Sparta: Many childrens, Many Blessings, Starting from the Gladiator Chapter 77 77

Marcus gritted his teeth.

"Five lashes."

He forced the words out through clenched teeth. "I'll take five lashes for her."

"WHOA——!"

The entire square erupted in an uproar.

Taking lashes for a slave? Is this guy crazy?

Even Gracchus was stunned. He clearly hadn't expected him to do this.

"You'll take them for her?"

"Yes."

Marcus stopped wasting words. He untied his leather armor, took off his upper garnt, and exposed his solid back. "I am her man. If she makes a mistake, I am responsible. Five lashes — I'll take them. After it's done, I'll take her away."

Gracchus narrowed his eyes.

This move was ruthless.

If Marcus really took the lashes, word would spread that Gracchus forced a loyal subordinate to suffer public humiliation. His reputation would stink even more.

Moreover, Marcus was now the Port Supervisor with an official position. Whipping an official and whipping a slave were two different things.

"Are you sure?"

Gracchus's voice sank.

"Sure."

Gracchus stared at him for several seconds, then suddenly laughed out loud.

"Good! Full of loyalty and righteousness!"

He clapped his hands. "Then I'll fulfill your wish. However… since this is a substitute punishnt, there can be no reduction. Ten lashes — you take them all. Then you can take the person away. How about that?"

The square fell silent.

Ten lashes.

Those ox-hide whips soaked in salt water — ten solid lashes would strip the skin off even an iron man. He'd be lying in bed for ten days to half a month.

If the executioner was a little "understanding" and struck harder, beating him to death on the spot wouldn't be surprising.

The muscles on Marcus's back visibly tensed.

But he didn't hesitate.

"Fine."

"Boss!"

Gisco wanted to rush forward but was stopped by Marcus raising his hand.

"Step back."

Marcus walked to the edge of the platform and glanced at Mira.

She shook her head desperately, tears streaming down, biting her lip until it bled.

"Close your eyes."

Marcus's voice was unexpectedly calm. "Don't watch."

He turned around, walked to the pillar, and grabbed the iron ring on it with both hands.

The executioner looked toward Gracchus.

Gracchus's lips curved into a cold smile and he nodded.

The whip was raised and swung in a full circle in the air.

With a whistling sound.

"PA!"

The first lash struck Marcus's back hard!

The clear sensation of skin splitting open ca through. Marcus let out a muffled grunt, but he didn't shout.

Salt water seeped into the wound — a burning, searing pain!

"PA!"

The second lash ca almost imdiately, landing almost on the sa spot.

The executioner did it on purpose, intending to completely shred that patch of flesh!

Marcus's forehead broke out in cold sweat. His fingers dug into the iron ring until his knuckles turned white.

He could feel blood flowing down his back — warm and sticky.

The square was deathly silent.

Only the sound of the whip cutting through the air continued, one strike after another.

Third lash.

Fourth lash.

Fifth lash.

Marcus's back was already a bloody ss. Almost no original skin color remained.

The intense pain began to turn numb. His vision blurred in waves and his ears buzzed, but he clenched his teeth tightly. His legs remained planted like nails. He did not fall.

Gracchus's expression grew uglier and uglier.

He had originally wanted to force Marcus to beg for rcy and lose face in public.

But he never expected this guy to be so tough — enduring without making a sound.

When the sixth lash landed, Marcus's body swayed. His knees softened and he nearly knelt.

But he took a sharp breath and forced himself upright again.

Gisco below the platform had red eyes.

Every mber of the Combat Team gripped their weapons tightly, staring at Gracchus like a pack of wolves ready to pounce.

Seventh lash.

Eighth lash.

Marcus began to lose control of his breathing. Every breath pulled at the mangled wounds on his back.

Blood mixed with sweat pooled into a small dark red puddle on the ground.

When the ninth lash fell, he suddenly coughed. The spit that ca out clearly contained blood.

One lash left.

Gracchus suddenly raised his hand, signaling a pause.

The executioner stopped.

Gracchus walked to Marcus's front, looked at his blood-drenched back, and lowered his voice so only the two of them could hear: "Marcus, it's still not too late to beg for rcy. For the last lash, I can tell them to go lighter."

Marcus turned his head. His face was covered in sweat, but his eyes were frighteningly bright.

"Commander, sir,"

He grinned, teeth stained with blood. "Is this all you've got?"

Gracchus's face darkened.

"Continue!"

For the final lash, the executioner put all his strength into it. The whip drew a nearly perfect arc in the air, whistling with wind, and struck Marcus's already ruined back with full force.

"PA——!"

A dull, heavy sound, almost like striking a thick ox-hide drum.

Marcus lurched forward. He only stayed upright by gripping the iron ring.

A rush of salty sweetness surged up his throat, but he forced it back down.

He released the iron ring and turned around.

His back was a bloody, unrecognizable ss.

But he stood and walked down the platform step by step, his footsteps steady.

The entire square was deathly silent.

Even Valerius, who had been watching the show, lost his smile. His expression turned complicated.

Marcus walked to the pillar, drew his short sword, and cut the ropes.

Mira collapsed softly. He stretched out his arms and caught her firmly, holding her in his embrace.

"It's over."

His voice was a little hoarse.

Mira burst into tears. Her hands trembled as she wanted to touch him but didn't dare. She could only clutch his arm tightly.

Marcus carried her and walked down the platform.

The crowd parted automatically to make a path. No one dared block him.

Gracchus stood on the platform, watching his back with cold eyes, but said nothing more.

Gisco and the others surrounded them, escorting them out.

They left the square and turned into a small alley. Only then did Marcus sway and lean against the wall for support.

"Boss!"

Gisco held him up.

"I'm fine…"

Marcus took a breath. "Go back first… hurry."

Back at the training ground, Drusus had already prepared dicine and hot water.

Mira was weak, but her injuries were mostly from shock and minor abrasions. Nothing serious.

She insisted on personally treating Marcus's wounds.

In the room, Marcus lay face down on the bed, back exposed.

Mira used warm water to clean the wounds. Her hands trembled badly.

"I'm sorry… it's all my fault…"

Her tears fell onto the wounds, bringing waves of stinging pain.

"It's not your fault."

Marcus's voice was muffled in the pillow. "Gracchus was coming for ."

When the dicinal powder was sprinkled on, the intense stinging made him suck in a sharp breath. All the muscles on his back tensed. Cold sweat instantly soaked his forehead.

"Bear with it… it'll be over soon…"

Mira's heart ached terribly, but she didn't dare stop. She carefully wrapped clean wide bandages around him layer by layer.

After bandaging, Marcus finally let out a breath and lay on his side to rest.

Mira sat by the bed, holding his hand, saying nothing more, only continuing to cry silently.

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