell asleep. He threw the map to the ground and kicked it.
"They lied to me," he snarled. "The seer. The one who sold me this. He said the map would lead me to the treasure at the end!"
He slammed his fist into the algae-covered stone so hard his knuckles bled.
"I'll kill him. When I get out, I swear I'll—"
"If you get out," Belial said quietly.
The group froze, slowly turning to him.
Gilus himself also froze.
Belial simply returned their stares from the back of the line.
"You think you'll find the seer again? Once the wraiths kill you do you think you'll find anything? Pick yourself up, old man," he said, annoyed. He was tired of the moping.
Gilus didn't answer. He just turned and started walking again, saying nothing, and not even bothering to pick the map back up.
As night creeped up after a long day of making their way through the maze, they still had no way of telling whether they were any closer to the exit than they were in the morning.
***
A week later, they were down to one waterskin and half a strip of meat.
Gilus tried to stretch it, cutting the meat into slivers, and passing them around like some holy relic. But hunger stripped men of patience. The silence was heavier than ever, and not just because of their hunger…
But because they'd started hearing the wraiths wailing
In the morning, everyone woke up and saw a dead female archer. Killed herself using the slack of the rope.
Surprising Belial, Gilus walked over to her corpse, got on his knees, and started crying.
No words, just ragged breathing and cracked sobs, like the weight of leadership had finally broken him. Maybe Gilus's followers meant more to him than Belial assumed.
The others stood in silence, their heads bowed. Even the bald warrior didn't speak.
Belial watched them all.
He didn't blink.
He'd been awake all night, after all.
It had taken barely a minute. A hand around her mouth, a slight tug, a quick twist. The [Silent Death] attribute did all of the work. He'd even angled her body and moved her limbs just so the illusion of suicide would hold.
It had to.
They were out of food, and he couldn't afford to stop.
Belial stood, brushing dusted stone from his trousers.
"…We shouldn't let her death go to waste," he said.
Heads snapped towards him.
"What?" the limp-legged archer croaked, his voice hoarse from thirst and disbelief.
Belial's expression didn't shift. "You're all thinking it. We're out of food."
"She was one of us!" the rune-etched archer shouted, stepping forward, fists clenched like he was about to hit him.
"Meat is meat."
The silence that followed felt colder than the nights ever had.
Gilus still knelt, his fingers clenched in the moss, tears still running down his cheeks. Then, slowly, he looked up.
He didn't speak, he just stared at the body.
And then he nodded.
***
She was carved in silence.
No ceremony, no last rites, just knives scraping bone and fingers peeling muscle. Gilus didn't help. He sat slumped against the wall with his palms against his eyes while his men worked.
The bald warrior cut precisely. Cleanly without flinching.
Belial sat away from the group while they cut her up, his hands resting calmly in his lap, and his back to the wall.
He ate with no guilt. It wasn't a hard decision to kill her. His survival was more important than hers, it was as simple as that.
Besides the main butchers like the bald warrior, most of Gilus's men looked away.
But Bel wasn't like them.
He watched the process of skinning, gutting, filleting, he counted ribs, weighed bone in his mind. They had to eat it raw since they couldn't afford to start a fire, but he imagined the muscle would shrink over a fire.
It was all useful information.
And later, he'd use it again.
The rune-etched archer refused to eat. That was no good. If he starved, his body would lose any kind of meat they could take from him if he died. He'd be useless.
Belial walked up to the archer as he cried in a corner. Gilus watched the interaction.
He held a strip of the girl's meat in his left hand.
"Eat."
The archer trembled, but he still didn't look up, his face buried in his knees.
Belial crouched down, still holding the strip of raw meat in his hand.
"I said eat."
Silence again.
Belial waited two seconds, then grabbed the man's left hand.
The archer looked up just as Belial wedged his knee against his arm to keep it in place, and gripped the man's finger.
Crack.
A sharp, wet sound, followed by a scream. The man's finger was twisted at an unnatural angle.
Belial didn't let go.
Another finger.
Crack.
The others flinched at the screams, some turning away. Gilus didn't move, didn't speak, just stared.
"Eat," Belial said again.
He just sobbed something into his shoulder.
Belial broke the third finger.
Finally, he snatched the meat with his other hand. He didn't speak—just bit into it as he sobbed.
Belial let go and stood up, not even looking back as he returned to his place by the wall.
No one said a word. After all, they were smart enough to know why he did it, no matter how cruel it was.