Chapter 8: Blood in the Sand

James stood over the dead assassins, the morning sun casting long shadows on the blood-soaked pavement. The failed ambush had made one thing clear—he was being watched. Hunted.

Angela was still shaken, her tunic stained with blood. "Master… we should leave quickly. More could come."

James smirked, wiping the blood off his sleeve. "No. We make a statement."

He turned to Varro. "Find a messenger. Deliver their heads to Marcus Domitius's estate."

Varro nodded, stepping forward to drag the corpses away.

Angela's eyes widened. "Master… won't that provoke him further?"

James's golden eyes burned with confidence. "Good."

Angela shivered. This was the master she had sworn loyalty to. A man who didn't just play the game—he controlled it.

Back at the estate, James called a gathering.

His twenty-five male slaves—including Varro—stood before him, their eyes filled with curiosity and newfound purpose.

James paced before them, his voice sharp as steel.

"Rome is a city of wolves," he began. "The weak are devoured. The strong… feast."

His gaze swept across the gathered men. "I will make you strong. Not just as gladiators… but as warriors. Soldiers. A force unlike anything Rome has ever seen."

Murmurs rippled through the group. Hope. Determination. Excitement.

Then, James opened his system panel.

[Beep! New feature unlocked: Gladiator Training Module]

[Beep! You may now assign specialized training programs to slaves.]

James smirked. "Perfect."

He selected three groups:

Varro's Elite – The strongest slaves, trained for arena dominance.

House Guards – Personal bodyguards to prevent another assassination attempt.

Scouts – Slaves trained in tracking, information gathering, and stealth.

[Beep! Training activated!]

James clenched his fist. "Domitius tried to kill me. Now… I'm preparing to kill him."

A week later, as James oversaw training, a messenger arrived from the arena.

Angela took the scroll, her face paling as she read it. "Master… they've announced Varro's opponent for the Venatio."

James took the scroll, scanning the name.

Then, he grinned.

"Gaius Septimus… the Titan of Rome."

The name was legendary—Gaius Septimus was a former Roman soldier, captured in war and forced into slavery. He had survived over 50 arena battles and was considered unbeatable.

Angela whispered, "Master… no one has ever defeated him."

James closed the scroll, his smirk unfaltering. "Then we'll make history."

That night, as the estate quieted and the slaves rested, a lone figure crept through the corridors.

The man—a slave—moved carefully, avoiding the guards. He slipped into the storage room, where messages were kept.

With shaking hands, he pulled a small scroll from his tunic.

He wrote quickly:

"James prepares for war. His forces grow. He is stronger than expected. We must act soon."

Then, he sealed the scroll and slipped it into a hidden compartment.

Outside, in the moonlit streets, a shadowy figure waited.

The traitor would not be the only one betraying James tonight.