Sparta: Many childrens, Many Blessings, Starting from the Gladiator Chapter 43 43

The victorious cheers were still echoing in the arena, wave after wave, but Marcus's heart kept sinking.

He supported the fainted Lucretia, his eyes fixed dead on Batiatus on the main stand.

That old fox had a smile on his face, but the smile didn't reach his eyes. His gaze was as cold as ice shards.

The host was still shouting at the top of his lungs, spitting everywhere, announcing the victory.

The nobles in the stands had already started to leave — for them, the show was over and it was ti to attend the following banquet. Who cared about the life and death of gladiators?

Marcus handed Lucretia over to the personal maids who had rushed over.

"Take her back,"

Marcus said in a low voice. "Be careful."

The maids nodded. Together with another female slave, they supported Lucretia and staggered away.

Crixus ca over at this ti, wiped the blood off his face, and grinned: "We won! Haha! According to the plan, we should head to the side door now."

Octavius and Saxa also gathered over.

All four of them were injured, but their eyes were frighteningly bright — the rush from victory hadn't faded yet.

"Let's go."

Marcus said only one word.

They completely ignored the host who was still chattering away, and didn't go to receive any "victory wreaths" — that thing was useless. They turned directly toward the side door at the southeast corner of the arena.

That was the "escape route" Crixus had ntioned before.

The corridor was pitch black. The air carried a strange mixed sll of mold and blood.

Footsteps "tap, tap" echoed on the stone walls. In the distance ca the noisy sound of the audience leaving, like it was behind a layer of fog.

Marcus walked at the front, gripping the short sword tightly, his eyes scanning around like searchlights.

Strange, Danger Perception didn't give any warning.

But the quieter it was, the more he felt sothing was wrong.

It was too quiet.

There should be guards at the side door — either Batiatus's n or guards bribed by Nodis.

But now, there wasn't a single shadow.

"Wait."

Marcus suddenly stopped.

Crixus was stunned: "What's wrong?"

"Sothing's off,"

Marcus stared at the half-open door ahead. "Why is the door open?"

The side door was only ajar. A bit of light from the alley outside leaked through the crack, looking strangely eerie.

"I arranged it,"

Crixus said, his tone a bit anxious. "My people should have already lured the guards away."

"Your people?"

Saxa raised an eyebrow, her voice full of suspicion. "You still have 'your people'?"

Crixus's face stiffened: "What do you an by that?"

"It ans I never trusted you from the beginning."

Saxa was not polite at all.

The atmosphere instantly beca tense.

Octavius silently stood beside Marcus, his sword gripped so tightly it creaked.

Crixus looked at the three of them and suddenly "hehe" laughed.

"Too late."

As soon as he finished speaking, footsteps sounded from both ends of the corridor!

Heavy, orderly footsteps — soldiers!

From both front and back, more than ten fully ard Roman soldiers rushed out, holding short swords and shields. They "clang clang clang" blocked both ends of the corridor tightly!

"Drop your weapons!"

The leading centurion roared. "Anyone who resists will be killed without rcy!"

Marcus slowly turned his head and looked at Crixus.

The bit of "comrade" expression on this guy's face had long disappeared, replaced by a strange smile mixed with triumph and cruelty.

"You betrayed us."

Marcus said, his voice frighteningly calm.

"Betrayed?"

Crixus sneered. "I just made the smartest choice! Batiatus promised freedom and one hundred denarii! Escape with you? Who knows if the ship will even arrive. And after that? Beco savages? Or get sold again?"

As he spoke, he backed away until he was inside the soldiers' protective circle, only then feeling safe.

"Sorry about that, brothers,"

Crixus shrugged, looking very smug. "If you have to bla soone, bla yourselves for being too naive."

Marcus didn't speak anymore.

He looked at the soldiers closing in from front and back, his mind turning rapidly.

Thirty soldiers, fully ard.

The three of them, covered in wounds, most of their stamina already spent.

Fight head-on?

A dead end.

"Drop your weapons!"

The centurion roared again. "Final warning!"

Saxa looked at Marcus, her eyes asking: Fight or not?

Marcus gently shook his head.

He loosened his hand. With a "clang," the short sword fell to the ground.

Octavius and Saxa exchanged a glance, gritted their teeth, and also threw down their weapons.

"Wise! Wise!"

Crixus clapped his hands in delight. "Don't worry, Master Batiatus said he won't kill you. After all, you just won the performance match. You're 'heroes.' It would be a pity if you died, right?"

The soldiers sward forward and locked the three of them in iron chains with "clack clack" sounds.

Marcus didn't resist.

He let the cold iron chains lock around his wrists, his eyes fixed on Crixus the whole ti.

"You will regret this."

"Regret?"

Crixus laughed loudly. "When you're nailed to the cross and left to dry in the wind, I'll already be in so manor drinking wine and playing with slave girls!

Hahaha!"

The soldiers escorted the three of them out.

Outside the side door there was no small alley at all. It was a wider passage leading straight to the dark and gloomy underground prison of the arena.

Marcus was roughly pushed into a cell.

The iron door "clang" shut. The sound of the lock falling was especially harsh.

The cell was pitifully small — three stone walls and one iron grate.

The floor was covered with moldy straw. The air carried a foul stench mixed with urine and blood.

There were dried bloodstains on the walls, and blurry words scratched with fingernails — maybe a na, or maybe "help."

Octavius and Saxa were locked in the adjacent cell. They could hear voices but couldn't see each other.

"Marcus?"

Saxa's voice ca from next door, a bit muffled.

"Here."

"You okay?"

"I'm fine."

Marcus leaned against the wall and checked the iron chains on his wrists — they were very thick, the locks very sturdy. Impossible to open with bare hands.

"That bastard…"

Saxa cursed, her voice full of anger. "I should have killed him on the sand if I had known!"

"Saying this now is useless,"

Marcus said. "Think about how to get out."

"How to get out?"

Saxa laughed coldly. "Iron chains, iron door, at least twenty soldiers outside. Unless a god cos to save us."

Marcus didn't reply.

He was thinking rapidly in his head.

When exactly did Crixus betray them?

Before the performance match? Or after?

Why didn't Batiatus kill them on the spot? What was the point of keeping them alive?

And Lucretia… did she really rush down to block the crossbow bolts, or was it an act?

One question after another swirled in his mind like a tangled ss.

Ti passed little by little.

There were no windows in the cell, so he didn't know how long had passed.

He could only roughly judge ti by how often the torches in the corridor were changed — they had been changed about three tis, each interval around two hours.

Six hours had passed.

It should be completely dark outside.

Footsteps suddenly ca from the corridor.

It wasn't the neat "thud thud" of soldiers, but lighter, more casual steps.

Marcus raised his head.

Two soldiers stopped in front of the cell and "clatter" opened the door.

"Co out,"

One soldier said impatiently. "Master wants to see you."

Marcus didn't move: "Whose master?"

"Master Batiatus," the soldier glared at him. "And honored guests. Hurry up, don't make the master wait!"

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