Sparta: Many childrens, Many Blessings, Starting from the Gladiator Chapter 46 46

The banquet continued.

But the atmosphere was completely different.

Marcus was brought to the side hall. Octavius and Saxa were already waiting there.

The chains on both of them had also been removed. They looked bewildered.

"What's going on?"

Saxa asked. "Why did that person save us?"

"A transaction,"

Marcus explained simply.

Octavius frowned: "Loyalty to him? Can he be trusted?"

"Trustworthy for now,"

Marcus said. "At least better than being in Batiatus's hands."

Just as they were talking, the door opened.

Ilithyia walked in.

She waved away the soldiers at the door, closed the door, then turned around and looked at the three of them.

"Congratulations,"

She said with a smile, her voice soft. "From slaves to free people, and you even climbed onto the most powerful person in Capua. A teoric rise, Marcus."

Marcus didn't speak.

Ilithyia walked up to him. Her fingers gently traced across his chest — where there were wounds from today's performance match.

"Does it hurt?"

She asked.

"It's fine."

"My husband rarely treats people this well,"

Ilithyia lowered her voice and leaned closer. "He has taken a fancy to your potential and wants to train you into a blade. But a blade used for too long will also beco dull and break."

She leaned even closer, her breath spraying on Marcus's face, carrying the scent of wine: "Be careful. Don't really take yourself seriously. In Gracchus's eyes, you will always be a tool."

After saying that, she stepped back and returned to her noblewoman deanor, as if those words hadn't co from her.

"By the way,"

She seed to suddenly rember sothing. "That little healer of yours, Mira, I have already sent soone to bring her out. She is now in my mansion, very safe."

Marcus's eyes sharpened: "Thank you."

"No need to thank ,"

Ilithyia smiled, her smile full of aning. "I'm also making an investnt. After all, who can say for sure what the future holds?"

She turned to leave. When she reached the door, she looked back again.

"Co to the mansion tomorrow to report. My husband will arrange your residence and duties."

The door "click" shut.

Only the three of them remained in the side hall.

Saxa whistled softly: "This woman… is not simple."

Octavius nodded, his expression serious.

Marcus walked to the window and looked at the brightly lit Capua outside.

From slave to free man.

From gladiator to commander's guard.

It looked like a teoric rise.

But he knew very clearly in his heart that this was just jumping into a bigger, more exquisite cage.

Gracchus saved him not for justice, but for profit.

Ilithyia helped him not out of kindness, but for investnt.

This world has never had free lunches.

"What do we do next?"

Saxa asked.

"First survive,"

Marcus said. "Then… look for opportunities."

"What opportunities?"

"Opportunities to leave,"

Marcus turned around and looked at the two of them. "But not now. Right now we need Gracchus's protection, we need ti to recover, we need to accumulate strength."

He paused, his voice low but firm: "But one day, we will be truly free — not anyone's slaves, not anyone's tools, but truly free."

Octavius and Saxa looked at each other and nodded heavily.

Outside the window, Founding Festival fireworks "boom" exploded in the night sky.

Splendid, but short-lived.

Just like the "freedom" they had just obtained.

But at least, they were still alive.

As long as they were alive, there was still hope.

Marcus clenched his fist, his eyes as firm as iron.

...

Gracchus's mansion was in the northern part of Capua, occupying an entire block.

Tall white stone walls, bronze gates, and two marble lions standing at the entrance — not Roman style, but Egyptian imports, showing the owner's distinctive taste.

Guards in trimd togas stood straight, their eyes sharp as eagles.

Marcus stood in front of the gate and looked up at the complex reliefs on the lintel.

One day ago, he was a gladiator wearing fetters.

Now, he was wearing a clean linen short robe with a short sword at his waist — a "gift" from Gracchus — standing at the entrance of a senator's mansion.

Beside him were Octavius and Saxa.

The two had also changed clothes, but they clearly felt uncomfortable.

Octavius kept adjusting the shoulder straps of his leather armor, while Saxa kept touching the knife at her waist — the only old item she insisted on keeping.

"Nervous?"

Saxa glanced at him sideways.

"A little."

Marcus honestly admitted.

"What are you afraid of?"

Saxa elbowed him. "Worst case, we fight our way out again. It's not like we haven't killed before."

"We can't fight our way out this ti."

Octavius interjected gloomily, his eyes scanning the surroundings. "There are at least fifty guards outside. I checked, all veterans, and their positions are very deliberate."

Just as they were talking, the bronze gate "creak" opened.

A white-haired steward in a white robe ca out and bowed slightly.

"Mr. Marcus? The master is already waiting for you. Please follow ."

The three exchanged a glance and followed the steward through the gate.

Damn, inside was even bigger than it looked from outside!

The front courtyard was a typical Roman-style garden. The central fountain pool splashed loudly, water sparkling in the sunlight.

Marble colonnades surrounded it on all sides, with intricate reliefs carved on the columns.

Slaves were pruning flowers and cleaning statues, their movents as light as cats.

The air carried the scent of lemon trees and rosemary, sweet and fragrant, a completely different world from the sweat and blood stench of the training ground.

Passing through the courtyard, they entered the main residence.

The hall had a ceiling height of at least twenty feet. The marble floor was so polished it could reflect a person's shadow.

The walls were covered with murals — hunting scenes, mythological stories, rows of ancestral portraits, all with stern expressions.

The ceiling was painted with a star map. Crystal chandeliers hung down, candles lit even in broad daylight, burning high-quality beeswax with a sweet, cloying scent.

It was so luxurious it was suffocating.

Marcus heard Saxa whistle softly beside him.

"Fuck,"

She said in a low voice. "How much money does this cost… robbing for a lifeti wouldn't be enough, right?"

The steward led them through the hall to a heavy oak door.

"The master is in the study."

The steward pushed open the door and stepped aside. "Please enter."

The study was smaller than the hall but more refined.

An entire wall was bookshelves, packed with sheepskin scrolls and papyrus rolls. The air carried the mixed sll of old paper and ink.

On the dark oak desk were a bronze ink bottle, an ivory letter opener, and a small statue of the God of War Mars, polished to a shine.

Gracchus sat behind the desk.

Today he was not wearing that eye-catching purple toga. He had changed into a simple white linen long shirt, looking more casual than last night.

But those eyes were still as sharp as knives. When they swept over, they made one's spine go cold.

"Sit."

He pointed to the three chairs in front of the desk, his voice neither cold nor warm.

Marcus and the other two sat down.

Gracchus didn't speak imdiately. He first slowly looked them over, his gaze like he was appraising value.

"Did you sleep well?"

He finally spoke, his tone flat.

"Not bad."

Marcus said.

"Better than the straw mats in the training ground, right?"

"Much better."

Gracchus smiled, a very shallow smile: "That's good. Are you satisfied with the residence I arranged for you?"

"Satisfied."

Marcus nodded. "Thank you, my lord."

Last night after the banquet, they were arranged in a mansion near Gracchus's residence.

It wasn't big, but it was clean, with separate rooms, hot water, and enough food — white bread, stewed at, fresh fruit. For three slaves who had just crawled out of the arena, it was simply like heaven.

"Good that you're satisfied."

Gracchus leaned forward, hands crossed on the table. "Now, let's talk about serious matters."

He paused, his gaze sweeping across the three of them one by one, finally stopping on Marcus.

"I saved you, gave you freedom, gave you a place to live. According to Roman tradition, you now owe a favor — not just a favor, but the relationship of 'patron and client.' I am your patron, you are my clients. Understood?"

Marcus nodded: "Understood."

"Good that you understand."

Gracchus said. "The obligations of clients are loyalty, service, and giving your life when necessary. The patron's responsibility is protection, provision, and giving you opportunities to climb higher. This is a mutually beneficial relationship, but the premise is…"

He deliberately dragged out the word: "Loyalty."

"I understand."

Marcus t his gaze. "We will be loyal to you."

"Saying it is not enough."

Gracchus took out three sheepskin scrolls from the drawer and pushed them over. "Sign them."

Marcus picked up one and opened it.

This was a contract — or rather, a variant of a slave contract.

It stated that Marcus voluntarily beca Gracchus's "protected person," pledged loyalty to Gracchus and his family, obeyed all reasonable orders, and would not betray.

In return, Gracchus guaranteed his free status, provided food, lodging, and salary (ten denarii per month), and offered protection within the limits of the law.

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