Chapter 7: A Meeting with Power

The carriage wheels clattered against the stone roads as James sat in thoughtful silence, gazing out at the bustling streets of Rome.

Angela sat beside him, adjusting the folds of her tunic. "Master… do you really think Crassus wishes to be your ally?"

James smirked. "Crassus doesn't make 'allies.' He makes investments."

Angela frowned. "Then… what does he want from you?"

James's golden eyes gleamed. "That's what I'm about to find out."

The estate of Marcus Licinius Crassus was a monument to wealth. White marble pillars lined the grand entrance, fountains of flowing water shimmered in the morning sun, and statues of past Roman heroes stood as silent guardians.

But what struck James most was the sheer number of guards patrolling the grounds.

"Crassus is a man who does not take chances."

The carriage halted, and a servant guided them through a vast atrium, where a feast had already been laid out.

At the center of the room, sitting in lavish robes of deep crimson, was Crassus himself.

Marcus Licinius Crassus was a man in his late forties, his black hair streaked with gray, his expression sharp yet unreadable. Unlike other Roman nobles, he was not overly adorned—his wealth was evident not in gold, but in the sheer power he radiated.

His dark eyes settled on James.

"So," Crassus said, voice smooth like fine oil. "This is the young man causing a stir in my city."

James bowed slightly, keeping his movements measured. "James Stone, at your service."

Crassus gestured to a seat. "Come. Eat. Drink. In Rome, business is best discussed with a full stomach."

James took his seat, while Angela stood quietly behind him, always watchful.

Crassus took a sip of wine before leaning forward slightly. "I hear you have an impressive gladiator… and that you intend to enter the Venatio."

James smirked. "News travels fast in Rome."

Crassus chuckled. "News? No. Power travels fast. And men like me always take notice when new players enter the game."

James leaned back, meeting Crassus's gaze directly. "Then let's stop pretending. What do you want from me?"

A moment of silence.

Then, Crassus smiled.

"Good," he murmured. "I like men who don't waste time."

He set his wine down, his fingers steepling together.

"I want you to win."

James raised an eyebrow. "The Venatio?"

Crassus nodded. "But not just any win. I want you to make a statement."

James's smirk widened. "You want me to put on a spectacle."

Crassus's eyes gleamed. "Now you're thinking like a Roman."

Crassus leaned forward. "I will sponsor your gladiators. In return, I expect you to win—and not just win, but dominate."

James considered this carefully. "And if I agree?"

Crassus's voice dropped to a dangerous whisper.

"Then I will ensure that doors open for you in Rome that would otherwise remain closed. Your name will not just be spoken in the arena, but in the Senate halls."

James's heart quickened.

"This… this is it. A real chance to enter Rome's inner circles."

But James knew Crassus would not offer something for nothing.

"And if I lose?" James asked.

Crassus's smile didn't falter. "Then you will be of no use to me. And I do not keep… useless things."

A subtle warning.

James held Crassus's gaze, unshaken. "Then I won't lose."

Crassus grinned. "Excellent."

He gestured to a servant, who stepped forward and placed a heavy pouch of gold on the table.

"Consider this your first payment. Use it wisely."

James reached forward, gripping the pouch. It was heavier than he expected.

[Beep! You have received 1,000 gold coins.]

James smirked. "This is only the beginning."

As James and Angela left the estate, Angela whispered, "Master… is it wise to trust him?"

James chuckled. "Trust? No. But align with him? Absolutely."

But as they stepped onto the street, something felt wrong.

The air was too quiet. The usual hustle of Roman streets felt distant.

Angela stiffened. "Master…"

Then—

SHHHHK!

An arrow shot past James's head, embedding itself in the wooden pillar beside him!

"AMBUSH!" Angela screamed.

From the shadows of a nearby alley, four armed men emerged, their weapons gleaming in the morning light.

Assassins.

James's mind raced. "Domitius…"

Before he could react, one of the attackers lunged forward, sword raised!

But James was ready.

He sidestepped at the last second, grabbing the man's wrist and twisting with brutal force—

CRACK! The attacker screamed, dropping his weapon.

Angela had drawn a hidden dagger, slashing at another assassin's arm, sending blood splattering onto the stone road.

A third attacker swung at James's head—

Varro appeared.

The gladiator, who had been waiting by the carriage, rushed in like a lion, his fist slamming into the man's chest with bone-breaking force!

CRASH! The assassin was sent flying backward, crumbling against the pavement.

The last surviving attacker hesitated—

Then, seeing the others slaughtered in seconds, he turned and fled into the alleys of Rome.

Silence fell.

Angela panted, wiping blood from her cheek. "Master… are you hurt?"

James dusted himself off, a dark grin forming. "No."

Then, he looked down at the fallen assassin, his gaze cold.

"Marcus Domitius just made his first mistake."

Angela swallowed. "And what's that?"

James's smirk sharpened.

"He didn't finish the job."

He turned toward Varro, who was already standing at attention.

"Prepare the slaves," James ordered. "We're going to war."