Sparta: Many childrens, Many Blessings, Starting from the Gladiator Chapter 49 49

The heavy main gate of the training ground had its Senate seals torn into pieces.

Marcus stood at the entrance, looking up at the familiar sign — "Batiatus Gladiator Training Camp."

The paint was badly peeling, the letters blurred, just as wretched as its unlucky owner's fate.

Gisco, Amir, Drusus, and more than a dozen other gladiators stood behind him.

These people had different expressions — Gisco was grinning, rubbing his hands in excitent;

Amir's eyes darted around, curiously looking at everything;

Drusus frowned, the knife scar on his face looking especially deep in the morning light.

So others stood there blankly, not knowing where to put their hands and feet.

"Let's go in."

Marcus took a deep breath and finally spoke.

He reached out and pushed open the door.

The training ground was a ss.

The overseers had run away, the slaves had run away, and anything valuable had been carried off.

Water had accumulated in the sand pit. Weapon racks lay on the ground. Most of the cell doors were wide open, everything inside turned upside down, straw mats and rags scattered everywhere.

"Fuck,"

Gisco kicked away a broken wooden bucket blocking the way. "This place looks like it was robbed by bandits!"

"It was robbed."

Drusus squatted down, picked up half a broken sword, and wiped the rust with his finger. "As soon as Batiatus fell, many people wanted to take advantage. Anything that could be moved was taken, and what couldn't be moved was smashed."

Marcus didn't reply. He walked straight to the center of the training ground and faced everyone.

"Listen up,"

Marcus raised his voice. "Count the numbers. Those willing to stay, stand on the left. Those who want to leave, stand on the right. Those who stay, I guarantee food, clothes, and monthly pay. Those who leave, each gets five denarii as severance pay. From then on, we go our separate ways."

The gladiators looked at each other and whispered in low voices.

After a while, the crowd began to move.

In the end, out of twenty-three people, sixteen stood on the left — Gisco, Amir, and Drusus were all there. A man nad Marcus who had been drugged before and had mostly recovered also stood over.

Seven stood on the right, mostly older ones or those with injuries.

Marcus nodded at Saxa.

Saxa walked over with a heavy money bag and handed money to each of the seven one by one.

The seven clutched the money, looked at the training ground one last ti with complicated expressions, and left one after another.

The main gate "bang" closed again.

Now, only seventeen people remained in the training ground — Marcus, Octavius, Saxa, and fourteen forr gladiators.

"Good."

Marcus patted the dust off his hands, his gaze sweeping across every face. "From today onward, this place is no longer called Batiatus Training Camp, nor Gladiator Training Camp."

He paused and spoke clearly, word by word: "This place is called 'Shadow'."

"Shadow?"

Amir repeated softly, his eyes lighting up.

"Yes, Shadow."

Marcus nodded. "We are no longer gladiators — at least not completely. What we are going to do is far more important and far more dangerous than fighting on the sand."

He walked up to the crowd and looked at each one: "Gracchus gave us freedom and gave us an opportunity, but opportunities are not free. He wants us to do things for him — things he finds inconvenient to handle personally: clean up opponents, gather intelligence, deal with troubles."

So people's faces showed unease and they exchanged glances.

"I know what you're thinking,"

Marcus continued. "Out of the wolf's den and into the tiger's mouth, right? But this ti it's different. This ti, we are not slaves, not tools for others to manipulate."

"We are partners — at least in na. We have salary, freedom, and choice."

He pointed around: "This place will be our base from now on. We need to renovate it. Not just a training ground, but also living quarters, warehouses, an intelligence room. We need our own rules and our own discipline."

"What rules?"

Drusus asked in his rough voice.

"Three rules."

Marcus held up three fingers. "First, do not betray your brothers. Second, do not harm the innocent. Third, do not take orders from anyone — except ."

The last sentence landed like a stone in water. Everyone froze.

"Then… what about Gracchus…"

Gisco asked hesitantly.

"Gracchus is our employer, not our master."

Marcus said firmly. "He gives money, we do the work. But how we do it and when we do it is up to . If he asks us to go die or do anything unconscionable, we can refuse."

"Will he… agree to that?"

"He must agree."

Marcus said calmly but with an unquestionable tone. "Because we have value. But let be clear, if any of you still want to leave now, it's still possible. Once you stay, you are a mber of 'Shadow' and must follow 'Shadow''s rules."

No one moved. The training ground was deathly quiet.

"Very good."

Marcus nodded. "Now, assign tasks."

He turned to Gisco: "Gisco, you are responsible for training. Repair the sand pit, set up the weapon racks. From today, three hours of basic training and two hours of tactical coordination every day. We must not only know how to fight, but also how to coordinate, how to scout, and how to infiltrate."

"Understood!"

Gisco grinned and rubbed his hands. "We should have been doing this long ago!"

"Drusus."

Marcus looked at the oldest gladiator. "You are responsible for internal affairs. Arrange living quarters, distribute supplies, manage money and food. Make a list of places in the training ground that need repair. I will ask Gracchus for money."

Drusus nodded steadily: "Leave it to , Boss."

"Amir."

Marcus looked at the youngest one. "You are responsible for intelligence. Take two clever brothers. From today, get familiar with every street, every tavern, every dock in Capua. I want to know who has grudges with whom and who is doing what business."

Amir's eyes lit up and he straightened his back: "Yes! I guarantee I'll find out everything clearly!"

"Marcus."

Marcus looked at the man who had been drugged before and had mostly recovered. "You take three people and are responsible for security. The training ground must be patrolled day and night. If any unfamiliar faces approach, stop them first and ask clearly."

"Understood!"

Marcus nodded forcefully.

"The rest will temporarily follow Octavius and Saxa's command."

Marcus said. "Assist them in their tasks."

After assigning everything, Marcus clapped his hands: "Alright, get to work. Clean up the training ground today. Starting tomorrow, we have real work to do."

The crowd scattered with a "whoosh" and got busy.

Marcus turned and walked toward the main building — Batiatus's forr office.

Pushing open the door, it was even ssier inside.

The desk was overturned, drawers pulled open, sheepskin scrolls scattered all over the floor.

The tapestry on the wall had been torn down, revealing damp and moldy walls behind it.

But one thing hadn't been taken — the iron safe in the corner.

It was heavy and locked tightly. Batiatus had left in a hurry and clearly hadn't had ti to open it.

"Octavius."

Marcus called.

The giant "thud thud" walked in, almost filling the doorfra.

"Can you open it?"

Octavius squatted down, checked the lock, then grabbed both sides of the safe door with his hands, took a deep breath, and his muscles bulged with a "crack" —

"Creak——!"

The harsh sound of tal deforming rang out.

The lock didn't open, but the door was forcibly bent, revealing a gap.

Marcus reached in and pulled out a pile of things.

Several sheepskin scrolls — account books recording Batiatus's business dealings.

A small wooden box. Opening it revealed a bag of gems and dozens of gold coins, gleaming temptingly in the dim light.

And a stack of contracts — the gladiators' slave contracts. Marcus flipped through them and found his own.

He took out all the contracts, walked to the fireplace, struck a flint, and lit a fire.

Flas "whooshed" up and devoured the papers filled with slaves' nas one by one.

From now on, there were no slaves in the training ground, only people who chose to stay.

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