Chapter 36

Waking up before dawn was typically my style. After spending the night with the gladiators in a surprisingly amiable tavern crawl, I had been stewing on a few ideas. Ideas that required an early start, just in case today threw any more surprises my way—which, in this city, seemed like a certainty.

I dressed in my most utilitarian gear—leather armor, simple but sturdy, nothing too showy. The kind of outfit that wouldn't attract too much attention while still keeping me well-protected if things went sideways. The weapons, of course, remained tucked away in my inventory stone, ready to be summoned at a moment's notice. There's no telling when a sword or dagger might come in handy around here, and I wasn't about to stroll through the city unarmed. Not in a place as unpredictable as this.

The streets were quiet as I made my way toward the Colosseum district. The towering structure loomed in the distance, casting long shadows across the city in the early morning light. But I wasn't heading for the main arena today—no need to draw that kind of attention so soon after the previous day's spectacle. Instead, I made my way toward the training grounds nearby, a collection of smaller arenas and practice fields where gladiators honed their skills.

Caius and the others would be there. Men like them didn't waste time. Training was their life, their profession. And after last night's little show, I had a feeling they'd be eager to get back into fighting shape—bruises and all.

As I approached the entrance to one of the larger training grounds, the familiar sound of clashing steel greeted me. The gladiators were already at it, their grunts and shouts mingling with the rhythmic clang of swords meeting shields. Caius stood at the center of the group, barking orders between parries, his scarred face set in its usual grim expression. His men, still looking a bit worse for wear after our "friendly" brawl, were working through their drills like nothing had happened.

I walked up to the edge of the training field, arms crossed, watching for a moment. Caius spotted me and gave a curt nod, but didn't break his flow. One of his men—a younger fighter, probably in his mid-twenties—noticed me too, his eyes narrowing slightly in suspicion. Word traveled fast around these parts, and I was already getting the sense that I wasn't exactly a welcome distraction.

Caius finished his set, disarming his opponent with a swift twist of his sword before motioning for me to join him. "Goodchild," he called out, wiping the sweat from his brow. "Didn't expect to see you here so soon. Thought you'd had enough fun with us last night."

I smirked, stepping onto the sandy training ground. "Figured I should return the favor. You know, make sure I'm in top form in case we run into any more misunderstandings."

He grunted in response, tossing me a training sword. "Then you're in luck. We don't just talk here. If you want to discuss plans, you'll have to train first. No free passes."

I caught the sword mid-air, feeling its weight in my hand. It wasn't anything like the finely-tuned weapons I kept in my inventory, but it would do. Caius gave a sharp whistle, and before I knew it, one of his men stepped forward, sizing me up.

"Alright," I muttered under my breath, settling into a defensive stance. "Let's see how this goes."

We began sparring, the young gladiator quick on his feet, but not quick enough. I let him come at me, dodging his strikes with relative ease, feeling the familiar hum of rune energy pulsing beneath my skin. His swings were predictable—he led with his shoulder every time—and after a few quick exchanges, I managed to twist his arm just enough to send his sword flying.

"Lesson one," I said, not bothering to hide my grin. "Don't telegraph your moves."

The gladiator scowled, retrieving his weapon from the dirt as Caius approached, clearly more amused than concerned. "Not bad," he said, folding his arms. "But don't think this makes you one of us. Now, you came here for a reason. What is it?"

I took a breath, steadying myself after the brief fight. "I've been thinking," I began, eyeing the rest of the gladiators as they went back to their drills. "You mentioned something last night about how gladiators aren't all slaves. That most of you choose this life because it's profitable. I want to know more about that."

Caius raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "What's to know? It's a business. You fight, you survive, you get paid. You die, well, that's the risk."

"But not every fight is to the death, right?" I pressed, twirling the training sword absentmindedly in my hand. "I've heard about the Colosseum. Blood, bodies, the whole spectacle. Doesn't exactly sound like a safe career choice."

One of the older gladiators nearby snorted, overhearing our conversation. "That's for the criminals," he called out, his voice thick with a seasoned rasp. "Or the slaves. Most of us are professionals. It's not about killing—it's about the sport. Sure, we bleed, but we're not stupid. We've got healers, investments to protect. No one's throwing us to the lions just for show."

Caius nodded in agreement, his expression softening slightly. "He's right. The death matches are for those with nothing left to lose. For us? It's about the spectacle, the challenge. They pay us because we make it look good. Blood's part of it, sure, but rarely enough to kill anyone."

I tilted my head, intrigued. "So it's all for show, then? A controlled chaos?"

"Exactly," Caius said, meeting my gaze. "We train hard because it's a job. A dangerous one, but not a suicide mission. We're paid well, respected even. And those who make a name for themselves—well, they can retire with enough coin to live like kings."

I couldn't help but chuckle. "Sounds like a great career path, aside from the occasional broken bone."

He smirked. "That's the risk we take."

I paused for a moment, thinking through my next question as we resumed sparring. The clashing of steel filled the air again, and as I blocked a strike from Caius's sword, I asked, "What about the real killers? The ones who don't walk away? I've heard the stories."

Caius swung at me again, forcing me back a step. "That's for the slaves and the condemned. Criminals sentenced to fight for their lives, or slaves with nothing left to lose. The Colosseum needs its blood to keep the crowd entertained, but they're not wasting their professional gladiators on death matches. It's good business."

I parried, narrowly avoiding a blow to my side. "So you're saying the real risk is only for those who don't have a choice?"

Caius nodded, breathing heavily now. "Exactly. We've got contracts, sponsors. People invest in us because they know we can make them money. We're an investment, not disposable."

I absorbed the information as I sidestepped another strike, the weight of the training sword growing familiar in my hand. There was more to this life than I had originally thought. Sure, they were fighters, but there was a system here—one that revolved around profit, entertainment, and survival. These men weren't just brutes looking for a brawl. They were playing the game, the same as everyone else in this city.

Caius gave me a long, calculating look, his sword resting casually over his shoulder, but his eyes narrowed in suspicion. "You keep asking the same questions, Goodchild. What is it you really want?"

The rest of the gladiators slowed their training, their gazes flicking between me and Caius, curious. I could feel the weight of their attention, but there was no crowd here to play to—just us and the open air of the training grounds, the sound of steel clashing in the background. Time to cut to the chase.

I glanced around, making sure no one else was nearby. It was just us, which was precisely what I needed. "How would you like to get as fast and as strong as I am?" I asked, my voice low but clear.

That got their attention. Every single one of them paused mid-swing, mid-step. The ones who hadn't been with us during yesterday's fight must have heard the stories by now. Hell, even if they hadn't seen it, they had to know something was up after watching me take on ten of them and walk away without so much as a scratch. Now, even the veterans were eyeing me with something between skepticism and intrigue. Caius crossed his arms over his chest, his expression unreadable, but I could see the curiosity burning behind his eyes.

"How much training would that take?" he asked, his tone steady, but I could tell he was already trying to measure the cost of what I was offering.

I shook my head, suppressing a smirk. "None, to be honest with you."

That got a reaction. A few of the gladiators turned to each other, some snorting, others outright laughing. One of them, a burly guy with a scar that ran down his cheek, slapped the shoulder of the man next to him and muttered something about "good jokes for the morning." Caius, though, just stared at me, waiting for an explanation. His eyes hadn't left mine.

I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Alright, alright. I know it sounds ridiculous. But hold on a second."

Without another word, I unstrapped my leather bracer and tugged at the sleeve of my armor, rolling it up to my elbow. Underneath, the rough linen of my tunic was stained from days of work, but that wasn't what I wanted them to see. With a soft command, a whisper to the runes woven into my skin, I let the web of tattoos spread across my arm glow faintly. The runes glinted in the dim light, their intricate lines shimmering like faint trails of ink on flesh.

The reactions were immediate. A few of the younger gladiators gasped, while others exchanged wide-eyed glances. Caius, for the first time since I'd met him, looked genuinely surprised. His gaze shifted from the runes on my arm to my face, then back to the tattoos.

"What in the gods' name is that?" one of the gladiators muttered, inching closer to get a better look.

I flexed my arm slightly, letting the runes dance with their faint glow. "These," I said, "are why I can move faster than any of you. Why I can take hits that would leave most people broken. They're runes—enhancements, if you will—modified to work with the human body. And before you ask, no, this isn't just some flashy magic trick."

"Rubbish," one of them scoffed, though his tone lacked the conviction his words were supposed to carry.

But Caius wasn't laughing. He was studying the runes intently, his brow furrowed in thought. "Where'd you get them?" he asked, voice low, cautious.

"Orcs," I replied. That got more than a few raised eyebrows. "I picked up the base design after a little... altercation with an orc tribe. Their runes are powerful—primitive, but effective. I modified the runes to work with human physiology. It wasn't easy, but let's just say it paid off."

"You're telling me orc magic is what's making you... faster?" one of the older gladiators, a grizzled veteran named Marcus, asked, looking skeptical. "Since when do humans and orcs share magic?"

I nodded. "The orcs have been using runes for centuries. Not the sophisticated magic we're used to, but their body enhancements? That's ancient magic, older than most of the structures in this city. I spent time studying them, learning their ways. What I've got here—" I motioned to the runes on my arm "—is a modified version of their designs, adapted for human use. The real trick was making sure it wouldn't fry me from the inside out."

There were murmurs now, the gladiators exchanging looks, some still unsure, others intrigued. The scars, the constant threat of injury and death—that was their life. If I was offering them something that might give them an edge, I knew they'd be interested. But I wasn't naive enough to think they'd take my word for it just yet.

Caius folded his arms again, his gaze never leaving mine. "And you're saying we could have this?" he asked, his voice steady, but I could hear the edge of interest creeping in. "No training, no long rituals? Just... like that?"

I raised an eyebrow. "With some work, yes. You'd need someone like me to inscribe the runes properly, of course, and it's not as simple as slapping ink on your skin. It requires precision, understanding. But once it's done? The results speak for themselves. You saw what I could do last night. Imagine having that power in the Colosseum."

A ripple of excitement passed through the group. Even the skeptics were listening now, their curiosity piqued. I had their attention.

"Now, before you all start lining up to get tattooed," I said, holding up a hand, "there are some things you need to know. The runes work, but they come with risks. They push your body beyond its natural limits. You'll move faster, hit harder, but you'll also need time to recover. If you overuse them, you could tear yourself apart."

Marcus, the old gladiator, snorted. "Sounds like half the things we do already. Overexert yourself in the arena, and you'll tear a muscle or worse."

I nodded. "Exactly. The difference is, with these runes, you'll be pushing beyond what you're used to. You'll need to learn how to control the power. But if you can handle that... well, you'll be unstoppable."

Caius remained silent for a moment, clearly weighing his options. The other gladiators, now gathered around us, looked to him for direction. He was their leader, after all. If he was convinced, they would follow.

"What's the catch?" he finally asked, his voice level.

The moment hung in the air, heavy with anticipation. I knew this was the critical part—the moment that could make or break the entire deal. The gladiators stood around me, waiting, their expressions a mix of curiosity and wariness. They weren't fools, and they certainly weren't the kind to be taken for a ride without knowing exactly what was on the line.

I leaned in, letting the weight of my words settle. "You're right. There is a catch. Because nothing in this world comes for free, and I'm certainly not about to hand over power like this without getting something in return."

A low murmur rippled through the group. A few grunted in annoyance, clearly not fond of where they thought this was going. One of them, a grizzled veteran with a face like granite, muttered, "We're not going to be slaves, Goodchild."

I raised a hand, signaling for patience. "No, not slaves. Mercenaries. Well-paid, highly trained, and, most importantly, loyal mercenaries. This isn't about shackling you to me like cattle. It's about forging a partnership. You get the power, and I get fighters who know the value of their skills. Fighters who understand loyalty."

Their expressions softened, but only slightly. Trust was earned in blood and time, not words. Caius stepped forward, crossing his arms over his chest. "And how exactly do you expect us to be loyal? What, we sign some piece of paper and suddenly we're bound to you for life?"

I couldn't help but smirk. "Not quite. Think of it as a magical contract. One that's bound directly to the runes themselves. The runes will only work if the contract is honored. If you break your end of the deal, they stop functioning. But if I break mine—if I don't pay you, don't keep my side of the bargain—then you're free to walk away. The runes will continue to work, and you'll owe me nothing. It's a fair trade, built into the magic itself."

That got their attention. Gladiators were used to contracts, after all. Many of them had signed agreements with sponsors or trainers, some bound by magic, others by gold. The idea of a contract linked to the very power they craved was something that made sense to them. They weren't committing to blind loyalty—they were making a business deal.

Caius looked at me, a hint of intrigue flickering behind his hard gaze. "That's... not unreasonable," he admitted. "But like with any deal, the devil's in the details. We need more than just promises. We need guarantees."

I gestured toward a shaded area nearby where a few tables were set up. "Then let's talk details," I said, already thinking of the contract I'd need to craft. "We'll sort out the pay, the terms of loyalty, everything. You'll have a say in it. After all, this isn't a one-sided deal."

Caius nodded, signaling to a few of the more senior gladiators to join us. The rest of the group dispersed back to their training, but their eyes still lingered on us, clearly interested in what would come of this negotiation. As we settled at the table, I could see the wheels turning in their minds, the questions forming behind their stoic faces. These weren't just brutes—they were professionals. And professionals knew how to haggle.

As we sat, I rolled out a blank parchment, ready to draft the contract. I began by outlining the basics: a steady pay rate, one that would scale based on the tasks and risks involved. These were men who thrived in battle, so they weren't expecting cushy work, but they also weren't about to throw their lives away for pennies. I offered a generous rate, one that would keep them loyal without feeling like they were being used.

For a while, we went back and forth, hammering out the finer points of pay, conditions, and what exactly "loyalty" meant. They weren't pledging themselves to me as personal soldiers—that much was clear. This wasn't a blood oath. They'd follow orders on the battlefield, honor the terms of the contract, but they wouldn't be my errand boys. It was an agreement of mutual benefit, and I respected that. They weren't looking to be tied down any more than I was looking to have a bunch of lapdogs. I wanted skilled, deadly professionals. They wanted power and fair compensation.

At one point, one of the older gladiators leaned in, his voice low. "There's one thing we need to add," he said, his tone dark, almost conspiratorial. "A binding element."

I raised an eyebrow. "A binding element?"

He nodded, his weathered face solemn. "It's an old practice among gladiators—Roman, but with a touch of the occult. We use it when we make blood oaths. It ensures that both parties stay true to their word, even beyond the magic of contracts. You break the oath, the magic turns on you. It's... effective."

I sat back, intrigued. I had heard whispers of these kinds of practices—ancient, occult rituals that went beyond the standard magical contracts used in business. This was something darker, something more binding. And yet, it made sense. These men lived by the sword, and their word was often as sharp as their blade. Breaking a contract wasn't just bad business—it was personal.

"How does it work?" I asked, curious now.

Caius exchanged glances with the others before answering. "It's not something we do lightly. It involves blood—both yours and ours. It binds the contract to the very essence of who we are. The runes will still function as you've said, but this... this makes sure neither side even thinks about breaking their word."

I considered it for a moment. Blood magic was potent, dangerous, but also incredibly effective. And while I wasn't entirely comfortable with the idea of binding myself to these men in such a way, I understood the value of trust—especially in a city where betrayal was as common as breathing.

"Alright," I said, nodding slowly. "If that's what it takes to make this deal, then we'll include it. But I want this to be clear: the terms remain fair. If either side breaches the contract, the runes fail. And if you try to double-cross me—well, the consequences will be dire."

They nodded, satisfied with the agreement.

As we worked through the rest of the day, the details of the contract became more complex. We negotiated payment schedules, responsibilities, and what kind of missions they would be expected to take on. They made it clear they weren't interested in petty work—they wanted real challenges. The kind of jobs that would pay in gold and glory, not scraps.

I found their ambition reassuring. They were gladiators through and through, always looking for the next big fight, always eager to prove their worth. And with the power of the runes at their disposal, they would be nearly unstoppable.

As the sun began to dip low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the training grounds, we finally reached an agreement. I rolled up the parchment, sealing it with a small rune of my own design—one that would lock the terms in place until the blood oath was performed.

Caius stood, stretching his arms as the others gathered around. "Well," he said with a wry grin, "looks like we've got ourselves a deal, Goodchild."

I returned the grin, feeling the weight of the day's negotiations lift slightly. "Looks that way. Let's just hope we all live long enough to reap the benefits."

He laughed, a deep, rumbling sound that echoed through the quieting training grounds. "In this city? That's never a guarantee."

As we prepared to part ways, Caius paused, his expression thoughtful. "You ever wonder why we fight, Goodchild? Why we put ourselves in harm's way day after day, even when there's an easier way out?"

I tilted my head, curious where this was going. "Glory? Money? The thrill of battle?"

He shook his head, a hint of something deeper in his eyes. "Those are just excuses. We fight because it's all we know. The arena, the blood, the crowds—they shape us. Make us into something more than men. We fight because without it, we're nothing."

I nodded, understanding more than I let on. In a way, we weren't so different. He fought with steel, and I fought with runes and intellect, but the drive was the same—the need to be more, to carve out a place in a world that would rather see us broken.

"I get it," I said quietly. "We all fight our battles. It's just a matter of choosing the right ones."

Caius grinned, a glint of respect in his eyes. "Glad to hear it. Now let's hope this partnership of ours is the right one."

With that, we parted ways, the contract sealed, and the future uncertain. As I walked back toward my workshop, I couldn't help but wonder about the occult element they had insisted on. There were layers to these gladiators, depths I hadn't anticipated. And while I now had their loyalty, at least in the form of a contract, I knew I hadn't uncovered all of their secrets.

But that was fine. We had time. And in this city, secrets were currency.

The summons arrived midmorning, carried by one of Lucilla Varinius's liveried servants. As soon as I saw the wax seal—a finely detailed image of a serpent curled around a staff—I knew what this was about. Lucilla, wife to one of the most powerful senators in the city, had sent for me. I had been dreading this moment ever since she commissioned me to create her... object.

I stood in my workshop, the item laid out in front of me on the bench, and I couldn't help but stare at it like it was a pit viper coiled and ready to strike. It looked innocuous enough—small, elegant, with a polished sheen that suggested wealth and power. But it was anything but harmless. No, this was a weapon of a very particular nature, crafted not for battle but for social warfare, the kind that left reputations in ruins and men broken without a drop of blood being spilled.

I had been working on it all morning, carefully inscribing the final runes, each stroke of the etching tool precise and deliberate. And now it was finished—ready to be delivered to the charmingly dangerous Lucilla Varinius. Of course, I had taken a few precautions. I wasn't stupid. There were runes woven into my own protective amulet, specifically designed to negate the effects of this particular creation. Just in case.

With a sigh, I placed the object into a velvet bag, the deep red fabric swallowing its glint. Then, with a flick of my fingers, I tucked it away into my inventory stone, where it would stay safely until the time came to present it. I caught my reflection in the polished bronze shield hanging on the wall—my tunic was a deep blue, simple but well-made, paired with a short cloak that marked me as someone of means, though not of nobility. It was the look I always aimed for. Rich enough to be taken seriously, humble enough not to attract too much attention.

Satisfied, I left the workshop, deciding to take an afternoon walk. No need to rush to Lucilla's villa. She could wait. In this city, showing up early was a sign of weakness, and weakness was something I couldn't afford, especially not with someone like her.

As I made my way through the bustling streets, I let my thoughts wander. The city was alive, as always. Market vendors called out to passersby, offering everything from freshly baked bread to intricate jewelry, and the scent of roasted meat mingled with the sharp tang of spices in the air. I passed by a group of children playing in the dusty square, their laughter ringing out over the din of the marketplace. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that beneath the surface of this vibrant city lurked the darker currents—power plays, political machinations, and deadly secrets. But today, those currents seemed far away, hidden beneath the chatter of daily life.

As I walked, the buildings grew grander, the streets cleaner, and the people more refined. I was nearing the heart of the city now, the district where the wealthiest families lived—close to the palace, where the true power resided. The transition was stark. The simple wooden homes and stone shops gave way to towering marble mansions, their facades gleaming in the midday sun. Fountains gurgled in perfectly manicured gardens, and slaves in pristine tunics hurried about their duties with practiced efficiency.

Lucilla's family estate came into view—a sprawling villa, surrounded by high walls topped with iron spikes. The gates were flanked by two guards, their armor polished to a gleaming shine. As I approached, one of them stepped forward, his hand raised.

"State your business," he said, his voice gruff but professional.

I gave him my most disarming smile. "David Goodchild. I have an appointment with Lady Varinius."

He looked me over, his eyes lingering on my tunic for a moment, no doubt assessing whether I belonged in a place like this. Finally, he nodded, signaling to the other guard, who opened the gate with a creak. As I stepped through, I couldn't help but notice the rune-etched device mounted just inside the gate—an artifact designed to detect weapons. Clever.

"Your inventory stone," the guard said, holding out a hand.

I paused, feigning surprise. "Ah, of course." With a casual wave of my hand, I summoned the stone from my pocket, placing it in his outstretched palm. It wasn't as though I could hide anything from their device, and besides, I didn't need weapons today. Not unless things went very, very wrong.

The guard tucked the stone into a small lockbox and nodded for me to proceed. I was led through the villa, past ornate statues and fountains, until we reached a lush garden, an arberitum filled with vibrant flowers and exotic plants. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and roses, and the sound of birds chirping softly in the distance created an almost serene atmosphere.

But I knew better than to let my guard down. In the heart of this beauty, danger always lurked.

Lucilla was seated at a stone table, sipping delicately from a goblet of wine. Beside her sat another woman—one I recognized from the night of the party. She had been there with the gladiators, a striking figure with an air of authority that suggested she was more than just a noblewoman. As I approached, Lucilla looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly before she offered me a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"Ah, David," she said, her voice smooth as silk. "So good of you to come."

I bowed slightly, just enough to be respectful but not subservient. "Lady Varinius. I wouldn't dare keep you waiting."

She laughed lightly, though I could tell she didn't find my comment particularly amusing. The other woman remained silent, her gaze fixed on me, appraising.

"Please," Lucilla said, gesturing to the seat across from her. "Sit. We have much to discuss."

I took the seat, my eyes flicking briefly to the velvet bag still tucked safely in my robe. I could feel its weight. Lucilla's gaze followed mine, and for a moment, there was a flicker of something in her eyes—anticipation, perhaps?

"I trust you've brought the item," she said, her tone casual, though there was an edge to it. The kind of edge that came from knowing she held the upper hand.

"I have," I replied, keeping my voice steady. "Finished this morning. But before we get to that, I couldn't help but notice... you seem to have added some new company since the last time we spoke."

Her smile widened, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Oh, you noticed, did you? This is Lydia. She's an old friend of mine. You might have seen her at the party."

"I remember," I said, giving Lydia a nod. Her expression remained impassive, but there was something about the way she held herself—poised, like a snake ready to strike.

Lucilla took a sip of her wine, watching me over the rim of her goblet. "She's here for... support."

I smiled. "I see."

There was a moment of silence, the air thick with unspoken tension. Finally, Lucilla set her goblet down and leaned forward slightly. "You've done well, David. Very well. But you understand that I expect nothing short of perfection."

"Of course," I said, my tone smooth. "You wouldn't have come to me if you expected anything less."

Her eyes glittered. "Good. Then let's see it."

I reached into my robe, pulling out the velvet bag. The weight of it felt heavier now, as though it carried more than just the object inside. I placed it on the table in front of her, and for a moment, no one moved. Lucilla's eyes flicked to the bag, and I could see the hunger in them—this was more than just a commission to her. This was power.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against the velvet before slowly drawing the bag open. The object inside gleamed in the soft light of the arberitum, its runes etched in delicate, swirling patterns that seemed to pulse faintly with energy.

Lydia leaned in, her eyes narrowing as she examined it. "It's... exquisite," she murmured.

Lucilla didn't respond. She was too busy admiring her new toy.

"Everything you asked for," I said, leaning back slightly. "And a little more."

Lucilla's gaze snapped to mine, her smile widening. "A little more, you say?"

I nodded. "I've taken the liberty of adding a few extra runes. Subtle enhancements, but ones I think you'll appreciate. Increased durability, for one. And a safeguard—just in case someone tries to use it against you."

Her smile faltered for a brief moment, and I could see the flicker of suspicion in her eyes. "And why, exactly, would anyone try to use it against me?"

I shrugged, keeping my tone light. "You know how people are in this city. Always looking for an edge. I figured it couldn't hurt to be cautious."

She studied me for a long moment, her fingers still tracing the runes on the object. Then, finally, she nodded. "You've done well, David. Very well indeed."

I inclined my head slightly, though I kept my expression neutral. "I aim to please."

As Lucilla eyed the object, a mischievous glint danced in her eyes, like a cat toying with a mouse. She leaned back in her chair and said, almost too casually, "I just want to try it out."

Of course she did.

I couldn't help but smile. "You might want to exercise caution, Lady Varinius. I've developed a protective rune for myself—just in case. You know, for safety reasons."

Lucilla's lips curled into an amused grin, her fingers already tracing the etched runes of the object. She activated it without hesitation, and I felt the ripple of its power, though thankfully, my precautionary runes dulled the effects. I remained calm, but across from us, Lydia looked less composed, her eyes widening in surprise, and—if I wasn't mistaken—just a hint of alarm.

"Perhaps," I said, keeping my tone light, "you should deactivate it and take a moment to familiarize yourself with the item's focus. Mastering control is... key."

Lucilla gave me an indulgent look but complied, turning off the rune-infused artifact with a flick of her fingers. She cast a quick glance at Lydia, who was still visibly unsettled, her expression torn between shock and an attempt to maintain her composure. Lucilla, ever the picture of poise, feigned an apology, though her tone suggested she felt no real remorse. "Apologies, my dear Lydia. I didn't mean to... surprise you."

Lydia frowned slightly, clearly put out by the whole ordeal. "Yes, well," she muttered, smoothing the folds of her dress, "it was... unexpected."

"Work to do, it seems," Lucilla remarked with a sly smile, her gaze returning to the object as if already plotting its future uses.

I nodded in agreement, choosing not to press the point. Instead, I leaned forward slightly and said, "Now that the test is over, I'll take my payment, if you don't mind."

For a brief moment, I thought she might try the classic rich person's trick—feigning forgetfulness or claiming she had no money on her and promising to pay later. But Lucilla surprised me. With a fluid motion, she retrieved a small leather bag from her inventory, placing it on the table with a soft thud. Her fingers lingered a fraction too long as they brushed against mine when she handed it over, the gesture deliberate. She watched me, a slow smile forming on her lips.

"Not going to count it?" she asked, her tone teasing, yet there was something sharp beneath it.

I raised an eyebrow. "You have far too much class to shortchange someone, Lady Varinius."

Her smile widened, though it didn't quite reach her eyes. "What a charming thing to say."

I stood to leave, feeling the weight of the coins now secured in my robe. But as I turned to go, Lucilla leaned back in her chair and spoke again, this time with a casual, almost offhanded tone. "Could I interest you in... something more?"

I didn't need to ask what she meant. I'd played this game long enough to know the cues, the unspoken offers. But this time, the answer was simple.

"Sorry, but I'm... indisposed." I gave her a polite smile, one that didn't invite further discussion.

She nodded slowly, her lips pursed in mild disappointment. But as I prepared to take my leave, her parting words caught me off guard. "Well done with the boys, by the way," she said. "I was expecting a bloodbath... I usually do when gladiators are involved. It's so difficult to find good male company that can handle themselves without making a mess of things."

I gave a small bow, my expression carefully neutral. "I'm glad I could exceed your expectations," I replied, though inwardly, I couldn't help but smirk at the absurdity of it all. Exceeding her expectations had become something of a habit.

With that, I left, making sure to retrieve my inventory stone from the guard at the gate. I weighed it briefly in my hand, checking it with a practiced glance to ensure that everything was in its proper place. Satisfied, I strode back into the bustling streets of the city, my thoughts already shifting.

As I walked, the realization of what I had just created settled in. A weapon, yes, but one that didn't spill blood—at least not directly. In Lucilla's hands, this little rune-enhanced artifact would be used to manipulate, to control, and to bend others to her will. She didn't need swords or daggers. No, she wielded power in subtler ways—ways far more dangerous. And I had just handed her the perfect tool for it.

It wasn't lost on me that the real danger of Lucilla's new toy wasn't in the object itself, but in the hunger of the woman holding it. Women like Lucilla—ambitious, power-hungry, and calculating—were a force of nature. She would use this object to wrap people around her finger, to gain influence and control in places where brute force had no place.

I thought back to one of the podcast episodes I had recorded back in my earlier days—a segment about the psychological appetite of women who wield power. There's a certain drive that comes with it, I had said. It isn't just about dominance; it's about controlling perception. A woman like Lucilla, for example, thrives on appearances. She doesn't just want control; she wants the world to see her as untouchable, as inevitable. That's the real game. Power for its own sake is hollow, but power that makes people believe in it? That's where the true strength lies.

I shook my head. She had certainly mastered that game. And now, with her new toy, she would play it even more ruthlessly.

As I made my way back to my workshop, weaving through the midday crowds, I couldn't help but feel a certain unease settle in. I'd done my part. The commission was complete, the payment collected. But there was always something unsettling about people like Lucilla—people who never played by the same rules as the rest of us. She would use the artifact to its fullest potential, of that I was sure. What remained to be seen was who would be caught in the web of her ambition next.

A part of me wondered if I should've declined the commission altogether. But then again, a woman like Lucilla would've found someone else to make the item. It was better that I remained in her good graces—better that I had some insight into her plans rather than being caught off guard. Still, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had handed a viper a sharper set of fangs.

Once inside the workshop, I placed the leather bag of coins on the table, the clink of metal breaking the quiet. As I began to count the payment—not that I doubted Lucilla's precision in this area, but old habits die hard—I found myself considering what the next few weeks would bring. Lucilla was a problem, yes, but she was also an opportunity. If I played my cards right, I could stay one step ahead.

The afternoon sun streamed through the narrow window of my workshop, casting long, amber shadows that stretched across the room. I sat at my cluttered workbench, counting the coins Lucilla had paid me earlier. As expected, the sum was generous—too generous, in fact. Her payment always came with strings attached, whether she said it outright or not. But the weight of the coins in my hand reminded me that no matter what she had planned next, I was at least comfortably funded for my upcoming projects.

I leaned back in my chair, tapping my fingers on the table as I considered what was ahead. Lucilla's commission was complete, and for the time being, she wouldn't be a problem. But the project I had with the gladiators—that was a different beast altogether. Not just physically, but in terms of the complexity. Giving them runes that would enhance their abilities was risky, but not as risky as giving them the kind of speed and power that I had carved into my own skin. No, they needed a diluted version, enough to make them formidable, but not dangerous to me.

The contract was another headache. Incorporating its terms into the runes themselves would require precision; I had no intention of having a pack of overpowered gladiators running wild without any leash. It had to be built into their magic—fail to meet the terms of our deal, and their enhancements would simply... stop working. It was clever, but it also meant I had to be meticulous with the runework. A single miscalculation and the whole system could unravel.

With a sigh, I reached into one of the drawers and pulled out a large sheet of parchment, the kind I used for my more complex diagrams. The paper unfurled with a soft crinkle, and I grabbed my quill, dipping it into a dark inkpot.

"Let's get to it, then," I muttered to myself, the room silent except for the steady scratch of quill on paper.

I began to sketch out the runes, first marking the ones that would enhance strength, then those that would boost speed. My own runes were too advanced for this, so I had to tone them down—enough for the gladiators to gain an edge without becoming a threat to me. As I drew the lines and symbols, my mind wandered back to the fight I'd had with them. Their movements had been impressive, but they lacked finesse. The runes I'd inscribe on them would change that. They'd move faster, hit harder. But most importantly, they'd remain bound to me by the contract built into the magic.

I paused, studying the lines. That was the key—making sure the contract was tied to the very essence of the runes. It had to be elegant, unobtrusive. If they tried to break free from our agreement, the magic would simply... stop. No betrayal, no rebellion. Just silence. The thought brought a smile to my lips.

Next, I tackled the problem of their existing tattoos. Many of the gladiators already had their bodies marked with various designs—symbols of their victories, of their status. But those tattoos would get in the way of the new runes. I needed a way to clean their skin, to remove the ink without causing permanent damage.

I reached for another rune scroll in my drawer, one I'd acquired during my time in the tower. It was a healing rune, one that focused specifically on the skin. It could draw out impurities—poisons, infections—and heal wounds. But with a few modifications, it could also be used to extract ink from the skin, leaving the surface fresh and unmarked, ready for the new runes.

Satisfied with the idea, I set to work. I spent the next several days perfecting the diagrams, drawing and redrawing the runes until they were just right. The process was slow, meticulous, but I found myself slipping into a productive groove, each day flowing into the next with a kind of rhythm. I worked alone, uninterrupted by the random demands of clients or the city's chaos. It was almost peaceful.

Occasionally, I'd take a break from the gladiator runes and switch to the commissions I had lined up. There was a satisfaction in the routine, in the steady hum of creation. I had always thrived in moments like these—focused, productive, with no distractions to pull me away from my work. But even as I concentrated, there was always a nagging thought in the back of my mind: this city was never calm for long.

After three days of working non-stop, I felt like I'd finally cracked it. The runes were ready, the contract carefully woven into the magic, and the healing rune was perfect for removing the gladiators' existing tattoos. I leaned back from the table, rubbing my eyes and looking at the diagrams spread across my desk.