Sparta: Many childrens, Many Blessings, Starting from the Gladiator Chapter 38 38

Crixus sat directly opposite Marcus, staring at him the whole ti with a complicated look that was hard to read.

"What are you looking at?"

Marcus finally couldn't help but speak.

"Looking to see if you're dead yet."

Crixus sneered, his voice very low. "The poison on that sword, by now… it should have taken effect."

Marcus's heart tightened, but his face remained completely unchanged: "What poison? Make it clear."

"Still pretending?"

Crixus leaned forward, almost squeezing the words out through his teeth. "The fine steel sword Batiatus gave you has 'Sedative Powder' hidden in the hilt. If you hold it for too long, your hands will go numb, your reactions will slow down, and your stamina will drain very quickly. He thought I didn't know. Ha, I discovered it long ago."

So this guy knew too.

"Then why didn't you warn ?"

Marcus stared at him and asked.

"Why should I warn you?"

Crixus retorted, a flash of ruthlessness in his eyes. "If you die, it's only good for , no harm at all."

"And now?"

"Now…"

Crixus glanced out the carriage window at the increasingly lively streets, his tone complicated. "Now we need each other to stay alive. At least, until the performance match is over, we have to support each other."

Marcus stared into his beast-like eyes: "What about after the performance match?"

"After the performance match, it's every man for himself."

Crixus spoke bluntly. "There's a ship waiting at the dock. How many can get on depends on each person's luck. As for who survives in the end… that depends on fate."

"Are you sure the ship is fine?"

"Not sure."

Crixus answered straightforwardly. "But it's better than staying here and waiting to die. Don't you think?"

The conversation ca to an abrupt end. The carriage was once again filled with silence.

The carriage continued forward.

The scenery on both sides of the street gradually changed.

The dilapidated wooden houses and crooked sheds in the commoner district beca fewer, replaced by more white marble buildings. Shops had gorgeous signs, and the pedestrians' clothes were much more refined.

Founding Festival decorations were everywhere — colorful flags, wreaths, statues of gods, and plaster sculptures painted in bright colors.

The air carried the charred aroma of grilled at, the sweet-sour sll of wine, and the excited noise of the crowd.

The closer they got to the arena, the more crowded it beca.

The carriage had to slow down, squeezing through the crowd with difficulty.

Through the gaps in the iron bars, Marcus could see the excited and twisted faces outside — n waving wine bottles, won shaking painted fans, children chasing the carriage and shouting nonstop, "Gladiators! Gladiators!"

"Look at that big guy! So strong!"

"Is the one in red armor Crixus?"

"Who's the one in black armor? The newcor?"

"I heard his na is Marcus. He punched an overseer's head to pieces!"

"Tsk tsk, there's going to be a good show today!"

Chatter, cheers, and whistles mixed into a dizzying sea of noise.

Marcus looked at the fanatical and unfamiliar faces outside the window and felt a strong sense of absurdity in his heart.

These people, wearing clean and decent clothes, eating delicious food, drinking expensive wine, then gathered here with peace of mind, waiting to watch them — these slaves — kill each other, bleed, scream, and die.

Just for… so fun.

"Feels unfair, doesn't it?"

Saxa suddenly whispered in his ear, her breath brushing against his earlobe.

Marcus turned his head and saw her looking out the window. Her side profile was sharp in the morning light, her eyes terrifyingly calm.

"A little."

He honestly admitted.

"You'll get used to it."

Saxa curled the corner of her mouth, her smile full of deep mockery. "When I was in Thrace, the Romans did the sa. They tied captives to wooden stakes and let new recruits practice throwing spears. Those noble ladies sat under sunshades, eating figs while watching, and even clapped and cheered for who threw more accurately."

She paused, her voice dropping almost to a whisper, as if talking to herself: "This world is like this. The strong enjoy themselves, the weak wait to die. If you want to change it, you have to beco strong first — beco stronger than them."

Marcus didn't reply, only clenched his fist tighter.

The carriage finally arrived at the arena with much effort.

It was an astonishingly huge oval building. The gray-white stone walls towered into the clouds, and the outer walls were decorated with magnificent reliefs — God of War Mars, fighting gladiators, roaring beasts.

Long queues ford at dozens of arched entrances. Spectators held clay tickets and pushed their way in under the rough checks of the guards.

The air was filled with even stronger and more complex slls — sweat, cheap perfu, the greasy sll of grilled sausages, and… a faint but lingering scent of blood.

The arena had its own bloody sll.

Years of killing had soaked blood into the stone cracks and deep into the sand. No matter how much it was washed, it couldn't be removed.

The carriage circled to the back of the arena and stopped at an inconspicuous small door.

The door opened. Several staff mbers wearing the arena's brown uniforms ca out and quickly exchanged a few words with the overseers.

Then the gladiators were herded off the cart and ford into a crooked line, filing into the interior of the arena through the small door.

Inside was a narrow, dim corridor. The only light ca from sparse torches on the walls.

The walls felt damp and cold to the touch. The air was filled with the sll of mold and a pungent urine stench.

Footsteps echoed hollowly between the stone walls, mixed with the muffled thunder-like cheers coming from afar — the warm-up performance had obviously already started.

"Follow closely! Don't look around!"

The lead staff mber shouted impatiently.

After passing several branching paths, they were brought to a relatively spacious room.

The walls were made of rough stone bricks. The floor was covered with yellowed dry straw. In the corners were several foul-slling buckets and a few chipped wooden bowls.

Rusty iron rings were nailed to the walls with chains hanging from them — clearly used to restrain disobedient gladiators.

"Wait here obediently!"

The staff mber left these words. "Half an hour before the match starts, soone will co to take you to the preparation area. Don't fucking run around, otherwise…"

He didn't finish, but the threat was clear.

The door slamd shut, followed by the sound of the lock turning.

Only the gladiators remained in the room.

After a short silence, Gisco was the first to approach Marcus: "Big Brother, what do we do now?"

Marcus walked to the door, pressed his ear against the wooden door and listened — there were footsteps outside. At least two guards were patrolling back and forth.

"Follow what we discussed last night."

He turned around, his gaze sweeping over everyone. "Marcus, Amir, you two keep a close eye on the hidden door at the southwest corner."

"Gisco, you take three people and watch the northeast corner — Crixus said there might be an ambush there too."

"Drusus, you take the rest and stay near the door. If anything happens outside, imdiately subdue the guards and open the door."

Everyone nodded, their expressions grave.

"What about us?"

Crixus asked with his arms crossed.

"We go to the preparation area."

Marcus said in a deep voice. "After the performance match starts, fight according to the tactics we rehearsed last night. Rember, don't use full strength at the beginning. Act weak and miserable. When the Nodis bastards relax and think victory is in their grasp, then suddenly burst out and catch them off guard."

"Act weak?"

Octavius frowned in his rough voice. "They have more people than us. If we act weak… we might really get killed."

"So we need coordination."

Marcus looked at Saxa. "Saxa, you are responsible for creating an 'accident'. Didn't Batiatus tell you to deliberately make a mistake when we are about to win? Then make the 'mistake' early — when it looks like we are about to lose and can't hold on, suddenly turn and stab the Nodis side, disrupting their formation."

Saxa grinned, showing a row of white teeth: "I'm best at this."

"Good."

Marcus looked around. "Any other questions?"

No one spoke. Only heavy breathing rose and fell in the room.

"Then prepare individually."

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