Sparta: Many childrens, Many Blessings, Starting from the Gladiator Chapter 50 50

Novel: Sparta: Many childrens, Many Blessings, Starting from the Gladiator Author: Bruceink Updated: Jun 17, 2026

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Now reading: Chapter 50 50 from Sparta: Many childrens, Many Blessings, Starting from the Gladiator, a Action novel by Bruceink.

"Found anything good?"

Saxa's voice ca from the doorway.

She leaned against the doorfra, tilting her head to look.

"Money, account books, and this."

Marcus reached into the very bottom of the safe and pulled out a small clay bottle — the sa one that had contained the "Sedative Powder" before.

He opened the cork and brought it to his nose to sll — there was still a bit of residue, colorless and odorless.

"Keep it."

Marcus plugged the cork back in. "Might co in handy soday."

He put away the gold coins and gems, and set the account books aside separately.

These were evidence. They might be useful later.

In the afternoon, the training ground was roughly cleaned up.

The water in the sand pit was drained and replaced with fresh sand.

The weapon racks were set up again. Although so were crooked, they could still be used.

The cells were cleaned and laid with new straw mats.

The kitchen hadn't been restored yet, but Drusus had bought bread and salted at from outside, enough to fill everyone's stomachs.

In the evening, Marcus gathered everyone in the courtyard.

"The first thing is settled."

He said. "The second thing — the dock robbery."

He briefly explained the situation — several batches of Gracchus's goods had been robbed at the dock. The identity of the robbers was unknown. It had to be investigated within three days.

"How do we investigate?"

Gisco scratched his head.

"Three steps."

Marcus held up three fingers. "First, Amir, you take people to the dock taverns and ask around if there have been any unfamiliar faces lately, or if anyone has suddenly gotten rich. Second, Marcus, you take people to wander around the dock area and look for any unusual activity at the warehouses. Third…"

He looked at Saxa and Octavius: "You two, co with to the docks tonight for a 'stroll'."

"A stroll?"

Saxa raised an eyebrow. "In the middle of the night, strolling at the docks?"

"Yes, a stroll."

Marcus said. "The robbers have to sell the stolen goods. I know a few black markets in Capua."

...

When night had completely fallen, three figures quietly slipped out of the training ground.

The dock area of Capua was completely different from its dayti bustle.

Cargo ships lay quietly on the sea like sleeping giant beasts.

A few sparse wind lanterns hung on the piers, their dim yellow light barely illuminating the uneven ground underfoot.

The air was filled with the sll of fish, seaweed, and so indefinable rotten odor.

Marcus and the other two, wearing dark clothes, moved like three shadows through the narrow alleys between the warehouses.

Saxa led the way — she had already familiarized herself with Capua thoroughly these past few days.

"The black market is behind the old fish market."

She said in a low voice. "On the surface, they are a few rundown shops. But underground there are spaces where anything can be sold and anything can be bought — as long as you have money."

"You've been there?"

Octavius asked in his deep voice.

"Once."

Saxa said. "Bought a short blade there. The people there… are not easy to ss with."

The old fish market had long been abandoned. Half of the wooden sheds had collapsed, and the ground was covered with dried fish scales and garbage.

But deeper inside, a few stone houses that still looked relatively intact stood there, with extinguished oil lamps hanging at the doors.

Saxa walked to one of the doors, raised her hand, and knocked five tis in a specific rhythm.

After a while, the door opened a crack.

A turbid eye looked out from inside, its whites covered with bloodshot veins.

"Buying goods."

Saxa said.

"What goods?"

"Hard goods."

Saxa took out a gold coin from her bosom and waved it in front of the crack.

The gold coin flashed in the dim light.

The door "creaked" open.

Inside was even darker than outside, lit only by a small flickering oil lamp.

Behind the counter sat a skinny old man who looked like a skeleton, his face wrinkled so deeply it could trap flies.

He raised his eyes and looked at the three of them, his gaze lingering on Marcus's face for an extra second.

"New faces."

The old man said slowly, his voice hoarse like a broken bellows.

"First ti here."

Marcus said.

"Do you know the rules?"

"Don't know. Please tell us."

"Don't ask about origins, don't ask about destinations. Pay for goods when you see them. Money and goods exchanged cleanly. Once you leave this door, no one knows anyone."

The old man spoke word by word. "Those who break the rules… have all been fed to the fish."

"Understood."

Marcus nodded.

The old man took out a wooden box from under the counter and "clack" opened it. Inside were a few pieces of jewelry. The craftsmanship was crude, but the materials were decent — silver inlaid with cheap gems.

"Received these a couple days ago."

The old man said. "Cheap. Five denarii and you can take them all."

Marcus picked up a bracelet and examined it carefully — there were marks on it, as if it had been violently pried off.

"Anything else?"

"That depends on what you want."

"Big stuff."

Marcus said. "Cloth, spices, ivory… anything like that recently?"

The old man narrowed his eyes, vigilance flashing in the slits.

"You guys are buyers or…"

"Buyers."

Marcus said calmly. "A batch of goods was robbed. We want to get it back, or find the people who robbed it."

The old man fell silent.

The oil lamp's fla "crackled" once, casting flickering shadows on his face.

"This matter… is not easy to handle."

He finally spoke, his voice even lower. "The docks have been unstable lately. Several groups are fighting for territory. The goods you ntioned… might have already been scattered."

"Where did they scatter to?"

"Went south."

The old man leaned closer and spoke almost in a whisper. "I heard… they went to Sicily."

Sicily.

Pirate territory.

Marcus's heart stirred.

"Who handled it?"

The old man shook his head repeatedly: "Don't know, and don't dare to know."

Marcus took out two gold coins from his bosom and "clink" placed them on the counter.

"Think again."

The old man stared at the gold coins. His throat moved, and struggle flashed in his single eye.

"…There's a middleman called 'One-Eye'."