Huer

Rise of the Gladiator King follows Valerian, a fierce gladiator with a past shrouded in mystery, as he fights for survival in the blood-soaked arenas of Rome. Known for his reckless nature and unpredictable strength, Valerian’s life takes an unexpected turn when he is chosen as the vessel for Spartacus, the legendary gladiator-turned-rebel who once sought to overthrow Rome.

As Valerian’s connection to Spartacus grows, he uncovers hidden secrets about the empire’s corrupt rulers, ancient spirits that wield unimaginable power, and a conspiracy that threatens the very foundation of Rome. With a volatile temper and a deep sense of honor, Valerian must decide whether to follow Spartacus’s vision of freedom or create his own path toward power.

In a world where strength is everything and loyalty can be bought, Valerian will rise as a king, but not without making enemies who will stop at nothing to see him fall. The arena is only the beginning—what will Valerian do when the real battle for control begins?

Rise of the Gladiator King

The key felt heavier than it should.

Valerian clenched it tightly, his heartbeat steady but his mind racing. Freedom—something he had only dreamed of—was now within reach. But he knew better than to trust blind hope. Nothing in the arena was given without a price.

He turned his gaze back to the scarred man who had thrown him the key. "And what do you want in return?"

The man smirked. "A good question. Smarter than most." He leaned against the cold stone wall, arms crossed. "Let's just say I don't enjoy seeing potential wasted. And you, Valerian, have potential."

The way the man said his name sent a chill down his spine. He wasn't just some stranger. He knew exactly who Valerian was.

Valerian exhaled slowly. "So I walk out of here, and then what? You expect me to serve you?"

The man chuckled. "No. I expect you to survive. If you can do that, we'll talk again."

Valerian weighed his words carefully. He had fought, bled, and endured too much to be someone else's pawn. But right now, he had one goal—escape. Everything else could come later.

With a flick of his wrist, he slid the key into the rusted lock. It resisted at first, years of neglect fighting against him, but with a sharp click, the shackles around his wrists fell away.

He took a deep breath, flexing his sore hands. The cold bite of steel was gone, but the scars remained.

The scarred man turned toward the door. "You have five minutes before the next guard comes. Make them count."

Valerian didn't hesitate. He pushed the cell door open and stepped into the dimly lit corridor. The scent of damp stone and burning torches filled his lungs. He had walked these halls as a prisoner, but tonight, he would walk them as a free man.

A flicker of energy surged through him again. Spartacus' presence stirred, whispering at the edge of his consciousness.

"Do not crawl. Do not sneak. Walk as a king."

Valerian exhaled sharply. He didn't have time for fear. He strode forward, his bare feet silent against the stone floor.

The first guard turned the corner just as Valerian reached the stairway. Their eyes met for a single, frozen moment.

His fist struck the man's throat before he could shout, cutting off his voice in a choked gasp. The guard staggered, but Valerian didn't let him recover. He grabbed the man's head and slammed it against the stone wall with brutal force. The body crumpled to the ground.

He crouched, stripping the unconscious guard of his dagger and cloak. The fabric was rough, but it covered his bare chest well enough to mask his identity in the flickering torchlight.

He moved quickly, sticking to the shadows, his senses sharper than ever. Every noise, every flicker of movement—he caught it all. Whether it was his own instincts or the influence of Spartacus, he didn't know.

As he neared the outer gates, his luck ran out. A second guard stepped out from a side passage, his eyes narrowing at the sight of him.

Valerian didn't wait. He lunged, ramming his shoulder into the man's chest, knocking him back. The guard tried to draw his sword, but Valerian was faster.

The dagger cut across his thigh, making him collapse to one knee. Before the guard could scream, Valerian clamped a hand over his mouth and drove the dagger into his side, quick and precise.

The guard slumped, unconscious. Two down.

The final stretch lay before him—an open courtyard leading to the main gate. Freedom was just beyond.

But standing between him and the gate were three more guards. And they were already drawing their weapons.

Valerian tightened his grip on the dagger.

The Unshackled Path