Three days later, the grand gladiator showcase was entering its final preparation stage. Before the main event, there would be two days of warm-up performances to generate enough buzz and attract attention.
For this warm-up, some newly purchased slaves and recruits who had been training with Augustus for two months would be showcased. Not just the older fighters, but even children around ten years old could potentially participate. However, the decision on who would take the stage wasn't based solely on skill; other factors deemed more important in the eyes of a boss like Elmo were also considered.
"So, based on your observations, who do you think is the most suitable?" Elmo asked Augustus while puffing smoke rings.
"Well… those younger ones tend to be more obedient due to their age, but a few of them have particularly sharp eyes. Among those, there are some special cases, so whether they should perform will depend on your judgment, boss," Augustus replied respectfully, handing a piece of parchment to Elmo.
Elmo took a glance at it, noting over a dozen names, prominently featuring Finn, Warmond, and Maisha.
"Hahaha, interesting. Maisha is that girl whose eyes are always filled with intense hatred, right? And Finn and Warmond… You'll go speak to their master and tell them I've agreed to let them perform, but I'd like to know their feelings about it," Elmo said with a chuckle. "Although the Lron Blood Arena is quite liberal, we don't need disobedient gladiators. It's most economical to eliminate them through performance. Of course, truly promising individuals won't be daunted by such tests."
"Yes, boss," Augustus replied. "And here's the list for the larger group."
"Oh? Looks like there are more people than expected!" Elmo frowned as he scanned the parchment, which listed nearly forty names, almost all of those in the larger squad.
"Uh, yes, there are a few more than planned, but…" Augustus hesitated, sensing the growing tension.
"Alright, let's do this: include the entire squad and pick fifty from the slaves in the auxiliary quarters to form a unit for a team battle. This way, even the new recruits can create a considerable spectacle, ensuring the audience won't feel any dull moments. It'll also serve to train and assess the new soldiers. After all, they're preparing for the important day three years from now, and it's about time we see what they can do. Now, select a few specific individuals for special consideration," Elmo said thoughtfully, marking a few names in red.
"Yes, boss," Augustus replied, turning to leave.
"The grand showcase starts in a week. What do you all think?" Elmo said, picking up the list and addressing the others after Augustus had left.
"I can't wait to see those little ones perform; it's going to be exciting!" Marcel chimed in, his voice comically high-pitched.
"Damn it, you sissy, get out of here," a handsome, dark-skinned man snapped, kicking Marcel into the corner.
"Burne, you heartless jerk, why are you being so cruel?" Marcel said, teary-eyed as he crouched in the corner.
"Go to hell," Burne retorted, his muscles twitching as he delivered a kick that nearly sent Marcel crashing into the wall.
"Alright, Burne, what's your take?" Elmo ignored Marcel's plight, though he himself would have liked to give a few kicks if it weren't for his status.
"I think the recruits trained by Augustus are decent. I still trust Augustus's skills; those guys shouldn't pose a major problem. The real concern is the armed slaves. Those guys won't care about Lron Blood Arena's rules. If we can't find leverage, turning them into gladiators could definitely spell trouble," Burne said without hesitation.
"Good point. But didn't you just say you believe in Augustus's abilities? There's still a week left, and I'm sure Augustus will find a way. We can use this opportunity to eliminate those stubborn and dangerous individuals," Elmo replied, a hint of unease creeping in. "Ora is taking too long. What's that guy's background? Can even Ora handle this?"
After learning about the performance lineup, the training for the new recruits shifted dramatically. Finn and Warmond no longer attended Augustus's sessions.
"Faster! Keep pushing!" Aelric shouted, using the former torture chamber now repurposed as a training room. Finn was drenched in sweat, his determination shining through as he followed Aelric's commands.
"Damn it, I'm not asking you to build muscles!" Aelric yelled, kicking Finn away in frustration. "I don't care if you can swing that iron bar effortlessly; it's meaningless for you right now. You have less than a week left, and soon you'll be facing the test of death. What you need to learn now is speed—pure, unadulterated speed. Strength doesn't matter, and not being able to wield that iron bar smoothly isn't important either. All you need is the strength to make a single strike, just enough to remove any threat to your existence. But that strike must be swift—extremely swift. It needs to happen so fast that you don't even realize you've swung it, so fast that your brain doesn't have time to decide whether to swing or not. Remember, what you need now is speed."
Aelric readily agreed to Finn's participation in the event, sharing a mindset similar to Elmo's: true gold doesn't fear fire, especially with an exceptional mentor like himself.
His loud reprimands weren't out of disappointment with Finn's performance; in fact, Finn's progress had surpassed Aelric's own achievements at that age. Aelric was generally a quiet person, but his booming voice was merely a way to create pressure and push Finn to improve even further.
"Thud!" Finn thrust his bar into the wall, embedding it deep.
"No, no! Faster! You can go faster!" Aelric shouted, his voice echoing through the soundproofed chamber, originally designed to contain any noise from potential punishments.
The sound of whips cracking filled the air as the new recruits underwent unprecedentedly harsh training. Maisha lifted her head slightly, gazing at the dimly lit sky, shrouded in a haze of yellow dust. The wound on her shoulder still bled, showing signs of worsening since no one had bothered to dress it. Yet, she seemed oblivious to her injuries. At thirteen, her eyes held a deep-seated hatred—hatred that sustained her life, turning her into a vengeful specter.