Chapter 39

The sun was dipping low by the time we slipped out of the city, the late-afternoon light casting long shadows over the cobbled streets. It wasn't exactly a stealthy departure—ten men don't exactly slip out unnoticed, even if they're in the most inconspicuous "guard" attire. But the people of the city, wrapped up in their routines, were more interested in flooding into the city than watching a small company make its way out.

The journey to the southern gate took the better part of an hour. Our pace was steady, but the gladiators, now disguised as rather rugged-looking "guards," kept mostly silent. Each of them seemed content to stretch their legs, the same energy that once fueled their fights in the Colosseum now channeled into the long strides that would take us across miles of open country. As we moved through the city, I could feel the buzz of activity growing denser the closer we got to the gate. Carts loaded with produce, livestock, and sacks of grain rolled into the city, bumping and rattling as farmers and merchants waved to guards or haggled their way past the walls. The day's end was, apparently, the best time to enter the city, though I noted with some amusement that leaving seemed to require much less scrutiny. Not a single guard approached us for questions or an inspection.

The southern gate was as grand as they come—a massive structure embedded within one of the city's oldest towers. Carved stone arches loomed above us, their surfaces engraved with scenes of ancient victories, a reminder of the city's relentless pride. Guards lined the walls, eyes watchful but, thankfully, inattentive to us. For all their vigilance, no one seemed interested in halting a group of unremarkable "guards" heading out to protect some imaginary caravan.

Once outside, the city faded quickly behind us, replaced by farmland stretching out in all directions. The surrounding fields were dotted with small, patchwork farms and humble hamlets, communities huddled together as if for protection. Every building was close to another, forming a network of watchful little outposts. It struck me that here, beyond the reach of the city walls, there was always a sense of waiting—for dusk, for something to slip out of the darkness, for the next monster attack, however rare. And I was reminded why those living far from the city learned to stay within sight of others.

By the time the sun was nearly down, we had covered several miles, the warriors enjoying the chance to test their endurance. It was the first time I'd seen them without the heavy weight of Colosseum armor, and I admit it was somewhat impressive to see how fast and fluid they were. They were pushing themselves, eager to see just how far their limits could be stretched now that they were under my...enhancements. They were still playing it cool, though, careful to keep that extra edge under control.

As the light finally dipped below the horizon, I called for us to halt. It wasn't long before I found a suitable spot: a natural rock face that would serve as a base for a shelter. With a quick sweep of my spear, I activated a rune designed for just this purpose, and the tip glowed as it connected with the rock. The stone softened, bending to my will as I shaped it into the semblance of a cave—solid, compact, and large enough for us to fit comfortably.

Caius raised an eyebrow as he watched the rock melt away with each stroke. "Efficient, I'll give you that," he said, crossing his arms. "If we have lodgings like this every night, I'd say we're in for better sleep than I've had in months."

I grinned, setting the finishing touches on the cave's entrance and carving out a small opening at the front. "Glad to hear it. Besides, I figured you'd appreciate some added comfort."

Inside, I set up a rune by the entrance, one that would harden the rock back to solid stone if anything—or anyone—tried to breach it from the outside.

Once settled, we gathered around a heated rune stone, the closest thing to a stove we'd have for a while, and began cooking up a makeshift stew. The smell was, admittedly, less than appetizing, but food was food, and the men dug in with little complaint.

Caius stirred his bowl, a wry smile crossing his face as he spoke. "We covered good ground today. If we can keep up this pace, I'd say we're set to make excellent time." He took a sip of the stew, then added, "And with caves like this every night, I don't see why we'd have much to worry about."

"Efficiency has its perks," I replied, watching the glow of the rune-stone flicker across their faces. "The less time we spend in the open, the better."

Another warrior—older, with a hardened look that suggested more than a few battles under his belt—grunted in agreement. "Out here, with that speed and your...modifications, I'd say we're in better shape than any hired mercenary band."

"And likely better company," I added dryly, earning a few chuckles from the men.

The meal wound down, and as the warriors drifted into conversation, I found myself contemplating the journey ahead. There was a weight to this mission that none of them felt as keenly as I did. For them, it was an adventure—a chance to test their strength and push their limits. But for me, it was a far more delicate balance. The safety of Valeria rested on my success, and I couldn't afford to slip up.

Caius leaned back, observing me with that familiar scrutinizing gaze. "Something on your mind, Goodchild?"

I met his gaze and offered a shrug. "Just reflecting on the nature of this... undertaking. Call it pre-mission jitters, if you like."

He nodded knowingly. "The trick is to keep a clear head. Stick to the plan but stay flexible. If things go south, we improvise. That's what we're here for."

The simplicity of his approach was refreshing, even reassuring. There was a reason I had chosen him and his men, after all. These were people who understood risk and adapted to it like second nature. They didn't overthink, they acted.

"You gladiators might have more sense than most people give you credit for," I replied, arching an eyebrow.

He smirked. "Maybe more than most people, period."

The night wore on, with only the crackling of the rune-stone's dying glow breaking the silence. As the men settled into sleep, I stationed myself near the cave's entrance, the distant shadows of our future flickering in my mind. There it was—the weight of this mission pressing down, an uneasy mixture of apprehension and resolve. But I wasn't exactly a novice at dealing with difficult situations; if anything, I'd developed a skill for maneuvering through tight spots. I may not have been trained as a soldier, but I wasn't helpless, either. I had the tools, and for now, a team willing to follow me into whatever awaited us. That would have to be enough.

Morning arrived in a shroud of mist, the forest awakening with the tentative drips of rain and the rustle of undergrowth. We set off at a brisk pace, and though it might've been a gray morning to most, there was something oddly refreshing about it. Cool droplets dotted our faces as we ran through the woods, the damp earth softening underfoot, cushioning each step.

Caius drifted up beside me, maintaining a relaxed but vigilant pace, his face a mixture of curiosity and faint suspicion. "You ever done time in the legion, Goodchild?" His question was casual, but his tone hinted at something more.

I raised an eyebrow, mildly amused. "Not exactly my career path, no."

He let out a sigh, more disappointed than surprised. "Lad, I know you can handle yourself in a fight—seen it myself. But I'm not sure how well you can fight with a unit. You can't just dive in alone and expect us all to keep up, so we'll have to work on that."

I stifled a laugh, not out of disrespect, but because of the absurdity of my current situation. I was about to get a crash course in military tactics while running through the mist-laden woods. As if sensing my amusement, Caius whistled sharply, motioning one of the men over. The man jogged up, carrying a storage ring, from which he pulled a series of shields. They were well-crafted, and looked solid enough to stop an oncoming bull—just the sort of equipment one might expect a legionnaire to carry, though, of course."

The shields were distributed, and soon each of us held one, including myself. Caius gave me a quick, assessing look before continuing. "We're moving in column formation to start. You'll be in the center. That'll give you a sense of the spacing. When we change formations, just keep pace with the others."

With a nod, I held the shield in front of me, adjusting to its weight, and settled into the center of the formation. The peaceful jog immediately shifted into something more focused, more intense. We fell into formation as though we were setting up for battle, the men moving like they'd done it a hundred times over. For them, it probably was as natural as breathing; for me, however, it felt like being dropped into the middle of a dance I'd never learned.

We ran, stepping and maneuvering in unison, and I quickly caught on to the rhythm Caius set. He barked out commands as we moved, testing our reflexes. "Column! Spread out!" I shifted with the others, keeping my shield up, and we expanded our formation, holding a line to cover a wider stretch of forest.

Caius didn't let up, moving seamlessly through his next command. "Close up! Shield wall!" The men adjusted immediately, raising their shields and forming a seamless wall as we moved. I mirrored them, feeling the strength of the formation, each man braced against the other.

We drilled through several other formations, Caius calling them out in rapid succession. Each command demanded a new configuration, each movement in unison. At first, I found myself tripping slightly, but I caught on quickly, finding the rhythm Caius drilled into us.

Each of the men carried spears strapped to their backs, short swords at their hips, and leather armor reinforcing their upper bodies. They moved with ease, their experience and training evident in every step, every shift. They'd clearly done this before, and likely many times over. I found myself settling into the group dynamic, adapting to the unity of our movements, each step synchronized.

Over the next few days, Caius kept us at it. Every mile brought new commands, new formations, new tactics to learn. He tested me constantly, making sure I didn't break the pace, didn't leave gaps or disrupt the flow. By the third day, the movements became less awkward, more natural. I was beginning to think like a unit, to anticipate the shifts as the men did, to feel the pattern of the tactics. It was a strange sensation, almost like learning a new language—one spoken without words, just through the precise rhythm of movement and response.

During one break, Caius leaned over, grinning as he handed me a flask. "Not bad, Goodchild. You might just keep up with us after all."

I took a sip, savoring the slight burn of the drink, letting it warm me from the inside out. "High praise from you," I replied, a hint of mock reverence in my voice. "I'll try not to get emotional."

The men chuckled, and we settled into the camaraderie of shared silence, the comfort that came from knowing we were moving, adapting, and, for the first time, truly functioning as a unit.

As dusk began to settle, we found a spot to rest and set up camp. Once again, I carved out a small cave, watching the stone part and soften beneath the enchanted tip of my spear. The men nodded approvingly, familiar now with my "convenient magic tricks," as they liked to call them. I set up the usual warding rune at the entrance, ensuring we'd be shielded from any unwelcome guests during the night.

That evening, Caius gave me another of his "appreciative" glances as we sat around the heated rune stone, cooking another stew. "You know, if you can pull off these cave tricks every night, we'll be better rested than I expected. And making it in good time, too."

"Well, I do aim to impress," I replied, stirring the pot. "Besides, there's no sense in doing this the hard way."

Another one of the warriors, a tall, battle-worn man who hadn't said much up until now, chimed in. "These caves are more comfortable than the barracks ever were." He raised his bowl to me in a toast of sorts, which I acknowledged with a nod.

The fire crackled softly, casting dancing shadows against the rocky walls of our makeshift cave. Dinner had been devoured, and the usual post-stew silence had settled. But with ten seasoned gladiators, silence didn't last long. The men, finally loosening up, began swapping tales of their lives before the Colosseum—a colorful mix of battlefields, barracks, and, for a few, the occasional brush with authority.

"So, Caius," I leaned back, letting the warmth of the fire seep in. "What made you throw away a respectable career in the army to wield a sword for entertainment?"

Caius chuckled, taking a long swig from his flask. "Ah, 'respectable.' That's rich coming from you." He shot me a knowing smirk. "But, to answer your question, fighting in the legion wears on you—follows rules, tactics, all that. You're part of a machine. But in the arena? It's you and the crowd. Every moment's a choice. And," he paused, flashing a grin, "the applause doesn't hurt."

Another gladiator, Marcellus, joined in, raising his flask. "Hear, hear! Some of us were just tired of being numbers in the emperor's endless list of soldiers. Out here, we're names."

The men nodded, a sense of camaraderie thick in the air. Their reasons varied, yet all seemed to share the same taste for risk and freedom, of taking their lives into their own hands—even if that meant putting those lives on the line in front of a screaming audience.

"You know," I said, taking a casual sip from my own flask, "I can't help but wonder about your... fans. I've noticed the way the noble ladies seem to favor a certain... how should I say, rugged charm in their evening company." I raised an eyebrow, prompting a round of laughter.

Caius groaned with an exaggerated eye-roll. "Ah, yes. The esteemed noblewomen of the city. Ever dignified, ever proper—until the curtains are drawn, and they want something a little more... unrefined."

The men burst into laughter, one slapping his knee. Another, Brutus, let out a knowing chuckle, grinning like a conspirator. "It's true. They're drawn to us like moths to a flame," he said, gesturing to his scarred forearms. "All their perfect husbands with their silks and politics, and they still sneak off to us for a night of 'wild adventure.'"

"Don't look so surprised," Caius said, nudging me. "You know as well as anyone that people—especially the rich—have their vices."

"Can't argue with that," I replied. "It's almost predictable, isn't it? The ones most bound by appearances are the same ones slipping out for a taste of rebellion. Some of the finest psychology I've seen outside the pages of a book."

The men exchanged grins and a few nods. My comment had hit the mark. It was human nature, after all—a bit of forbidden allure, the thrill of brushing against danger without truly crossing into it. And who could give that thrill better than men like Caius and his crew, men who lived for the fight, who bore the marks of it openly on their skin?

"And how does that psychology of yours explain it, Goodchild?" Marcellus asked, crossing his arms with a mischievous glint in his eye. "Why do they want us over their pretty silk-robed husbands?"

I leaned back thoughtfully, a half-smile on my face. "Well, the simple answer would be that society likes to paint the gladiator as 'bad,' and nothing draws certain people in like forbidden fruit." I gestured around the fire, letting my gaze settle on each of them. "It's the age-old lure of danger—the way people crave the thrill of something untamed. Women from these noble houses? They've been told their entire lives to marry someone safe, respectable. But deep down? Some of them are yearning for a taste of what they think is 'the other side.'"

Caius chuckled. "So, we're a novelty."

"Not exactly," I replied, amused. "You're not just a novelty. You're escape artists—offering them an escape from the monotonous perfection they're expected to live. With you, they don't have to play the part. They don't have to think about the consequences."

Brutus clapped his hands together. "Hear that, lads? We're helping the upper crust get some perspective!"

The men laughed heartily, their voices echoing off the cave walls. Caius leaned forward, his eyes twinkling with humor. "You know, it's almost poetic, the way you put it. I might start charging more."

"You should," I replied with a grin. "Considering the psychological benefits alone."

The laughter dwindled, tapering off to a quiet chuckle as we sat there, the flickering light casting shadows that softened the hardened faces around me. It was an odd moment of calm, of shared understanding. Out on the sands, these men were all about dominance, about pushing their bodies to the limit to command respect and fear. But here, huddled around a modest campfire, stripped of their armor, they were simply men. Men who, for reasons as varied as the scars on their bodies, had chosen a path that left them branded by society—and secretly admired by it.

The conversation, predictably, turned back to the curious fascination noblewomen seemed to have with gladiators. It was as if, the higher a woman's station, the stronger her desire to escape it, and these men were her living, breathing escape routes. I couldn't resist teasing them a little more on the subject.

"So, do you ever stop to wonder why they're all so drawn to you?" I asked, leaning forward with a smirk. "What it is about a battle-worn gladiator that makes a senator's wife willing to risk her reputation?"

Caius leaned back with a thoughtful smile, the firelight flickering over his face. "Oh, I think I understand it well enough," he said. "Those women spend every waking moment under someone's thumb. Husband, father, brother—they're all but shackled in expectations. When they look at us, they don't see fighters. They see freedom."

"Freedom?" I echoed, amused. "Or maybe they see something a little more primal than that." I paused, letting the weight of my words settle before continuing. "It's not just about rebellion or thrill. It's about control."

The men shifted, curious. I decided to elaborate.

"It's fascinating, really. When we think of social dynamics, we tend to picture men as the ones exerting control, and for the most part, that's accurate," I mused, thinking of the psychological patterns I'd observed and read about. "But then you get these women—wives of senators, daughters of aristocrats—who spend their lives being 'protected' and controlled. Their entire existence is governed by status and the men around them. The one thing they lack, ironically, is control."

Brutus raised an eyebrow, looking skeptical. "And you think they find control by sneaking off with us?"

"Precisely," I replied. "They seek out men who are outside their world, men whose lives revolve around a kind of power that doesn't follow the rules of polite society. And while it might look like rebellion, it's more than that. By choosing you, they gain the satisfaction of exercising control over something their husbands never could."

Caius nodded, looking contemplative. "So we're just a way for them to feel powerful?"

"Powerful, free, untamed—call it what you will," I said, shrugging. "But don't be fooled. Behind the intrigue and the whispered secrets, they're exercising control over you as well. They seek you out because they believe you're malleable in ways their noble husbands aren't. To them, you're like living trophies of defiance, badges they wear in their minds to feel liberated."

The fire crackled as the men absorbed this. It was amusing, in a way. Here were some of the most feared men in the city, revered for their physical strength and agility, yet they were still pawns in a subtle game of power and desire orchestrated by women with titles and husbands and dynastic reputations to protect.

Marcellus snorted. "So you're saying we're just their… playthings? Part of their little schemes for control?"

"Oh, don't let it bruise your pride," I replied with a wry smile. "It's a mutual exchange. They get the thrill of power, and you get—well, whatever it is you're after in those midnight rendezvous. Attention, maybe? Or perhaps a taste of the very world you say you despise?"

There was a collective pause, a moment where each man seemed to reflect on that. These were men who claimed to despise the social elites they served, yet here they were, relishing in the attention those same elites offered them in secret.

Brutus broke the silence with a thoughtful nod. "Never thought of it that way. Guess they're not as different from us as they seem."

Caius chuckled. "Only difference is, we don't hide behind curtains and silk. Out here, it's just us and the sands."

"That it is," I agreed, feeling a flicker of respect for their directness. The men around me weren't saints. They were complex, flawed, and driven by instinct as much as by intellect. But there was a kind of brutal honesty in their way of life that I could appreciate.

As the conversation waned and the men started drifting off, I felt a quiet understanding settle over the group. We might have come from different worlds, but for tonight, we were united by more than just a shared fire.

--

The forest had grown thick and vibrant the further we ventured from the city, each passing mile marking a descent into wilderness far removed from civilization's touch. It was as if the trees themselves sensed our foreign presence, their towering trunks and tangled branches forming a nearly impenetrable wall around us. Dappled sunlight pierced the canopy, casting patterns on the forest floor, which was thick with undergrowth and strange, colorful flora that seemed almost too alive, pulsating as if feeding on the air we disturbed.

For a week, we had been moving at a steady, determined pace, a loose column that allowed each man room to navigate the wild terrain. Caius kept our formation spread out, cautious of the potential for an ambush—or worse, an unfortunate meeting with one of the local monsters rumored to roam these untamed lands. So far, we'd managed to avoid any of the inhabited pockets or towns along the way. The men were focused, conserving energy, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts as we pushed forward, the rhythm of our travel punctuated only by the occasional muttered command from Caius or the snap of branches underfoot.

But today, the tranquility felt different, uneasy, as though something in the shadows was watching, waiting. I'd caught glimpses earlier—a flicker of movement beyond the trees, the soft crunch of leaves when all of us were still. Caius and I exchanged wary glances; his instincts, honed from years on the sand, were sharp. He could tell we were being followed.

"We can't keep this up all day, Caius," I murmured, keeping my voice low. "Whatever it is, it's persistent."

He nodded, squinting into the dense foliage. "It's been tracking us since morning. Big, too. From the looks of those impressions in the dirt back there, it's got the weight of a beast, something we can't outrun forever."

The men tightened formation at his command, each one alert, gripping their weapons with renewed tension. A low growl rumbled through the trees, closer than before—a primal sound that vibrated through the ground and made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"It's time we turn and face it," Caius said, eyes narrow. "Better to meet it on our terms than let it catch us off guard."

A chill ran through the men, but they stood their ground. There was a silent, grim agreement that settling this here and now was preferable to being stalked by an unseen predator.

Caius directed us into a narrow clearing where the trees opened up just enough to give us a tactical advantage. The men formed a shield wall, the familiar click of metal on metal as they locked into formation, preparing to meet whatever was coming head-on. I moved behind them, gathering energy for whatever magic I could muster that might tip the odds in our favor. I'd prepared a few tricks that might serve as distractions, but we were working with limited knowledge of what we were about to face.

Then it appeared.

It lumbered out of the shadows—a hulking beast that resembled a dragon but lacked wings, its bulk the size of a large elephant. Dark, scaly armor covered its body, glinting in the filtered sunlight as it eyed us with a calculating hunger. Its massive claws sank into the earth as it moved, leaving deep gouges in the ground, and a trail of rancid breath rose from its open maw, revealing rows of jagged teeth made for tearing flesh.

The creature didn't charge outright. It watched, sizing us up, intelligent enough to know that we weren't easy prey. Caius gave a subtle nod, and the men braced, their shields overlapping, forming an impenetrable barrier. I could feel the tension rise, every man waiting for the command, the moment we'd spring into action.

"David, think you could give it something to blink at?" Caius whispered, barely turning his head.

"Consider it done," I replied, feeling the energy pulse through my spear tip as I summoned a concentrated ball of light, crackling with energy. The creature's eyes were small but exposed, one of its few weaknesses. I flung the first orb, aiming directly for its left eye.

The impact was immediate—the beast roared, jerking its head back, temporarily blinded as the energy burst across its vision in a flash of searing light. It thrashed, momentarily disoriented, and that was all the invitation Caius needed.

"Move!" he commanded, and the men advanced in perfect synchronicity.

We closed in, spears aimed with precision, each strike carefully coordinated to avoid getting too close to its deadly claws. The creature swung its head back, fury in its one uninjured eye, but I was ready with another burst of energy, aiming this time for its right side. The orb hit its mark, and again the beast recoiled, struggling to focus as we pressed the advantage.

Caius barked out commands, shifting the men into different formations as we closed in on the beast, avoiding its thrashing limbs and darting in with coordinated stabs. The shields took the brunt of its claws, bracing against its powerful strikes as we circled it, each man working in tandem to keep it contained.

"David! Another shot!" Caius shouted over the din.

I gathered a stronger burst of energy, feeling the crackling heat build as I threw it with as much force as I could manage. This time, it struck the creature squarely between its eyes. It stumbled, dazed, and the men seized the moment. They moved in, spears piercing the vulnerable spots at its joints, avoiding the thickest parts of its armor. The beast roared, struggling as it was surrounded, but the rhythm of our coordinated attack kept it contained, whittling down its strength with each passing moment.

Slowly but surely, the creature's movements began to slow, its bellows turning into exhausted grunts as it weakened under the relentless assault. Caius kept the men focused, ensuring that no one strayed out of formation, no one got reckless. This was no fight for glory; it was survival, a display of disciplined, calculated teamwork that kept us alive.

Finally, with one last, furious swing of its head, the creature fell, collapsing into the earth with a tremor that shook the ground beneath our feet. We stood there, catching our breath, the only sounds now the rustle of leaves and the heavy panting of weary men.

"Well, that was a charming afternoon stroll," I muttered, wiping a trickle of sweat from my brow.

Caius laughed, clapping a hand on my shoulder. "Not bad for a rune weaver. You might survive this yet."

I managed a grin, though my legs felt like lead and my mind was racing with the thought of what else might lurk in these woods, waiting for us to drop our guard.

After the beast lay dead, the men gathered around its hulking carcass, eyeing it with a mixture of awe and primal satisfaction. The monster was, after all, their prize now—a trophy and a resource, every part of it valuable in some way. I took stock of the creature's massive scales, its sturdy claws, even its teeth, each the size of a dagger. This was an opportunity to forge something worthwhile out of the mess we'd just conquered.

"Well, gentlemen," I said, clapping my hands together, "who's up for a bit of hands-on anatomy?"

The men didn't need further convincing. Gladiators aren't squeamish by nature, and in a matter of minutes, we were butchering the creature with a sort of grisly efficiency. Caius and the others hacked away at the scales with their short swords, grunting as they worked to dislodge the thick, armor-like plates from the creature's hide. Each scale was a marvel, as hard as steel and thick enough to turn away most weapons. The meat was dense and faintly iridescent, giving off an odd, almost metallic scent, but the men eyed it with interest. They knew the facts about eating monster meat, the kind that granted a man unnatural strength or even longevity if he could stomach it.

The teeth came next—long, curved things perfect for weapons or talismans. I set aside the largest ones, already planning to craft them into something… useful.

As dusk fell, we finally finished our work, our camp now littered with pieces of monster hide, slabs of meat, and an impressive array of scales and teeth. The men were in high spirits, laughing and congratulating each other on the kill. For a moment, the camaraderie felt almost… normal. Like we weren't a group of misfits sent on a dangerous errand but a true team, bound by something greater than coin or contract.

"I'll be fashioning some armor for each of you as we travel," I told them, nodding toward the scales. "Nothing says 'powerful and terrifying' quite like a suit of armor made from a beast that would happily have eaten you."

The men's eyes lit up, pleased by the thought of wearing a tangible reminder of their victory. Gladiators, it seemed, weren't above a bit of showmanship.

The first night, I started with the basic pieces. My hands moved methodically, weaving runes into the hide and scales as I went, coaxing them to take shape and harden in ways ordinary materials never could. Each plate, once connected, fit together seamlessly, forming an overlapping shell that would protect against almost anything short of full-scale magic. I'd never admit it out loud, but there was something satisfying about creating armor with my own hands. And for a group of men I could, if I were feeling generous, almost consider allies.

Every night, after setting up our magical barriers for safety, I continued my work. It took hours, often stretching well into the dark of night, but each completed piece felt like an accomplishment—a small, functional shield against the hazards to come. By the end of the week, each man had his own scaled chest plate, greaves, and bracers, layered with runes for extra resilience. Their gratitude was a surprising bonus. Gladiators aren't known for sentimentality, but these men appreciated the armor for what it was: a testament to the monster they'd defeated and a gift from me that cost them nothing.

Alongside our makeshift armor-forging sessions, we dined heartily on the monster's meat, which had been carefully cooked to avoid any unpleasant aftereffects. The effect of eating monster flesh was subtle at first, just a slight surge of energy, a sharpening of the senses. But as the days passed, I began to notice the men's wounds healing faster than usual, old scars softening, even fading away completely. It was a remarkable transformation; their skin grew smoother, their muscles denser. There was a vitality to them that hadn't been there before, an extra spring in their step that was hard to ignore.

Caius, who'd always had the look of a man weathered by years in the ring, appeared younger somehow, his posture straighter, his eyes sharper. I caught him glancing down at his own hands one evening, flexing them as if testing out newfound strength.

"This monster meat has its perks," I remarked, breaking the comfortable silence of our evening meal.

Caius smirked, biting into another piece. "If I'd known about this sooner, I would have hunted one of these beasts down myself. Imagine the coin I could make back in the city looking like this."

"Glad to be of service," I replied dryly, raising an imaginary glass. "To unnatural vitality and borderline immortality, courtesy of our fine friend here."

By the end of the week, we had become something more than a mismatched crew of gladiators and an unwilling mage. Dressed in their new armor, the men looked formidable, a single unit of heavily armed soldiers rather than individual fighters. The runes I'd carved into their armor didn't just offer protection; they amplified their speed, sharpened their reflexes, and gave them strength beyond what their training alone could provide. In formation, they were unstoppable, a solid wall of scales and steel that would make any enemy think twice before attacking.

Each morning, as we resumed our journey through the thick, mist-laden forests, I watched the men run in formation, their movements synchronized and fluid. They no longer appeared as mere gladiators in disguise; they looked like a force of nature, bound together by something deeper than I'd anticipated. I had expected to be dragging them through this mission, but they kept pace without a hint of complaint. If anything, they reveled in the challenge, pushing themselves harder with each day, eager to test the limits of their new strength.

Watching them, I felt an odd sense of pride—not just in my work but in the men themselves. They'd come a long way from the blood-stained sands of the arena, and here, in this strange wilderness, they were becoming something else entirely. Perhaps even something worthy of respect.

And me? Well, I still felt like the outsider, a reluctant participant in this parade of warrior machismo. But I was learning, too. Each night in the solitude of my makeshift workshop, I found myself refining my craft, pushing the boundaries of rune magic, discovering new ways to blend power and practicality. The scales, the meat, even the creature's bones—all of it became part of my experiment, an exploration into the depths of what was possible with the right materials and a bit of knowledge.

On the last night of the week, as the men sat around the fire, Caius clapped me on the back, his grin wide and unguarded.

"You know, rune weaver, if you keep this up, you might just make a decent warrior yourself."

I laughed, raising an eyebrow. "I'll leave the glory-seeking to you lot. Someone has to keep an eye on the real prize."

"And what's that?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"Surviving this mission in one piece. A very noble cause, if I say so myself."

The men laughed, and for the first time, I felt a strange sort of acceptance. We were bound together now, not just by purpose but by something more enduring—the kind of shared experience that's forged only in fire and combat. And as we prepared to bed down for the night, I couldn't help but think that, against all odds, I might actually be able to trust these men. At least as much as one can trust a gladiator with a taste for monster meat and the strength to crush boulders.