Chapter 37

The chime echoed through the workshop, a sharp, almost impatient sound that jarred me from my focus. I glanced at the clock on the wall—late evening, exactly when Caius said he'd come. With a sigh, I rolled up the parchment I'd been working on, stashing it away before heading down the narrow staircase to the front door.

As I stepped outside, I found Caius waiting for me, his broad frame leaning against the wall of my workshop with the air of a man who didn't belong. His eyes flicked over the area, a mixture of disdain and thinly veiled curiosity playing on his face. This part of the city, with its clean streets, polished buildings, and tamed atmosphere, clearly grated on him. It was too quiet, too refined. Too soft.

I gave him a nod, keeping the small talk to a minimum. "Ready?"

Caius grunted in response, turning on his heel without a word and setting off at a brisk pace. I followed, falling into step beside him as we moved through the streets. The sun had dipped below the horizon by now, and the city was bathed in the soft glow of lamps and magical stones that lit the path before us. Even in the evening, the city had an energy—people moving in and out of taverns, groups gathered at street corners, laughter spilling from doorways. But as we moved deeper into the older part of the city, that liveliness began to fade.

As Caius led the way through the dim streets of the city, I could already feel the shift in atmosphere. The Colosseum and training grounds, with their constant clamor and noise, faded behind us, replaced by the quieter, older part of the city. The buildings here were weathered, their stone facades darkened by age and time. The streets were narrower, winding like a maze, and the occasional flicker of magical lamps cast long, wavering shadows on the walls.

I kept my thoughts to myself as we walked. Caius, as usual, wasn't one for small talk. His face was set, focused on the path ahead, and I knew better than to break the silence with idle chatter. Besides, I had a feeling that where we were headed wasn't the kind of place that welcomed light conversation.

After several minutes, we stopped in front of a squat, unassuming building. It looked abandoned, a relic from another time with crumbling stones and overgrown ivy that twisted through the cracks in the walls. Caius knocked twice, a deliberate rhythm that echoed in the quiet night, and after a pause, the door creaked open.

A man stood in the doorway—stocky, rough-looking, with deep-set eyes that seemed to assess me with one glance. He exchanged a brief nod with Caius before stepping aside to let us in.

The air inside was cooler, heavier, carrying the faint scent of damp earth and something else I couldn't quite place. Caius didn't hesitate, leading me down a narrow staircase that spiraled into the depths of the building. The flickering light of magical stones embedded in the walls cast a sickly green glow, illuminating the rough-hewn stone steps beneath our feet.

As we descended further, the walls closed in, pressing tighter with each step. The cold air became more pronounced, and the weight of centuries seemed to settle over me like a shroud. These catacombs were old—older than the city itself, perhaps. The stones bore the marks of time, their surfaces worn smooth in places, while other sections were jagged, as if carved in haste.

We reached the bottom of the staircase, and I found myself standing in a narrow corridor. The ceiling was low, forcing me to hunch slightly as we walked, and the walls were lined with ancient, faded carvings. Symbols of gods long forgotten, their faces worn smooth by centuries of neglect. Skulls, some real and some carved in stone, were set into niches along the walls, remnants of a time when the dead were honored in these dark corridors.

The floor beneath my feet was uneven, the stone cracked in places, and the air carried a distinct chill. It wasn't just the cold of being underground—it was something deeper, something that seemed to seep into the bones. The kind of cold that whispered of things buried and forgotten, of rituals performed in the dark and secrets left to rot in the silence.

Caius didn't seem bothered by any of it. He moved with purpose, his footsteps steady as he led me deeper into the catacombs. The narrow corridors twisted and turned, forming a labyrinth that would have been impossible to navigate without a guide. I kept my eyes on Caius's back, trusting him to lead the way.

We passed by several side chambers, their doorways yawning open like black mouths. I caught glimpses of old stone sarcophagi, their lids half-ajar, and piles of bones arranged in strange, deliberate patterns. At one point, we passed a room where a crumbling altar sat in the center, its surface covered in ancient runes that glowed faintly with residual magic. The sight of it sent a chill down my spine. This was more than just a resting place for the dead—this was a place of power. Old power. And it was still very much alive.

After what felt like an eternity, we reached a large iron door at the end of the corridor. It was ancient, its surface pitted with rust and grime, and I could see the faint outlines of runes etched into the metal. Caius knocked once, and the door groaned open.

The chamber beyond was vast, much larger than I'd expected. The ceiling was high, arched like a cathedral, and the walls were lined with more of those strange, ancient carvings—symbols of Mars, the god of war, mixed with older, more primal images that I couldn't immediately place. The air here was thick with the scent of incense and burning oil, and the light from the magical stones flickered in the corners, casting strange shadows that danced along the walls.

In the center of the room stood a rough-hewn stone altar, dark with the stains of old blood. It was an altar of sacrifice, not of worship, its surface jagged and crude. Around it, twenty figures stood in a semi-circle, their cloaks pulled tight around them, their hoods casting their faces in shadow. They looked less like gladiators and more like members of some ancient, secretive cult.

Caius motioned for me to step forward, and I did so, feeling the weight of the room settle over me. The men around the altar were silent, their gazes fixed on me as I approached. The only sound was the faint drip of water from somewhere deep within the catacombs, a reminder that we were far beneath the city, in a place that time had forgotten.

As I stood before the altar, one of the cloaked figures stepped forward, pulling back his hood to reveal a scarred face and hard eyes. His features were etched with the kind of wear that only years of battle could bring, and I recognized him instantly as one of the senior gladiators—one who had fought in the Colosseum for years, his reputation built on blood and bone.

Without a word, he drew a blade from his belt, the metal glinting in the dim light. He didn't hesitate as he pressed the blade to his palm, slicing across the flesh with practiced ease. Blood dripped onto the altar, a dark stain spreading across the stone. The silence in the room deepened as each man, in turn, stepped forward to do the same, their blood mingling on the altar in a ritual as old as the city itself.

When the last man had bled, Caius turned to me. His gaze was sharp, his voice low as he spoke. "It's time."

I stepped forward, pulling a small, simple knife from my belt. It wasn't anything special, just a tool I used for carving runes, but in that moment, it felt heavier than any weapon I'd ever held. With a steady hand, I pressed the blade to my palm, cutting just deep enough to draw blood. The sting was sharp, but brief, and I let the blood drip onto the altar, watching as it mixed with the others.

For a moment, nothing happened. The air in the chamber seemed to grow heavier, the silence stretching out like a taut rope ready to snap. And then, slowly, the runes on the altar began to glow. Faintly at first, but then brighter, casting a pale, eerie light across the chamber.

The oath was sealed. The runes I had spent days perfecting had taken hold, binding these men to me just as I was now bound to them. It was a pact written in blood and magic, a promise of loyalty and strength.

Caius stepped forward, his voice breaking the silence. "It's done."

I nodded, feeling the weight of the ritual settle over me. The power of the oath wasn't just in the runes—it was in the blood, in the commitment these men had made. They were mine now, bound by the magic I had crafted. But it was more than that. It was a bond forged in trust, in the understanding that we would fight together, live together, and, if necessary, die together.

The crowd of gladiators moved in a solemn procession through the narrow passageways, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls of the catacombs. Caius led the way, his presence commanding, while the others followed in a near-silent line, their cloaks billowing around them like shadows. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and the faint smell of incense that still lingered from the ceremony.

We entered a new chamber—larger than the previous one and starkly lit by floating orbs of magical light. The walls were carved with ancient symbols, and the faint hum of lingering energy buzzed in the air. Several long tables, made of dark stone and lined with thick, worn leather, stood in the center of the room. They were arranged like an operating theater—a place of ritual and transformation. This wasn't just a place to rest the dead; it was a workshop, a place where the living could be changed.

"Alright, gentlemen," I said, stepping forward as the gladiators gathered around me. "Time to get to work."

I could sense their unease. Some of the younger ones fidgeted, exchanging glances with their comrades. Even the veterans, men who had faced death countless times in the arena, seemed hesitant. There's something about the unknown, about magic, that rattles even the bravest of men. A sword you can see coming—a rune that reshapes your very body? That's something else.

Caius grunted, signaling for the men to sit on the tables. "Do what he says. This is part of the deal."

With that, I set to work. The first step was removing their existing tattoos. And these men had plenty of them. Battle scars, symbols of their victories, marks of their loyalty to different schools of gladiators—they were covered in ink that spoke of lives lived on the edge of violence and survival. Some of the tattoos would interfere with the rune magic I was about to apply, and that couldn't happen.

I pulled out a set of healing stones from my bag, each one etched with complex runes designed for cleansing and rejuvenation. The stones glowed faintly in my hands, and I began explaining to the group what they would do.

"You'll be rid of all your old ink," I said, holding up one of the stones for them to see. "These stones will erase the tattoos. The skin will heal, clean and pure. Once the runes are applied, you can get new tattoos—just make sure they don't overlap with the runes. Otherwise, it could mess with the magic."

One of the younger gladiators, a wiry man with a sneer on his face, spoke up. "And why exactly do we need to get rid of our marks? They're part of who we are."

I looked at him, my expression calm. "Because, as much as you like your battle scars and your ink, they'll interfere with the runes. Think of it like a map. If you've already scribbled all over the parchment, you can't see where the roads lead anymore. These runes need a clear path to work their magic. Trust me, you'll want to make space for what comes next."

He grumbled under his breath but didn't argue further. Reluctantly, they all laid down on the tables.

I activated the healing stones, placing them over the men's tattoos one by one. The stones emitted a soft hum, their glow intensifying as they absorbed the ink from the skin. Slowly, the tattoos began to fade, dissolving into nothingness as the skin beneath them regenerated, smooth and unmarked. The process wasn't painful, but the look on their faces told me they felt something—an odd tingling sensation, perhaps. The younger gladiators shifted uncomfortably as their identity, or at least the outward symbols of it, vanished.

The veterans, however, were still. Caius watched without flinching as the intricate designs across his chest and arms disappeared. I knew better than to ask how many battles those marks had symbolized. The silence of the chamber seemed to deepen as each man was cleansed of his past.

Once the process was complete, the skin of each gladiator was smooth and blank—a clean slate ready to be marked with new power. The room took on an air of tense anticipation. What came next would change these men forever, and they knew it.

"Now," I said, pulling out a large sheet of parchment that I had spent days perfecting, "we begin the real work."

I had already designed the runes for each man—simplified versions of the ones I used on myself. These wouldn't give them my full strength or speed, but it would make them formidable. Their muscles would be enhanced, their reflexes sharpened, their stamina nearly unbreakable. They would become faster, stronger, and more dangerous than any gladiator in the arena. But unlike me, they wouldn't be invincible. I made sure of that—no need to arm them with enough power to rival me. After all, I liked to maintain an advantage.

As I began to carve the rune designs into their skin, I explained the process. "These runes will work in harmony with your body, enhancing your natural abilities. You'll be faster, stronger, but there's a catch. If you break the contract, the runes will deactivate. You'll lose everything." I paused, letting that sink in. "But as long as you stay loyal to me, you'll be nearly unstoppable."

Caius nodded in understanding, but the rest of the gladiators shifted nervously. I could see the questions in their eyes, but none of them dared to speak up. Not now, not when they were about to be transformed into something greater.

Using a small, precise tool, I began tattooing the runes into their flesh. The process was long, and the air in the chamber was thick with the scent of burning oils and the low hum of magic. I had developed special devices to help with the intricate work, ensuring that the lines were perfect, each symbol etched with precision. The runes glowed faintly as I worked, the magic seeping into the men's bodies, binding them to the pact we had made.

As the hours dragged on, some of the gladiators helped with the work. They were slow at first, hesitant to assist in what they saw as some strange sorcery, but soon enough, they fell into the rhythm of it. I guided them through the process, teaching them how to apply the runes without breaking the delicate balance of the magic.

It was a strange sight, seeing these men who had once known nothing but battle and bloodshed, now meticulously crafting rune tattoos on their comrades. The chamber was filled with the low murmur of voices, the clink of tools, and the occasional spark of magic as the runes flared to life on each gladiator's skin.

The process took all night. One by one, the men were marked, their bodies now glowing faintly with the energy of the runes. By the time the last gladiator was finished, the room felt heavy with the weight of what had just happened. These men were no longer just gladiators—they were something more. Something dangerous.

I stepped back, wiping the sweat from my brow as I surveyed the room. The gladiators stood before me, their eyes filled with a mix of awe and uncertainty as they flexed their newly enhanced muscles, testing the limits of their newfound power.

Caius, ever the leader, approached me first. His eyes locked onto mine, and for a moment, we stood in silence. Then he grunted, giving me a nod of approval.

"You've done it," he said, his voice low and gravelly. "We're stronger now. Faster. This is real."

I nodded. "Yes, it is. But remember the terms of our deal. Loyalty. You break it, the runes stop working. Understand?"

He grunted again, his expression hard. "We're not fools, Goodchild. We know what we agreed to. We'll honor the deal."

I believed him. These men had lived by contracts their entire lives—whether written or unwritten. They understood the importance of loyalty, of honor. And now, they had the strength to back it up.

As they filed out of the chamber, their cloaks billowing behind them like dark phantoms, I couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction. This was a new beginning, not just for them, but for me as well. With these men at my side, I could start building something much bigger than myself.

But as I watched them disappear into the night, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just stepped onto a path I couldn't turn back from. The power I had given them was real—and with that power came risks. These men were gladiators, warriors bred for violence, and while they were bound to me for now, I knew better than to trust anyone fully.

I would have to keep a careful eye on them.

--

With barely a few hours of sleep, the knock on the villa door of the Valeria family was the last thing I wanted to do, but the day had other plans. I'd sent a note earlier in the morning, suggesting to Valeria that we head to the Colosseum for some sport—or, more accurately, some well-organized violence. Her response had been... enthusiastic, if a little calculated. She seemed to think it was an amusing way to spend the afternoon.

I knew better, of course. In this world, nothing was purely for amusement.

As I stood outside the towering stone walls of her family's estate, dressed in the finest Roman tunic and sandals I could scrape together, I allowed myself a moment of amusement. Valeria had said she'd attend, but not before making it clear I better not show up looking like some dirt-covered mercenary. I had, reluctantly, taken the advice.

A servant opened the door with a formal bow and ushered me inside the villa. The space was grand, typical of old Roman money—wide marble floors, columns that reached toward the sky, and walls adorned with frescoes that screamed of wealth and taste. Everything here was meant to intimidate anyone not of her class, but I was here for her, not the décor.

Valeria was already waiting for me in the atrium, her posture impeccable, dressed in a gown that shimmered like the midday sun. It was, naturally, a display for the public. Not for me. I knew women like Valeria dressed for their own power games, competing with each other for dominance. In her world, beauty was just as much a weapon as intelligence.

"You're presentable," she said, her eyes scanning me briefly. I half expected her to instruct one of the servants to brush an invisible speck of dust off my shoulder. "At least I won't be embarrassed by your appearance in public."

Ah yes, that delicate dance where every word was meant to both compliment and cut. It was one of the many reasons I enjoyed Valeria's company. She had a way of keeping me sharp, reminding me of how, in her circles, appearances were everything. There was an entire branch of psychology I could write just on the behavior of women in competition with each other.

"Wouldn't dream of embarrassing you," I said, flashing her a smile. "After all, I hear appearances are terribly important in polite society."

She raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "There are rules in our world, David. You could learn a thing or two from them."

"And I'm sure you'll be kind enough to teach me all of them," I replied dryly. "So, the Colosseum. Not exactly your usual haunt. I thought we'd mix things up a little."

Her gaze narrowed, but the hint of a smile tugged at her lips. "Mix things up? You take me to the heart of Rome's bloodlust and call it mixing things up? Somehow, I doubt this is about my entertainment."

I chuckled, leaning in slightly as we walked toward the waiting carriage. "You wound me, Valeria. Can't a man take a lady out simply for the pleasure of her company?"

She shook her head, slipping into the carriage gracefully, her silk gown trailing behind her. "David, I have yet to meet a man who does anything without a reason. But, please, continue pretending this is all for my benefit. It's amusing."

I settled in beside her, the horses already pulling us toward the Colosseum, the streets of Rome bustling with activity outside the window. "That's my charm, isn't it? You never know whether I'm scheming or just being delightfully spontaneous."

She tilted her head, considering me with a knowing look. "And that's precisely why I'm going with you. I'd rather keep an eye on you than let you loose to cause trouble without me."

I laughed, appreciating her bluntness. There was something refreshing about a woman who didn't bother with pretenses. Though, knowing Valeria, her directness was likely part of her own strategy to keep me guessing.

As we approached the Colosseum, the energy in the air shifted. The massive structure loomed over us, a monument to the city's power and its appetite for spectacle. The crowds thronged the streets, jostling for a view of the gladiators who were likely already parading inside.

Valeria glanced out the window, her expression unreadable. "I never thought the Colosseum would be on your list of places to visit."

"Why not?" I replied, leaning back comfortably. "It's the ultimate theater. Power, blood, spectacle. Everything this city thrives on, all in one place."

She arched an eyebrow. "And you're just here for the theater?"

I smirked. "Let's just say there are... people I'm interested in observing."

"I knew it," she said, shaking her head with a small laugh. "You always have some angle, don't you?"

The carriage pulled to a smooth halt, and I could hear the distant roar of the crowd, like the rumble of a brewing storm. Valeria, as poised as ever, adjusted her cloak as we were greeted by the Colosseum's staff. I couldn't help but notice the way the guards straightened their backs when they saw her—an indication of her standing. The Colosseum wasn't for the faint-hearted, but with her family's influence, we were escorted through the private entrance, away from the noise and chaos of the common folk.

As we passed through the dimly lit stone corridors, I couldn't help but admire how they built this place. It was an architectural marvel, designed not just to entertain but to remind every citizen who held the power. Today, the power belonged to the masses, the bloodthirsty crowd, but only for as long as they were kept amused.

Valeria walked beside me, her steps measured, her expression carefully indifferent as we entered the private box. The seats, cushioned and draped with rich crimson fabric, were a stark contrast to the cold stone of the Colosseum. From here, we had the perfect view—just above the arena floor but low enough to feel the heat of the sand and hear the clang of swords when the real action began.

As I settled in, I cast a sideways glance at Valeria, who was already surveying the scene with her usual air of detached interest. Her hair was perfectly styled, her gown elegant but not ostentatious—she knew how to make an impression without looking like she was trying too hard.

"So, who are we here to watch?" she asked, her tone light but laced with curiosity. "Some particular gladiator you've taken an interest in?"

I grinned, leaning back in my seat. "Caius and his band of merry killers," I said, letting the words hang in the air. "Let's just say we've made an arrangement."

Her brow arched slightly, a glimmer of intrigue in her dark eyes. "An arrangement?" she echoed. "And what exactly have you arranged?"

I waved a hand dismissively, as if it were a trivial matter. "Oh, nothing you need to worry about. But I am curious to see how well they perform now."

Valeria's lips pressed into a thin line, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner. "You never cease to surprise me, David. Though I'm not entirely sure that's a compliment."

I chuckled, turning my attention back to the arena below. The anticipation in the air was palpable, the crowd growing restless, eager for the bloodsport to begin. But before the main event, the city knew how to warm up the audience with a spectacle that was less deadly—at least for now.

The gates opened with a grinding creak, and the first wave of performers entered the arena. Musicians with flutes and drums played a triumphant melody as acrobats tumbled and spun across the sand, their brightly colored garments swirling in the wind. Jugglers tossed flaming torches into the air, drawing gasps of awe from the crowd. It was all a prelude, a diversion before the real violence began. But it worked. The crowd's energy shifted, becoming more animated, more eager.

Valeria, to her credit, pretended to be only mildly interested, though I knew she was watching closely. People like her didn't ignore spectacle, even if they claimed to rise above it.

"Quite the show," I remarked, casually glancing over at her. "They certainly know how to keep the people happy."

"Bread and circuses," she said with a sigh, quoting the age-old city strategy. "As long as the people are fed and entertained, they won't care about anything else."

Just then, carts rolled into the arena, each piled high with loaves of bread. Workers began throwing the loaves into the crowd, and a frenzy erupted. The citizens, even those of more refined taste, eagerly reached for the food, their shouts and laughter filling the air. The generosity of the games was as much about feeding stomachs as it was about feeding a hunger for distraction. I could almost feel the collective sigh of contentment ripple through the masses as they tore into their bread, grateful for the Empire's benevolence.

It was a clever game the rulers played. Keep the people satiated, keep them entertained, and they'd forget about the growing taxes, the political corruption, the wars fought in distant lands. As long as they had their gladiators, their bread, and their wine, they wouldn't rebel. Not openly, at least.

Valeria watched the scene with a small smirk. "They'll throw scraps of bread to the crowd, then slaughter men in the same pit moments later. And the people cheer for both. It's a fascinating contradiction."

"Fascinating?" I repeated, amused. "You mean 'necessary.' This is how the city stays strong. Blood keeps the wheels turning, and the crowd loves it."

She gave me a sidelong glance, her expression thoughtful. "And yet you seem to relish it as much as they do."

I shrugged. "I appreciate a good performance. Besides, today's show has a personal touch."

Her eyebrow lifted again. "Ah yes, your arrangement. Are you going to tell me what this arrangement involves, or are you going to keep me in suspense?"

I smiled, leaning back again. "Suspense suits you."

Before she could respond, the music shifted. The crowd grew quieter, the performers retreating through the gates. The mood in the Colosseum changed, becoming more charged, more dangerous. The real entertainment was about to begin.

The first gladiators stepped onto the sand, their armor gleaming in the afternoon sun. The crowd roared its approval, and I could feel the adrenaline kicking in—not mine, but theirs. Caius was among the first, his expression set in grim determination. He was ready, and so was I. This was more than just a fight—it was a test. A test of the runes I had inscribed on him and his fellow gladiators.

Valeria's gaze followed mine, her interest sharpening. "There's something different about them," she murmured, almost to herself.

I didn't answer. Instead, I watched as the gates opened once more, and their opponents entered—veterans of the arena, men who had fought and bled for years under the scorching city sun. They were good, no doubt about that. But Caius and his men were something else now. They were faster, stronger, and far more dangerous than the crowd—or their opponents—could possibly imagine.

The two groups squared off, tension crackling in the air like lightning before a storm. And then, with a single shout, they charged. Steel clashed against steel, and the fight began in earnest.

From the first moment, it was clear to me that something was different—subtle, but unmistakable. Caius and his men moved with precision, their strikes quicker than any normal gladiator, their reflexes sharper than ever before. But they were holding back, carefully restrained. I could see it in their movements, the way they pulled their blows just before they hit, the way they controlled their footwork to avoid any unnecessary damage. They were faster, more efficient, but they did just enough to win, and nothing more.

To the crowd, it was just a good fight—Caius and his men looked like they were having a bit of luck, perhaps a bit more coordinated than usual, but nothing suspicious. The cheers rose, excitement building as if it were just another contest. To them, it was simply the spectacle they came for: steel clashing, gladiators displaying their skill. But to me, every flick of the wrist, every dodge, every strike that could have been lethal but wasn't, told me one thing—they were in complete control.

"They're... impressive," Valeria said, her eyes never leaving the fight. She had noticed, but not in the way I had. To her, they were just winning. "What did you do to them?"

I smiled, satisfied but keeping my tone casual. "Just a little training. Nothing too complex."

Valeria fell silent, watching as one of Caius's men dodged a spear thrust that should have taken him down, then countered with a quick but measured strike, stopping just short of a killing blow. The man on the receiving end staggered back, dazed but alive.

Caius and his men weren't here to show off their newfound power in full. This was a contest to first blood, not a slaughter. And they were playing their part perfectly, blending in with just enough flair to avoid suspicion.

For a long while, we watched in silence. Caius and his men dominated, their opponents barely able to keep up, but it all looked... normal. At least to anyone who didn't know better. They weren't flashy, they weren't overpowering, but they were winning, cleanly and efficiently, landing precise blows that caused their opponents to falter without crossing any deadly lines. The crowd saw luck and skill. I saw carefully restrained power.

"They're holding back," Valeria murmured, as if she was starting to sense it too. But before she could say more, the fight was nearing its end.

Caius and his men moved like a well-oiled machine, taking down their opponents one by one, but always stopping just short of real harm. The first to fall was knocked unconscious, his body sprawled in the sand, but alive. The others followed in quick succession, wounded but breathing. It was a masterful display of control. No one had died, not even close.

As Caius stood victorious, the crowd erupted into cheers, blissfully unaware of the restraint that had just been shown. To them, it was simply a well-fought contest, one they'd talk about later over bread and wine.

The fight was over, the crowd was satisfied, and Caius's men had proven themselves. I was ready to stand up, eager to escape the spectacle and leave with my thoughts still buzzing from what I'd just witnessed. But before I could make a move, Valeria rested her hand on my arm.

"Don't be so quick to leave," she said, her voice dripping with that practiced sweetness, though I knew it was more command than suggestion. "The entertainment isn't over yet."

I shot her a look. "I've seen what I need," I replied, trying to keep my tone neutral, but there was a bite of impatience there. I wasn't particularly in the mood to watch whatever came next.

She arched a perfectly manicured eyebrow and leaned in slightly, the faint scent of her expensive perfume filling the air between us. "You don't always have to be so… busy, David. It wouldn't do to leave now—it would appear bad." She let the word linger in the air, a reminder of her world's obsession with appearances.

Appearances. One of society's greatest illusions, and yet, it held more power than anything I could conjure with my runes. I glanced around the Colosseum—massive and intimidating, with its rows of people screaming, cheering, living for the blood and sweat. Valeria was right. Leaving now would be noted. It always was in these circles, where every action, every movement was watched, weighed, and gossiped about. To leave before the final act would send the wrong message. And in this world, messages mattered.

I sighed inwardly. What did a few more hours matter? Besides, I might as well observe. There was always something to learn.

"Fine," I said, sinking back into the cushioned seat. "So, what's next then? More combat, I assume?"

Her smile widened, but there was a sharpness behind it that I was beginning to recognize all too well. "Oh no, the next part is… punishment. The criminals come out now. You'll see."

A pit formed in my stomach, and I had to fight the instinct to get up again. Criminal punishment? I wasn't keen on watching whatever brutal form of 'justice' they had in store. The thought of it already made my skin crawl. But when I glanced at Valeria, the look she gave me—sharp, assessing—was enough to seat me back down. She could be persistent, and at the moment, I didn't feel like arguing. Better to get through it and leave.

As we settled back into our seats, the arena grew quiet, a strange hush falling over the crowd. Then, a procession of guards entered through the iron gates on the far side, dragging with them a group of men and women in chains. Their clothes were tattered, barely clinging to their bodies, and their faces were masks of fear and hopelessness.

I grimaced. They were criminals, supposedly. But in this society, that could mean anything from petty theft to upsetting the wrong senator. Justice, if you could call it that, was often less about the crime and more about the spectacle.

"They bring out the condemned now," Valeria explained casually, as if commenting on the weather. "The crowd loves this part. It's... cathartic."

"Cathartic?" I repeated, incredulous. "You mean they enjoy watching people get torn apart?"

Her eyes flickered toward me, that same bemused smile on her lips. "Oh, don't look so shocked, David. It's not so different from the blood sport you just watched. It's tradition. These people broke the law. They have to face the consequences."

I clenched my jaw, my modern sensibilities screaming at the barbarity of it all. But I held my tongue. What was the point of arguing? This world had its own twisted sense of justice, and I wasn't going to change that today.

The condemned were lined up in the center of the arena, their shackles clinking as they were forced to kneel. The crowd grew more animated, shouting and jeering, eager for what came next. I could feel the anticipation building in the air like a storm about to break.

The first group—a man and two women—were brought forward. Their crimes were read aloud in a booming voice, though the crowd hardly seemed to care what they were accused of. Petty theft. Defrauding a noble. Insulting a magistrate. Hardly offenses that merited death, but the punishment here wasn't about fairness.

The gates at the other end of the arena opened, and from the darkness emerged a pack of snarling beasts—massive dogs, bred for one purpose: violence. The crowd roared in approval, the noise nearly deafening as the criminals' eyes widened in terror.

I turned to Valeria, incredulous. "You can't seriously be entertained by this?"

She barely glanced at me, her eyes fixed on the scene below. "It's tradition, David. Besides, it's not about enjoyment. It's about order. There has to be a reminder, now and then, of what happens to those who step out of line."

I bit back my retort, watching as the dogs were unleashed, their powerful bodies barreling toward the prisoners with terrifying speed. The crowd screamed in delight as the first attack came, brutal and quick. The man, the thief, barely had time to raise his hands before he was dragged down, the snarling jaws sinking into flesh. He screamed, a high-pitched, guttural sound that echoed around the arena.

I winced, feeling the bile rise in my throat, but I forced myself to watch. This was their world, and if I was going to survive in it, I needed to understand it.

The crowd cheered as the dogs circled the others, who were trembling, too terrified to move. The next woman tried to run, her bare feet slipping in the sand, but she didn't get far before the pack was on her. The last one, the noble's defrauder, fell to her knees, her hands clasped in prayer. It didn't matter. The dogs didn't discriminate.

Valeria watched with a cool detachment, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her goblet. "It's brutal, yes. But it serves a purpose. Fear keeps people in line. If you show mercy, they'll see weakness. And weakness, in a city like this, is fatal."

I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of her words. I had never felt more out of place, more aware of the chasm that separated me from this world's sensibilities. To me, this was savagery, a relic of a past that should have been left behind. But here, it was tradition, a part of the social fabric.

As the final screams died away, and the arena was cleared of bodies.

As the cheers from the last round of fighting died down, the energy in the Colosseum shifted. There was an electric hum in the air, the kind that promised something special, something more than the usual fare. I leaned forward in my seat, curious despite myself. The way the crowd quieted told me that whatever came next was no ordinary gladiator brawl.

A booming voice echoed through the arena, a grand announcer stepping into the spotlight. He wore the ceremonial robes of his station, golden threads gleaming in the sunlight as he raised his hands to silence the remaining murmurs.

"Citizens of the Empire!" His voice reverberated off the stone walls, making even the most distracted members of the audience snap to attention. "Today, you are in for a rare treat. We have a special event—a clash of worlds, a demonstration of our might against the best from foreign lands!"

My interest piqued. "Foreign lands?" I muttered to Valeria, who sat beside me, her fingers idly toying with a jeweled fan.

She gave me a sideways glance, her lips curving into a smile. "Yes, apparently a traveling party of slaves has been brought in. Dwarves, elves. It's quite the spectacle—they've been paraded through various cities for entertainment."

I frowned slightly. "And they're going to survive this?" I asked, keeping my voice low. I wasn't particularly keen on watching another bloodbath.

Valeria nodded, her tone indifferent. "Oh, they'll survive. They're too valuable to simply kill off. But that doesn't mean it won't be brutal. The Empire has a way of reminding people who's in charge."

Before I could respond, the ground of the arena shimmered as the runes that lined its perimeter activated. The sand beneath our feet changed, warping and twisting until it resembled a battlefield. Trees sprang up around the edges, their branches gnarled and dark. The landscape became rough and uneven, as though we had been transported to a distant, war-torn land.

"An illusion," I murmured to myself, impressed by the quality of the magic. "A clever one."

Valeria chuckled softly beside me. "The best money can buy."

Out of one of the gates, a group of creatures was thrust into the arena. At first glance, they seemed like men, but I quickly realized they weren't human at all. Dwarves, short and stout with thick beards, their traditional armor gleaming under the artificial sunlight. Beside them, elves, taller and lithe, their faces sharp and angular, their movements fluid as they adjusted to the sudden change in environment. They were warriors, dressed in the armor of their people—metalwork and leather that bore the marks of their culture, a far cry from the brutal efficiency of the Empire's military.

Valeria's voice broke through my thoughts. "This should be interesting. The dwarves are stubborn fighters, and the elves… well, they're known for their precision."

"And here I was thinking this was all for entertainment," I said dryly, though my eyes stayed fixed on the arena.

She tilted her head. "Oh, it is. But every spectacle has its players. These are simply… exotic ones."

I didn't have time to respond before the gates on the opposite side of the arena groaned open. Out marched a cohort of Empire soldiers, their armor polished to perfection, reflecting the light in blinding flashes. They moved with the discipline of seasoned warriors, their formation tight and calculated. This wasn't going to be a slaughter—it was a demonstration of power. The soldiers were there to show that even the finest warriors from distant lands couldn't stand against the might of the Empire.

A whistle blew, signaling the start of the battle, and for a brief moment, there was silence. The kind of silence that comes before a storm.

Then, all hell broke loose.

The dwarves, unsurprisingly, took a defensive position, their shields locking together in an impenetrable wall. Their axes gleamed as they prepared for the Empire's assault. The elves, on the other hand, darted to higher ground, using the trees and uneven terrain to their advantage. Their bows were in hand before I even registered the movement, arrows nocked and ready.

The Empire's soldiers moved in unison, a deadly machine of discipline and precision. They split into two groups—one advancing on the dwarves' shield wall, the other trying to outflank the elves in the trees.

Valeria leaned forward, her eyes gleaming with interest. "The Empire loves its tactics. Watch how they test their opponents first."

True to her words, the soldiers approached cautiously at first, probing the dwarves' defenses with short, calculated strikes. The clang of steel on steel rang through the air as the dwarves held their ground. Meanwhile, the elves rained down arrows on the flanking soldiers, forcing them to take cover behind their shields. Every movement was deliberate, every strike a testament to years of training.

But it wasn't just the soldiers who were impressive. The dwarves and elves were no amateurs. One of the dwarves, his beard braided and his helm adorned with runes, bellowed a war cry that seemed to shake the very ground. He charged forward, breaking from the shield wall to deliver a bone-crushing blow to one of the soldiers, sending him sprawling into the dirt. At the same time, the elves' arrows found their marks, striking between the gaps in the soldiers' armor with deadly precision.

The crowd erupted into cheers, their bloodlust fully awakened.

The Empire's soldiers, chosen to represent the might of the nation in this spectacle, weren't using their full strength. Their movements were precise but held back, their strikes falling just short of being fatal. It was, after all, a contest to first blood—an exhibition, not a slaughter. The Empire had no interest in losing valuable captives for sport, nor in showcasing unnecessary brutality.

To most of the audience, it would have appeared that the soldiers were simply having a run of luck—well-timed dodges, sharper reflexes, and just enough force to tip the balance in their favor. But I could see the difference. I recognized the enhancements I had woven into their gear, the subtle tweaks that made them faster, more agile, their blows landing in just the right places to avoid detection. They were enhanced, yes, but only enough to win without raising too many questions.

Valeria's attention flicked back to the action as one of the Empire's soldiers narrowly dodged a blow that should have felled him. He countered with a speed that seemed almost supernatural, his sword slashing with precision, but stopping just before causing fatal damage. It was controlled, brutal in its efficiency, yet held back, like a predator toying with its prey.

The Empire's soldiers steadily gained the upper hand. The foreign warriors, despite their resilience and skill, were no match for the enhancements. The crowd cheered, blissfully unaware that the soldiers weren't winning on their own merit. They had the advantage, but it wasn't luck or raw skill.

The battle in the arena reached its inevitable conclusion, the roar of the crowd reverberating through the Colosseum as the foreign warriors—elves and dwarves—were led away like prisoners of war. I watched them with keen interest, my mind buzzing with questions. Their fighting styles, their resilience—they were impressive, but what intrigued me more was their connection to the lands beyond the Empire's reach.

As I stood up, Valeria raised a delicate eyebrow. "Where do you think you're going?"

"I'm curious about the foreigners," I replied, brushing off the dust from my robes. "I want to see if I can meet them. Maybe talk."

Her lips curved into a wry smile. "Curious, are you? Well, I suppose I could join you. Someone has to keep you out of trouble." There was that mocking tone again, but it was laced with genuine intrigue this time. She was always interested in what I found worth pursuing—especially when it involved something or someone foreign to the Empire.

Together, we made our way down from the private box, slipping through the corridors of the Colosseum with ease. Valeria's presence, with her status and grace, was more than enough to bypass any guards, but just to be safe, I tossed a few coins to ensure no one asked too many questions. It wasn't long before we found ourselves in the underground chambers beneath the arena, a dark labyrinth of stone and steel where the real business of the Colosseum took place. The air was heavy with the metallic tang of blood, sweat, and the distinct stench of fear.

"Charming," I muttered, casting a glance at Valeria as we walked deeper into the corridors. She responded with a faint smile, her eyes flicking over every detail as if she was cataloging it for later use. Typical.

As we turned a corner, I spotted Caius and a handful of his men. They were in high spirits, celebrating their victory in the arena, though they had held back significantly. There was nothing more dangerous than men who had tasted the rush of battle but still had more to give.

"David," Caius called out as he noticed me, raising a cup of wine in greeting. "You missed the end of the fun! But I can tell you enjoyed the show."

I smirked, nodding. "You put on quite the display, but I have a favor to ask." I glanced over my shoulder to ensure Valeria was keeping her distance, maintaining her facade of aloof disinterest.

Caius raised an eyebrow, curious. "What sort of favor?"

"I need access to the prisoners. The foreigners," I said, my voice low. "I'd like to talk to them."

He exchanged a glance with his men, all of them sporting the satisfied grins of men who had just proven their worth. "Why? They're just entertainment for the masses."

"That's exactly what concerns me," I replied. "They're not just here to entertain. They're valuable."

Caius chuckled, clearly entertained by my sudden interest. "Alright, but it'll cost you. Getting past the guards down there isn't exactly free."

Of course, it wouldn't be. I pulled out a small pouch of coins and handed it over without hesitation. Caius weighed it in his hand, nodding appreciatively. "Good enough. I'll make sure no one bothers you while you... chat."

With a nod, Caius led the way, motioning for his men to stay behind. Valeria, still feigning disinterest, trailed closely, her eyes flicking to every corner of the Colosseum's underbelly as if committing it to memory. She didn't say anything, but I knew she was intrigued.

We approached a set of barred doors, where two guards stood watch. Caius exchanged a few words and more coins, and soon enough, we were through. The air was cooler here, more controlled. This wasn't the holding area for criminals or gladiators waiting for their next fight—this was different. These prisoners were valuable, and they were being treated as such.

Inside, the elves and dwarves sat around a long table, feasting on a meal that looked more like a banquet than the rations I'd expect prisoners to receive. They wore no armor now, just simple tunics and trousers, but even stripped of their war gear, they had an air of dignity. The dwarves ate in silence, their eyes never lifting to meet mine, while the elves regarded me with a mix of caution and curiosity.

I approached cautiously, feeling Valeria's gaze on me as I did. One of the elves, a tall figure with sharp, angular features, finally acknowledged my presence. His silver eyes locked onto mine with a flicker of recognition.

"You... have the blessing of the elves," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of generations. "How did you come by it?"

Valeria's eyes lit up at this revelation, though she wisely stayed silent, her posture one of studied indifference. But I could see the gleam of interest beneath her composed exterior. She was like a hawk, watching for any new piece of information to seize.

"I freed a slave," I replied, my voice steady. "An elven woman, bound to the Empire. It was... the right thing to do."

The elf nodded solemnly, his eyes briefly flickering with gratitude. "For that, you have earned our respect. With the blessing, you may come to our lands. The gates will open for you."

Before I could respond, the door to the chamber swung open with a harsh clang, and the overseer of the slaves stormed in. His face was flushed with annoyance, clearly irritated by my presence.

"What's going on here?" he barked, his eyes darting between me, the prisoners, and Caius.

"We were just leaving," I said smoothly, giving a respectful nod to the elves. I turned to Valeria, who was watching the entire exchange with barely concealed amusement. "Shall we?"

Valeria's smile widened ever so slightly. "By all means, let's not outstay our welcome."

As we made our way back toward the Colosseum's upper levels, I could feel Valeria's gaze lingering on me. She was intrigued—more than usual. The elves had mentioned something that piqued her interest, and I knew she wouldn't let it go.

"So," she began casually, "blessed by the elves, are you?"

I sighed inwardly, knowing this would only lead to more questions, more curiosity. "It's not as grand as it sounds."

She gave me a sidelong glance, her lips curving into a sly smile. "Oh, I doubt that."

We walked in silence for a while, the distant roar of the Colosseum's next spectacle echoing behind us. My thoughts were still on the elves and the cryptic invitation they had extended to me. What would it mean to enter their lands with the blessing? What had I truly gotten myself into?

And as we stepped back into the sunlight, I realized that, once again, I had become entwined in something far larger than myself. Valeria, with her sharp wit and sharper instincts, would be watching my every move. But for now, I'd let her speculate.

After all, I'd learned long ago that curiosity was a powerful weapon—and in this city, everyone was armed to the teeth with it.