The next morning, James rode toward Rome, leaving his estate behind for the first time in weeks. Angela sat beside him in the carriage, her delicate hands gripping the edge of her seat as the great city loomed ahead.
It was a sight to behold.
Tall marble temples and bustling markets, statues of gods watching over the people, and massive stone roads leading to the heart of the Republic. Even though James had been here before, it still felt surreal.
"91 BCE… Rome is still a Republic, but not for long," he thought.
Angela watched him carefully. "Master… you seem deep in thought."
James smirked. "Just planning my future empire, that's all."
Angela blushed at his words. She had no doubt—this man would one day rule over everything.
James's first stop was the Ludus Magnus—Rome's largest gladiator school, run by Dominus Felix Cornelius, a noble with a reputation for ruthlessness.
As James stepped inside, the smell of sweat, blood, and metal filled the air. Gladiators were training in the courtyard, their muscular bodies glistening as they swung wooden swords at one another. In the center stood a bald, scar-faced man, barking orders.
Felix.
The noble turned as James approached, raising an eyebrow at the well-dressed newcomer.
"And who might you be?" Felix asked, his tone casual but sharp.
James smiled. "A man looking to make money."
Felix's interest piqued. "Go on."
"I have strong slaves—loyal, disciplined, and ready to fight. I want to enter them into the arena. But not just as mere entertainment."
Felix smirked. "And what else would they be?"
James stepped closer, his golden eyes gleaming.
"Champions."
A brief silence. Felix studied him, then laughed.
"Champions? Boy, do you know how many nobles have tried to raise their own gladiators? How many of them failed?"
James crossed his arms. "And how many of them had my vision?"
Felix's smile faded.
James leaned in slightly. "I'm not just throwing slaves into a pit for amusement. I will train them, I will discipline them, and I will make them into warriors the people worship."
Felix went quiet.
James pressed on. "I don't need your approval. I just need a place to start. You have connections in the arena, and I have fighters. We can both profit."
Felix rubbed his chin. Finally, he sighed. "Fine. I'll give you a match. One fight. If your slave wins, we'll talk business. If he loses… you'll be laughed out of Rome."
James grinned. "Deal."
Back at his estate, James gathered his strongest male slaves. They stood before him, ten men with muscular builds, hardened from labor.
"I need a warrior," James said simply. "Who among you wants to fight for me?"
A moment of silence—then, one man stepped forward.
A tall, dark-haired Thracian, his body covered in scars. His face was cold, unreadable.
James raised an eyebrow. "Name?"
"Varro, Master," the man said, his voice deep and unwavering.
James could see it in his eyes—this man was a survivor.
Angela whispered, "He was a captured warrior before being sold into slavery."
James's grin widened. Perfect.
He opened his system panel.
[System Stats]
Varro – Male Slave
Strength: 82
Constitution: 79
Dexterity: 75
Loyalty: 72%
Not bad. But it wasn't enough.
"Let's fix that."
James tapped into the system and allocated his earned stat points into Varro's Strength and Constitution, boosting his power instantly.
[Beep! Varro's loyalty increased to 80%.]
[+1 Free Stat Point Earned!]
James smirked. "Varro, you will fight for me in Rome's arena. Win, and I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams."
Varro met his gaze. "I will win, Master."
James believed him.
A week later, James stood in the arena's waiting area, watching the roaring crowd as the first match of the day began.
Varro stood beside him, fully armed—a gladius (short sword) in one hand, a small shield in the other.
James placed a hand on his shoulder. "This is your moment. Make them fear you."
Varro nodded, stepping into the sunlit arena.
Across from him, his opponent emerged—a massive Gaul, heavily scarred and grinning wickedly.
The announcer roared:
"LET THE FIGHT… BEGIN!"