The Colosseum shook with the deafening roars of 50,000 Romans, their voices merging into a storm of thunderous praise and chaotic screams.
Down in the arena, Varro stood victorious, covered in blood, his gladius still dripping from the slaughter. At his feet lay the severed heads of Gaius Septimus and the second gladiator, their lifeless bodies cooling under the brutal Roman sun.
For a single moment, there was silence—a moment of pure anticipation.
Then—
"VARRO! VARRO! VARRO!"
The crowd's chants shook the heavens.
James leaned against the marble railing of his private box, watching the chaos unfold. His heart pounded, but his expression remained calm.
"We've done it."
Angela, standing beside him, let out a shaky breath. "Master… we won."
James smirked. "Of course we did."
But this was only the beginning.
Because as James turned his gaze across the arena, his golden eyes locked onto Marcus Domitius.
And the noble's smirk was gone.
James could feel the weight of powerful gazes from the noble stands. Rome's most powerful men had been watching.
Crassus sat casually, his face unreadable, but James knew—he was pleased.
Further along the stands, Quintus Caecilius Metellus, Lucius Cornelius Sulla, and Gaius Cassius Longinus murmured amongst themselves.
"They see me now," James thought. "Not just as a slaveholder… but as a rising force in Rome."
But he wasn't the only one taking notice.
From the shadows of the Senatorial box, a young noble watched him carefully—his sharp eyes burning with curiosity and something else…
Julius Caesar.
James smirked to himself. "Even the future ruler of Rome is paying attention. Good."
But before James could relish in his victory—
The announcer raised his hands, silencing the crowd.
"PEOPLE OF ROME! YOUR VOICES HAVE SPOKEN!"
He gestured toward the high podium, where a magistrate stood, preparing for the final decision.
"SHALL THE VICTOR LIVE… OR DIE?"
The entire Colosseum erupted in screams, some calling for Varro's freedom, others demanding his execution.
Angela gripped James's arm. "Master… if they vote for death…"
James smiled darkly. "They won't."
Because he had already planned for this.
Up in the Senate section, Crassus finally stood, raising his hand.
Instantly, the crowd fell silent.
The magistrate turned toward him, awaiting his judgment.
Crassus smiled. "Varro has proven himself a true warrior of Rome. He has earned his right to live."
The crowd erupted into cheers.
James exhaled slowly. "It's done."
The magistrate nodded, raising his arms.
"VARRO IS GRANTED HIS LIFE!"
Varro, still breathing heavily, lowered his gladius and turned toward James's private box.
Their eyes met.
James nodded. "You did well."
Varro simply bowed his head in respect.
Marcus Domitius, however, looked murderous.
James met his glare with a smirk.
"Your plan failed, Domitius. What will you do now?"
Later that evening, as the city celebrated in drunken festivities, James was summoned to Crassus's private estate.
Angela sat beside him in the carriage, her brows furrowed in concern.
"Master… do you think Crassus truly supports us?"
James's smirk remained. "Crassus supports power. And today, I showed him mine."
Angela sighed. "I just don't trust him."
James chuckled. "Good. Neither do I."
The carriage rolled through the gates, and within minutes, James was led to Crassus's private chambers.
The richest man in Rome sat by a lavish banquet table, sipping wine.
"Ah, James," Crassus greeted. "Take a seat. Tonight, we celebrate."
James sat across from him, pouring himself a goblet of Falernian wine. "To victory?"
Crassus smirked. "To new opportunities."
The older man leaned forward. "Your fighter, Varro… he has made an impression. And you—you have captured Rome's attention."
James remained silent, letting Crassus continue.
"There are… openings in Rome's political landscape," Crassus said. "Opportunities for men like you. If you are willing to play the game."
James raised an eyebrow. "And what game is that?"
Crassus grinned. "War, James. War is coming."
James leaned back. "And which side am I supposed to choose?"
Crassus's eyes gleamed. "Not yet. First… you must build your own power."
He gestured to a sealed scroll on the table.
James took it, breaking the red wax seal and scanning the contents.
His eyes darkened.
Crassus chuckled. "Welcome to the next level, James."
Angela, standing beside him, whispered, "Master… what does it say?"
James closed the scroll.
"It's an invitation," he said slowly.
Angela frowned. "To what?"
James smirked.
"To join the war that will decide the future of Rome."
Across the city, in a shadowy villa, Marcus Domitius sat in his personal chambers, staring into the flickering candlelight.
A scarred mercenary stood before him.
"You wish him dead, Dominus?" the mercenary asked.
Domitius clenched his goblet. "No."
The mercenary frowned. "No?"
Domitius smirked. "James Stone is not a man to be killed in the streets. No, no… if I kill him now, he becomes a martyr."
He leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement.
"I will break him first. I will take everything from him. And when he has nothing left…"
He took a slow sip of wine.
"Then I will watch him beg."
As the moon rose over Rome, James stood on his estate's balcony, looking out at the city that would one day belong to him.
Angela approached. "Master, what now?"
James smirked. "Now? We prepare."
He turned to Varro, who stood at attention nearby.
"Your next fight will not be in the arena," James said. "It will be on the battlefield."
Varro nodded. "I will be ready."
James's golden eyes gleamed.
"War is coming. And I intend to be the one who wins it."