Thomas's nights now followed a familiar rhythm. The draining training of the day would fade into a satisfying ache, and in the quiet dampness of his cell, his wait would end. The door to his cell would creak open, a sound he now recognized as the start of business.
A courtesan arranged by Ashur stepped in. Her face was beautiful in a weary way, her body an instrument of her trade, and her eyes regarded Thomas with cold professional assessment. No words were needed. This was business.
The woman undressed with practiced efficiency. Thomas rose, his body moving with clear intent. The revulsion that had once gripped him in the early days was now gone, eroded by reality and replaced by sharp pragmatism. He no longer saw this as a moral transgression, but as the extraction of a vital resource. A means that, unexpectedly, also provided pleasure.
He led the woman onto the straw. His hands gripped her hips firmly as he positioned himself. His hard, ready penis was a conditioned response, driven by biological need. As he entered the woman's wet, ready vagina, she let out a soft, practiced sigh.
Thomas began to move, his hips thrusting with a steady, powerful tempo. His mind no longer rebelled. Instead, it focused on the sensations present: the heat of their touching skin, the wet friction inside her, the woman's nails digging into his shoulders as the rhythm quickened. He was no longer a victim of this situation; he was an active participant, the controller of the transaction. He could feel his muscles working, the strength he had built in the training yard now being used for a different purpose.
He gently tugged the woman's hair, tilting her head back as he deepened his thrusts, each pump stronger than the last. The woman's practiced moans turned into more genuine gasps, a reaction to the power he displayed.
"Ah... yes... like that..." the woman murmured, her breath coming in ragged pants.
Thomas did not reply. He simply kept moving, driven by the desire to complete the task and the anticipation of the coming reward. The climax came with controlled force, an intense release within the woman's body. His warm semen flowed, completing their contract.
As soon as it was done, the woman withdrew, dressed herself, and slipped out of the cell without a word. Thomas was left alone with the fading scent of sex and the glowing blue panel before him.
{Intimate relations complete. Target: Courtesan (Category 1).}
{Life Essence obtained: +2}
A cold satisfaction coursed through him. The cycle continued.
The next day, Thomas not only trained his body, but also his new Legacy. Rapid Adaptation was a mental muscle, and he exercised it with obsessive observation. While performing crude tasks in the yard, his eyes were never far from the villa's veranda, where Lucretia and her personal attendants moved.
He began to learn their non-verbal language. He saw how Naevia's shoulders would tense ever so slightly whenever Lucretia's voice held a barely perceptible sharp edge. He saw how Mira, the other attendant, maintained a perfect neutral posture, her eyes always watchful, efficient in every movement, a true professional at surviving in a viper's nest. He learned to discern Lucretia's mood just from the way her servants reacted to her. This was data, valuable information he absorbed and processed at superspeed.
The opportunity to apply his knowledge came a few days later.
Lucretia was walking across the edge of the training yard with another noblewoman, a middle-aged woman with a bored expression and glittering jewels. They spoke softly, ignoring the sweating gladiators nearby as if they were merely noisy furniture.
Suddenly, the noblewoman stumbled slightly on uneven ground. An ivory fan she held slipped from her grasp, falling and sliding towards the dirty sand.
The gladiators nearby paused briefly, glanced, then returned to their business. The guards were too far away to react quickly. This was a moment that lasted only a few seconds, a brief window of opportunity.
Before anyone else could move, Thomas acted.
He didn't run crudely. He moved with fluid efficiency, his steps swift yet controlled. Just before the tip of the fan touched the dusty sand, he lowered his body in an athletic movement and scooped it from the air with his fingertips. A movement that showed agility and spatial awareness far above that of an average fighting slave.
He rose, the ivory fan clean in his hand. He approached the two women. He did not bow in the manner of a frightened slave. Instead, he stopped at a polite distance, bowed his head slightly, and extended the fan with a straight, calm gaze. It was a gesture from his old life, an etiquette that resurfaced instinctively, now refined by his observation of the nobles.
The guest noblewoman looked surprised. Her bored eyes now held a flicker of interest as she looked at Thomas's handsome, modern face, such a contrast to the other scarred gladiators. "Oh... thank you," she said, her voice slightly astonished as she took her fan.
However, it wasn't the guest's reaction that mattered.
What mattered was Lucretia's gaze.
The Domina said nothing. She simply looked at Thomas, truly seeing him for the first time. Her sharp, intelligent eyes swept him from head to toe, noting his graceful movements, his unflinching gaze, and his clean appearance. She did not see a brute from The Pit. She saw something different. Something rare.
Something perhaps... useful.
Lucretia gave a faint, enigmatic smile, before taking her guest's arm and continuing their walk. No words, no reward. But Thomas knew he had succeeded. He was no longer invisible. He had just placed himself on the Domina's chessboard.
The effect of the fan incident was not immediate. For several days, the routine at the ludus continued as usual. Thomas kept pushing himself in training, feeling Rapid Adaptation make him sharper, more efficient. Every movement he mimicked, every attack pattern he memorized, now seemed to integrate with his body faster. But between training sessions, his eyes were always watching, waiting for a sign.
The sign came on the afternoon of the third day.
Thomas was cleaning equipment with Varro when one of Batiatus's personal guards, a man with finer armor and an arrogant gaze, approached them. The other gladiators nearby fell silent, sensing the change in atmosphere.
The guard ignored Varro and looked straight at Thomas. "You," he said, his voice dry and unemotional. "Come with me. The Domina wishes to see you."
The entire area around them went silent. The murmuring stopped. Even the clinking sound of cleaned metal subsided. A gladiator, especially a recruit, being personally summoned by Lucretia was highly unusual and almost always meant ill.
Varro looked at Thomas, his eyes filled with unconcealed worry. In another corner, Ashur, who was leaning against a wall, stopped his cunning smile for a moment. His small eyes narrowed, a quick flash of calculation crossing his face as he analyzed this new situation.
Thomas felt his heart pound, but his face remained calm. He handed his cleaning cloth to Varro, giving his friend a brief, reassuring nod, then followed the guard without a word.
He was led out of the dusty, dirty training yard, through cleaner corridors, and finally into the interior of the villa. The contrast was stark. The air here felt cooler and smelled of flowers, not sweat and blood. The polished marble floors felt cold beneath the soles of his worn sandals, and the walls were adorned with colorful frescoes. This was another world, a world he intended to conquer.
The guard stopped in front of a room with slightly parted curtains and gestured for Thomas to enter, before turning and standing guard outside.
Thomas stepped in. The room was Lucretia's private lounging area. Expensive fabrics covered low sofas, and a small table in the center held a pitcher of wine and two silver goblets. Lucretia herself was sitting gracefully, looking out the window. She did not turn immediately when Thomas entered, letting him stand in silence for a moment, a subtle power play.
Finally, she turned. Her intelligent eyes assessed him from head to toe.
"Batiatus tells me you bring good fortune to this house," she said, her voice soft yet possessing a steel-like weight. "Victories in The Pit, and then in the Capuan arena. Surprising, for someone of your stature."
This was a test. Thomas knew it. He kept his gaze respectful but unafraid. "I merely do what is necessary to survive, Domina."
Lucretia smiled faintly, a smile that didn't reach her eyes. "And you do it in an... interesting way." She paused, letting her words hang. "I also saw how you move outside the arena. You are not like the others. No wasted brutality."
She was referring to the fan incident without directly mentioning it.
"I believe efficiency is more valuable than brute force, Domina," Thomas replied, choosing his words carefully.
"A rare philosophy in this place," Lucretia countered. She seemed satisfied with his answer. She rose and walked closer, circling him slowly like a merchant inspecting a unique piece of merchandise. "Some of my lady friends will be visiting for a private gathering. They, like me, appreciate the finer things. They are tired of brutes who can only grunt and sweat."
Here was the invitation.
"You will serve us," she said, not as a question, but as a command. "You will pour the wine. And you will remain silent, unless spoken to. Understood?"
"I understand, Domina."
"Good," she said, turning away. "Now go. Bathe. Ensure you do not bring the smell of the training yard into the presence of my guests."
Thomas bowed slightly and walked out of the room. As he passed the guard, he felt a small victory burn in his chest. He had succeeded. This was an opportunity he had created, a door he had opened himself.
In the baths, as the cold water washed away the sweat and grime from his body, his mind worked quickly. This wasn't merely a task of pouring wine. He was about to be thrown into a different arena, an arena made of whispers, glances, and dangerous wordplay. Every woman in that room was a source of Category 3 or even 4 Essence. They were gold mines, but guarded by dragons. One wrong step, one wrong word, could mean a death far more painful than a sword thrust.
He was a pawn being tested by his Queen. And he was determined to prove he was a pawn who could, one day, reach the end of the board and transform into something far more powerful.
----------------------
{Name: Thomas Vance}
{Stored Essence: 4}
{Active Legacy: [Talent] Rapid Adaptation}