The nights in the ludus passed in a cycle of suffering and superficial recovery. Days were the hell of training under the Capuan sun, and nights were for licking wounds and facing nightmares. Thomas endured, driven by the brutal routine and the understanding that every day he survived was a small victory. Amidst the torment, a bond began to form. Varro, the Roman man turned gladiator by debt, often sat near Thomas as they cleaned their gear or ate their meager evening rations. He didn't possess Crixus's arrogance or the guards' cruelty. He was an ordinary man trapped in an extraordinary situation. "My wife... she doesn't even know I'm here," Varro said one night, his voice low and filled with longing as he stared at the dark cell wall. "She thinks I'm working in the mines up north. Better that way. I don't want her to imagine..." He didn't finish the sentence. Thomas merely nodded, understanding. "You're doing it to protect her."
Varro looked at Thomas, a surprised expression on his face. "You get it. Most new recruits are just filled with rage and fear. But you... you observe."
This was where their friendship began. Over shared suffering and a silent understanding that they both had something to fight for beyond the ludus walls. Thomas's intelligence not only helped him survive training but also transformed him into a keen observer. He began to map the ludus ecosystem. He saw how the Doctore gave instructions, how Batiatus arrived with his false smiles, how Ashur was always in the corner, listening. And he saw Naevia.
She was Lucretia's personal slave, always moving around the Domina like a graceful, fearful shadow. She was beautiful, but it wasn't her beauty that captivated Thomas's attention. It was her interactions, or lack thereof, with others. She was almost invisible.
Then, Thomas saw it. A brief, stolen glance when no one was looking, aimed at Crixus. A small smile from the Champion of Capua when he thought no one noticed, directed at Naevia. It lasted only a second, but for Thomas, it was enough. His modern brain, accustomed to reading body language and subtle cues, instantly connected the dots.
They have a connection, he thought. Instantly, Naevia's value in his eyes changed. She wasn't just a personal slave. She was the weakness of the strongest man in this ludus.
She was a Category 2 target. +10 Essence. Five times what he got from his standard transactions.
But the risk was immense. Approaching her meant placing himself between two major powers: Lucretia, her cruel mistress, and Crixus, her fiercely jealous lover. This wasn't just a transaction in the dark. This was a move on a dangerous chessboard.
The opportunity came a few days later. Lucretia was entertaining guests, and the ludus was bustling. Thomas saw Naevia emerge from the kitchen, carrying an empty tray, heading towards the dishwashing area in the back. For a moment, she was alone.
This was his chance. His heart hammered. He walked closer, trying to appear as casual as possible. "Excuse me," he said in a low voice.
Naevia startled, almost dropping her tray. Her eyes widened in fear upon seeing a gladiator approach her. "Y-yes?"
Thomas offered a small smile he hoped looked friendly, not threatening. "I just wanted to ask. I saw you give extra water to one of the injured new recruits yesterday. It was... a kind act. Rare to see in this place." He didn't ask. He praised. A small act of kindness he'd witnessed a few days prior. He gambled on it. Naevia's tense face softened slightly. She hadn't expected that. "He... he reminded me of my brother," she whispered, her eyes darting nervously around.
"I understand," Thomas said softly. "Having someone to remember can be a strength."
That was it. A brief conversation. A recognition of her kindness. He had planted the seed. He had shown that he wasn't just another beast like the others. As Naevia gave him a small, hesitant smile, a large shadow fell over them.
"What is happening here?" The deep, suspicious voice made Thomas's blood run cold. Crixus stood there, a few paces away, his brow furrowed. He hadn't seen their conversation, but he saw them standing close.
Naevia turned deathly pale. "Nothing, Champion. I was just... working." She bowed quickly and hurried away, disappearing around the corner. Thomas was left alone, facing the intense stare of the Champion of Capua. Crixus said nothing more. He simply looked Thomas up and down, a clear promise of threat in his eyes. Then, he turned and walked away.
Thomas let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. He had succeeded. He had made contact. But in doing so, he had just painted a huge target on his back, right under the champion's jealous gaze.
The next day, the air in the training yard felt different. The tension was so thick Thomas felt he could touch it. He tried to avoid Crixus's gaze, but he could feel the champion's eyes on him, a heavy weight filled with unspoken menace. Varro, sensing the situation, stayed close to Thomas, a presence that offered a small measure of moral support. "Be careful," Varro whispered as they warmed up. "You've woken a sleeping lion." Thomas could only nod, his throat dry.
After an exhausting warm-up session, the Doctore gathered the recruits and a few lower-tier gladiators. "Today, we will test what you have learned in true combat," he announced. "You will pair up and fight. This is not a fight to the death, but if you do not show spirit, I myself will send you to the afterlife." Fear and anticipation spread among the recruits. This was a chance to prove themselves.
The Doctore began pairing the gladiators. Then, he paused and looked at Crixus, who stood haughtily on the edge of the arena, not included in the regular training. "Champion," the Doctore said, "perhaps you would like to impart a lesson to one of these worms. Choose." A cruel, anticipatory smile played on Crixus's lips. His eyes went directly to one person, ignoring the others as if they didn't exist. "I choose him," Crixus said, his finger pointing straight at Thomas.
The entire yard fell silent. Even the senior gladiators paused, understanding what was about to happen. This was no training. This was a public execution. Varro looked at Thomas anxiously, his face pale.
Thomas felt his blood run cold. He had no choice. With heavy steps, he moved to the center of the arena, grabbing a wooden sword and a small shield. Across from him, Crixus did the same, his movements relaxed and confident.
"Begin!" the Doctore roared.
Crixus didn't wait. He charged forward like an enraged bull. His first attack was an overhead swing so powerful that Thomas could hear the air whistle. Thomas instinctively raised his shield.
CRACK!
The impact sent a violent tremor through his arm, leaving it numb. The thin wooden shield cracked instantly. Crixus's strength was far beyond anything he could have imagined. Thomas was driven back several steps, trying to maintain his balance. Crixus grinned. "Is that all you have, worm?" The next attacks came in quick succession. Left, right, up, down. Thomas could do nothing but desperately dodge and parry. He had no chance to attack. He was like a small boat tossed in a storm. Each parry made his arm ache more. Each near-miss made his heart stop.
He tried to rely on his agility, ducking and rolling, trying to wear Crixus down. But Crixus was a monster. His breathing remained steady, while Thomas was already gasping for air. Seeing a momentary opening, Thomas burned his last Essence for a "Physical Surge," hoping to quickly evade and create distance. However, the momentary burst of speed seemed meaningless. Crixus, as if anticipating it, easily adjusted his swing and struck the side of Thomas's leg with the flat of his sword, sending him to his knees.
Before he could get up, Crixus kicked his chest hard, sending him sprawling backward. Thomas coughed, tasting iron in his mouth. Blood.
"Stand," Crixus snarled, standing over him. "I'm not finished with you." With the last of his strength, driven by a pure desire not to die on that sand, Thomas forced himself to his feet. He had to stand. To fall meant death.
The Doctore watched from the sidelines, his face expressionless. He allowed the slaughter to continue. This was the law of the ludus.
Crixus attacked again, this time slower, as if savoring every moment. He hit Thomas's shoulder, then his stomach, each blow designed to torment, not to end the fight. Thomas could only endure, his body screaming in pain.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a final swing struck the side of Thomas's head. The world spun and he fell to the sand for the last time, his consciousness fading. "Enough," the Doctore's voice finally resonated, firm and final.
Crixus stood over Thomas's prone body. He leaned down, his face just inches from Thomas's. "Stay away from what's not yours, worm," he hissed, his voice low so only Thomas could hear. "Or next time, the Doctore won't be able to stop me."
With that final threat, Crixus turned and walked away haughtily, leaving Thomas battered and bleeding in the middle of the arena. Varro was the first to run to his side, helping him sit up. "You're alive," Varro said, more to himself than to Thomas.
Thomas could only groan in pain. He survived, yes. But Crixus's message had been received very clearly. Naevia was forbidden. And he had just paid the first price for daring to glance at the champion's property.