Sparta: Many childrens, Many Blessings, Starting from the Gladiator Chapter 37 37

The sky had not yet fully brightened, but the training ground was already bustling with noise.

The overseers roughly dragged the gladiators out of their cells one by one, herding everyone into the center of the courtyard like livestock.

Batiatus stood on the steps of the main building, wearing his most expensive purple-trimd toga, his hair slicked back and shiny, with that signature greasy smile on his face.

"Listen up, all of you!"

He clapped his hands hard, his voice booming as if announcing so great joyous event. "Today is Capua's Founding Festival! A day of glory! And also the day for you — to prove yourselves!"

The gladiators stood in three rows, no one made a sound.

Most lowered their heads, staring at their own feet, or secretly glancing at the people beside them with the corners of their eyes.

The air was mixed with the sll of sweat, leather, and a suppressed, near-exploding tension that made it hard to breathe.

Marcus stood at the far right of the first row. Crixus was on his left, Octavius on his right.

Saxa stood in the second row, right behind him.

He could clearly feel Crixus's tense muscles, hear Octavius's heavy breathing, and sll the faint scent of leather and blood coming from Saxa — this woman must have secretly sharpened her blades again today.

"Today's performance match rules, I'll say them one last ti!"

Batiatus paced back and forth, his gaze sweeping across every face like he was inspecting goods. "The four of you — Marcus, Crixus, Octavius, Saxa — will fight six gladiators from Nodis training camp. The venue is the Great Arena of Capua, with at least five thousand spectators! If you win, you will be the new heroes of Capua! Money, won, fa — you can have whatever you want!"

He deliberately paused, his smile deepening, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes bunching together. "Of course, there is also… freedom. What I said before still counts."

Freedom.

This word stabbed into everyone's ears like a needle.

Marcus saw with the corner of his eye that Crixus's fingers twitched, Octavius's breathing beca heavier, and Saxa behind him let out a soft sneer.

Freedom?

Like hell I believe you.

Marcus sneered coldly in his heart.

"If you lose…"

Batiatus dragged out his words in an uncomfortable tone. "If you lose, you die on the sand, adding so blood color to the Founding Festival. That can also be considered… dying a worthy death, right?"

No one answered. Only heavy breathing filled the courtyard.

Batiatus seed very satisfied with the oppressive feeling brought by this silence.

He waved his hand, and several slaves carried several large wooden boxes over and placed them heavily in front of the team with a "thud."

"Open them."

The lids were lifted.

Inside were brand new leather armor, helts, shields, and — weapons.

Not the wooden swords and shields used for normal training, but real ones.

The iron swords glead with a cold, hard light in the morning sun. The edges of the shields were wrapped with brass. The helts even had bright feathers inserted.

"Put them all on!"

Batiatus ordered, his voice suddenly stern. "Today, you represent the face of my Batiatus training camp! Don't fucking embarrass !"

The gladiators began silently equipping themselves.

Marcus received a set of black leather armor. It was much thicker and heavier than what he usually wore, but the protection should be better.

The helt was a standard Roman infantry helt. The cheek guards could be lowered, exposing only the eyes.

The shield was a standard large rectangular shield, heavy in the hand.

The weapon…

He picked up the short sword assigned to him.

It was not that fine steel sword.

It was an ordinary iron sword. The blade was thick and wide, the edge reasonably sharp, but the weight and feel were far inferior.

Batiatus had indeed taken back the good sword.

Marcus sneered coldly in his heart, but his face showed no abnormality.

He carefully checked the connection between the blade and the hilt — fortunately, there was no looseness or strange powder. At least this sword wasn't poisoned.

"Big Brother."

Amir squeezed over during the chaos and whispered, "I found out, the people from Nodis have already arrived and are preparing in the rest room on the other side of the arena. They… they actually brought eight people."

"Eight?"

Marcus frowned. "Wasn't it six?"

"Six on the surface, two hidden in secret."

Amir lowered his voice even more. "They are the 'Shadow' brothers, specializing in flying knives and rope darts. The referees have been bribed. After the match starts, they will deliberately let them enter through the hidden door at the southwest corner."

It matched the information Lucretia had revealed that night.

Marcus nodded: "Got it. Go tell Gisco and Marcus to keep a close eye on the southwest corner. As soon as those two appear, find a way to entangle them and don't let them join the battle smoothly."

"Understood!"

Amir hurriedly slipped away, bent low.

Marcus continued putting on his gear.

The leather armor was put on and the straps tightened one by one. He tried on the helt — the field of vision was still quite wide.

He moved his shoulders and arms, confirming it didn't affect his movents.

Beside him, Crixus had finished equipping himself.

This guy's leather armor was blood-red, paired with his knotted muscles and ssy blond hair. He looked exactly like a bloodthirsty beast just released from its cage.

He was repeatedly wiping the blade of his sword with a coarse cloth, staring fiercely at the ground, muttering sothing under his breath.

Octavius received the largest set of leather armor, but it still looked a bit tight on his mountain-like body.

This giant remained silent, only using his thick fingers to repeatedly check the firmness of the brass wrapping on the edge of his shield, as if that was his only support.

Saxa was tying on her bracers.

Her leather armor was dark brown and fit her well, outlining a strong and fluid figure.

Her short blade was already inserted at her waist. She was carefully slipping a dagger into her boot — the one Marcus had given her last night, considered a token of so sort between them.

"Are you all ready?"

Batiatus raised his voice and asked.

The courtyard was silent, only the rustling sound of leather armor rubbing.

"Hmph, then let's go!"

The team started moving.

More than twenty gladiators — the four who would fight today, plus others as "followers" and "reserves" — staggered out of the training ground gate under the threat of the overseers' whips.

Three carriages were parked outside.

They were not the usual broken cargo carts, but prison carts with iron bars — although decorated with ribbons and wreaths, they could not hide their nature as prison carts.

"Get on! Hurry up!"

The overseers waved their whips, making loud cracking sounds in the air.

Marcus and the other three were pushed into the first cart, the others divided into the next two.

The carriage door slamd shut with a "bang," the sound of the iron bolt falling particularly harsh.

The carriages slowly started moving toward the arena in the center of the city.

The carriage was very cramped. The four people were almost pressed against each other.

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