Sparta: Many childrens, Many Blessings, Starting from the Gladiator Chapter 62 62

Leta tilted her head back and took a big gulp. "Mixing on land is much more complicated than on the sea. On the sea it's very simple — fight if you can win, run if you can't. On land, you have to deal with all kinds of people, all kinds of rules, all kinds of sches. Isn't it tiring?"

"You don't have sches on the sea?"

"We do, but not that many twists and turns."

Leta smiled. "We pirates, whoever has the bigger fist gets to speak. Not like you people, clearly wanting to kill the other party but still smiling and shaking hands, stabbing in the back. So hypocritical."

Marcus smiled bitterly.

"But I like it."

Leta leaned closer, her breath carrying the sll of alcohol. "A person like you, who can still stand steady while rolling in sches, has the most flavor."

Her fingers once again stroked Marcus's face. This ti Marcus did not dodge.

What followed was only natural.

Ship cabin, hammock, rocking hull.

After it ended, Leta lay on Marcus's chest, her fingers drawing circles on his firm pectoral muscles.

"Hey, Marcus."

"Hmm?"

"If one day you can't mix in Capua anymore, co find in Sicily."

Leta said, her voice rare and serious. "Although life at sea is hard, it's free. You can go wherever you want, rob whoever you want. No one can order you around."

"Sounds good."

"Of course it's good."

Leta smiled. "But before that, you have to help deal with Valerius first. That old thing has been contacting the 'Blood Shark' lately, wanting to join forces with them against . I don't like being stabbed in the back."

"Don't worry, he won't live long."

He added in his heart: Once I get Lucius's evidence and Gracchus's tariff proposal passes, Valerius's good days will co to an end.

Late at night, Marcus left Leta's ship.

Returning to the training ground, he checked the preparation status of each team — the Combat Team was doing extra night combat training, the Intelligence Team was organizing the latest intelligence reports, and the Logistics Team was inventorying equipnt.

Everything was in good order.

But Marcus knew clearly in his heart that this was only the calm before the storm.

The cargo reception mission in three days could be a turning point, or it could be… a trap.

He walked to the center of the training ground, watching those brothers sweating profusely under the torchlight.

These people trusted him, followed him, and entrusted their lives to him.

He could not let them down.

He could not let himself die here either.

Marcus walked to the weapons storage, inspected the recently seized crossbows — they were well maintained, with plenty of bolts.

He also went to see "Shadow." The ship had been fully modified and could set sail at any ti.

Finally, he returned to the office, took out that small pottery bottle from the drawer — the one containing "sedative powder."

He opened the stopper. There was still a bit of white powder left inside.

He thought for a mont, took out a small pinch, wrapped it in oil paper, and stuffed it into the inner layer of his belt.

It might co in handy.

After doing all this, the sky was almost bright.

Marcus lay on the simple bed in the office and closed his eyes.

In his mind, he reviewed the entire plan.

Receiving the goods, delivering the goods, reconnaissance, responding to possible attacks…

Every link must not go wrong.

The goods were received very smoothly, but Marcus always felt sothing was off.

Three days later, in the evening, just as the sky was getting dark, a bare single-masted sailing ship quietly slipped into Capua port.

This ship was very strange. There were no markings on it at all, not even a flag.

It did not dock at the busy public pier. Instead, it made a turn and headed straight for the northernmost end of Dock No. 7 — there was an old pier abandoned for many years, half the wood already rotten, and usually no one went there even as a ghost.

This was exactly the "special berth" that Marcus and Leta had agreed on beforehand.

As soon as the ship stopped, five people jumped down from it.

They were dressed in ordinary sailor's coarse cloth clothes, but their eyes were alert and their hands were always on their waists, clearly hiding weapons.

The leader was a burly man with a horizontal knife scar on the left side of his face and half his left ear missing. As soon as he opened his mouth, he had a heavy northern accent.

"Marcus?"

"It's ."

"The goods are on the ship,"

The half-eared man jerked his chin toward the cabin. "Go see for yourself."

Marcus gave Octavius a look. The two boarded the ship one after the other.

In the cabin were more than a dozen large wooden boxes, all tied tightly with hemp rope.

Marcus casually picked one on the side and pried open the lid with his dagger —

Inside were iron ingots.

Black, heavy, cold raw iron ingots.

He opened two more boxes in succession. They were all the sa.

Iron ingots were considered valuable goods in Ro, but they were not particularly "special."

Transporting this stuff all the way from the northern frontier?

Just the shipping cost alone was not worthwhile. Would an old fox like Gracchus do such a loss-making business?

"Just these?"

Marcus straightened up and patted the dust off his hands.

"Just these,"

The half-eared man grinned and handed over a crumpled sheepskin paper. "Sign after you've checked them clearly."

Marcus carefully inspected every box. They were indeed all iron ingots.

He signed with the pen. The man took it, didn't even look at it, and "rip" tore it in half.

"We'll take the ship away,"

The half-eared man said. "You handle the goods however you want. We don't care."

With that, the five people nimbly jumped onto another small boat that had been waiting nearby. With a few strokes of the oars, they disappeared into the dim sea surface.

Marcus stood on the creaking old pier, staring at the now-empty single-masted sailing ship and the small black dot disappearing in the distance. His brows furrowed tighter and tighter.

Sothing was wrong. Very wrong.

The "special goods" that Gracchus had specifically instructed about could be ordinary iron ingots?

Ro lacked nothing if not iron.

There must be sothing fishy going on here.

"Move the goods."

He waved at Octavius.

The eight young n from the Combat Team plus Octavius worked hard for nearly two hours before moving all the dozen or so large boxes onto the carriages — fully loading three carts, each one so heavy the wheels creaked loudly.

The convoy left the city under the cover of night, heading straight for Oak Manor, ten miles north of the city.

It was a dium-sized farm, mainly growing olives and grapes. It was usually so quiet you could hear insects.

But tonight, four spear-wielding guards stood at the manor gate, all with vigilant eyes.

Marcus showed the bronze token given by Gracchus, and the guards let them through.

The manor steward was a skinny old man who looked like an old tree root, nad Philo. He spoke very little.

He directed several slaves to move the boxes into the underground chamber of the main house, then nodded at Marcus and said in a hoarse voice: "Master has instructed that once the goods arrive, it's done. You may leave now."

"That's it?"

Marcus asked.

"That's it."

Philo's face showed no expression. "Thank you for your hard work."

Marcus asked no more questions and turned his group back toward the city.

Along the way, he remained silent, his mind repeatedly going over every detail from earlier: that bare ship, the crew's vigilant eyes, the receipt casually torn in half… and those ordinary iron ingots.

"Boss, is there sothing fishy about this?"

Gisco, who was driving the cart, asked in a low voice.

"Very fishy,"

Marcus rubbed his brow. "Gracchus went to so much trouble just to transport so iron ingots? Only a ghost would believe that."

"Could there be… hidden compartnts in the boxes? Hiding other good stuff?"

"Possible,"

Marcus said. "But we can't go back to check now. Any news from Saxa's side?"

"Yes,"

Gisco leaned closer. "She sent word back this afternoon. She said besides the usual farm slaves working and the gate guards, she didn't see any unfamiliar faces in the manor. As for that underground chamber… she tried, but couldn't get in. There were always people guarding the door, and they didn't leave even when changing shifts."

"Let her keep watching, but don't force entry. Safety first."

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