The next morning, as Thomas stepped onto the familiar sand of the training yard, something had shifted. The gladiators' chatter nearby subsided. Their gazes were now on him, no longer indifferent, but sharp and calculating. One of them spat onto the ground near Thomas's feet.
Varro approached, his voice low. "By the gods, what did you do in there? They're looking at you as if you've stolen their wives."
Thomas simply shook his head, picking up a wooden sword. "I'm still alive. That's all that matters."
Across the yard, Ashur leaned against the wall. His smile was still as cunning, but his eyes regarded Thomas with a new intensity. As Thomas walked past, the Syrian hissed softly, just loud enough to be heard.
"The lioness in the villa seems to have found a new toy."
Thomas stopped. "Even toys can have teeth, Ashur."
A dry, raspy laugh escaped Ashur's throat. "I don't doubt it. Just make sure your coins keep jingling."
The training began. Doctore paced back and forth, his whip swinging idly. His dark eyes stopped on Thomas.
"You," he commanded, his voice flat. "Fight them both." He pointed to two large recruits standing nearby.
The two men grinned, advancing to gang up on Thomas. They attacked simultaneously, one from the front, one from the side. Thomas did not retreat. He let the first attack come, deflecting it with his shield. The momentum spun him around, avoiding the second slash coming from the side.
His brain worked, absorbing data from the two attack patterns. The recruit to his left always swung his sword wildly after a single step forward. The one on the right was more patient, waiting for an opening.
Thomas provoked the left one, making a feint movement. As expected, the man lunged forward with a wide swing. Thomas ducked, letting the wooden sword whistle over his head and narrowly miss his own comrade. In that momentary confusion, Thomas lunged forward, slamming the pommel of his sword into the back of the right recruit's knee.
The man dropped to his knees, cursing. His partner turned, startled, and was immediately met by the edge of Thomas's shield hitting him in the face.
Doctore said nothing. He simply turned and looked for his next target to torment.
A few days later, Mira found him. The personal servant approached with quick steps. "The Domina calls for you. Now."
Thomas followed her into the quiet coolness of the villa. Lucretia was sitting in her private lounging room, examining a string of pearl beads.
"I will be attending a feast at Magistratus Calavius's residence tonight," she said, not looking at Thomas. "You will accompany me."
She put down the necklace. Her eyes finally met Thomas's in the reflection of a silver mirror. "Licinia has been talking. My friends are curious."
She rose, picking up a piece of crimson silk fabric from a table. "Stand near me. Do not speak unless I give you leave. Do you understand?"
"I understand, Domina."
She tossed the fabric towards Thomas. The silk felt incredibly smooth in his rough, calloused hands. "Change out of those rags. I will not bring a beggar to the Magistratus's house."
The pillars at Magistratus Calavius's residence loomed taller than those at Batiatus's house. The number of armored slaves guarding every corner was double. Thomas could smell money and power in the air, a blend of lily blossoms, high-quality wine, and the nervous sweat of lower-ranking guests.
He stood a step behind Lucretia, wearing the crimson silk fabric that felt alien on his waist. He felt the gazes of the noblewomen piercing him, assessing every muscle and scar. He kept his face expressionless, his eyes straight ahead, but his mind absorbed everything.
He heard great names whispered. Senators. Generals. Capua's wealthiest merchants. He saw an old man with trembling hands hand a pouch of coins to a younger man with a sly smile. He saw a wife laugh at her husband's joke, while her eyes darted to another man across the room.
Among the crowd, he saw Licinia. The woman smiled at him, a brief, sharp, and secretive smile, before returning to conversation with her friends.
Magistratus Calavius approached them, his bulging belly preceding his steps. "Lucretia," he greeted, his eyes glancing at Thomas. "An interesting guard."
"He is more than that," Lucretia replied. She turned to Thomas. "Tell the Magistratus, gladiator. Our new champion, Spartacus. What do you think?"
Calavius looked at him, waiting. Thomas bowed his head slightly. "Spartacus does not fight like us, Dominus," Thomas said, his voice clear and calm. "We fight for glory. He fights for his next breath. Desperation is the sharpest weapon."
Calavius's eyebrows rose. He chuckled softly. "A good answer! Lucretia, you are right. This one is different."
Lucretia smiled faintly, a flicker of triumph in her eyes. She had showcased her new asset, and it had performed perfectly.
The rest of the evening, Thomas did not speak again. He simply stood, poured wine, and observed. Faces, names, connections. He mapped it all in his mind. Every interaction was data. Every glance was a clue.
As they returned to the ludus, Lucretia simply said, "You performed well."
In his dark cell, the smell of marble and perfume was replaced by the scent of damp straw and sweat. Thomas sat, feeling the coldness of the 54 Essence stored within him. He had entered the viper's nest. He had survived. And now, he knew where the snakes kept their golden eggs.
The next day, Capua's sun baked the sand of the training yard as Doctore gathered everyone. The growls and clashes of wooden swords ceased. A tense silence fell over the gladiators as Doctore stepped into the center.
"Thomas!" Doctore called out, his voice cutting through the air.
All eyes turned to Thomas.
"Barca!"
A collective murmur spread among the gladiators. Some crude laughter and bloodthirsty cheers came from the Gaulish faction loyal to Crixus. From the corner of his eye, Thomas saw cruel grins on their faces. He glanced at Varro, seeing his friend clench his fists anxiously.
The Beast of Carthage stepped forward, his broad chest and massive arms exuding an aura of pure violence.
"Fight," Doctore commanded. "Until one can no longer stand. Show me your place."
Hundreds of eyes felt like a hot weight on Thomas's shoulders. A roar bellowed from Barca's throat, met by cheers from the gladiators. The giant charged forward. His wooden sword sliced through the air with the force of an axe.
Thomas raised his shield.
CRACK!
The impact sent a dull pain up to his shoulder. Barca's raw strength pushed him back. Laughter and jeers erupted from the crowd.
"Crush the rat, Barca!"
Barca attacked again, a storm of slashes forcing Thomas to continually retreat. His shield trembled violently. His feet barely held their purchase on the heavy sand. He could only defend, his breath starting to come in ragged gasps, his ears ringing with cheers for his opponent and insults for himself.
But amidst the chaos, his cold brain began to work. Rapid Adaptation filtered out the sounds, focusing on the crucial data. Barca's breathing rhythm. The shift in his weight. The three-strike pattern he always repeated.
When the attack combination came again, Thomas moved. He didn't just parry. He deflected the second slash, using Barca's momentum to create an opening.
SWISH!
Thomas's wooden sword slashed Barca's thigh. Quick. Precise.
The cheers subsided for a moment, replaced by confused murmurs. Barca stopped, staring at the scratch on his thigh in disbelief, then looked at Thomas with burning eyes. His roar was now no longer a roar of victory, but a roar of rage.
He attacked more blindly. But Thomas was no longer there. He danced at the edge of Barca's reach, avoiding every deadly swing. The mocking laughter had died, replaced by a tense silence. Every time Barca's massive sword only met empty air, a collective held breath was heard from the onlookers. On the balcony, Thomas saw Batiatus leaning forward.
Frustration made Barca's movements even clumsier. After one particularly powerful swing threw him slightly off balance, Thomas lunged in.
THWACK!
His blow landed squarely on Barca's ribs.
Barca growled like a wounded beast. Enough was enough. He ignored everything and gathered his remaining strength for one final attack. He raised his sword high, ready to crush Thomas.
A suppressed shriek was heard from the crowd. They saw the deadly blow coming.
In the midst of the world that seemed to stop, Thomas gave a silent command. Burn one Essence.
Cold energy coursed through his body. Time slowed for a fraction of a second. Barca's descending sword swing felt like a slow-motion movement. With impossible speed, Thomas did not retreat. He lunged forward, entering Barca's open defense.
Before Barca could process what had happened, Thomas slammed the pommel of his sword into the giant's wrist. At the same time, his leg swept Barca's ankle.
CRACK!
The sound of the wooden sword falling onto the sand was incredibly loud in the chilling silence.
THUD!
The Beast of Carthage fell to his knees.
Complete silence. Frozen. The gladiators stared with open mouths. On the balcony, Batiatus stood, his eyes wide.
Thomas stood over Barca, his chest heaving, his sword ready.
"Enough!" Doctore's voice broke the silence.
He walked closer, looking at Barca who was kneeling in shock and pain, then at Thomas. There was something new in Doctore's eyes. Respect.
He turned to face the gladiators who were still silent. "Today," he said, his voice echoing. "He is no longer a worm. Today, he earned his place."
Two guards grabbed Thomas's shoulders, forcing him to his knees. Another guard brought a branding iron, its tip glowing red. The crowd was now silent for a different reason. They watched with respect. This was their sacred rite.
Thomas stared straight ahead as the iron approached. He smelled his own burning flesh.
SSSSSSHHHH!
Excruciating pain exploded on his shoulder. A growl escaped from between his clenched teeth, but he did not scream. He accepted the pain. The mark.
As the iron was pulled away, a smoking, blistering symbol was left on his skin. The mark of the House of Batiatus. He had passed his trial by fire.
{Name: Thomas Vance}
{Stored Essence: 53}
{Active Legacy: [Talent] Rapid Adaptation}