The ashes from the attack on James's estate had barely settled before Rome was buzzing with rumors.
The nobility whispered in their lavish villas. The merchants gossiped in the marketplaces. Even the slaves, working tirelessly under their masters, spoke in hushed tones.
"James Stone is no ordinary slaveholder."
"He survived an attack from Marcus Domitius. And he won."
"Perhaps he's more than just a gladiator master…"
James sat in the atrium of his estate, watching as his men repaired the burned gates. Angela stood beside him, silent but watchful.
Varro approached, his arm wrapped in a fresh bandage from the previous battle. "Master, the men are ready. Those who survived the attack are more loyal than ever."
James nodded slowly, but his mind was elsewhere.
Because today, he wasn't just dealing with warriors and slaves.
Today, he was meeting Pompey Magnus.
A courier had arrived that morning, bearing a gold-sealed letter with the emblem of Gnaeus Pompeius Magnus—Pompey the Great.
Angela frowned as she read it. "Marcus Domitius has already moved against you, Master. And now Pompey wants to meet? This is dangerous."
James took the letter, breaking the seal with a flick of his thumb. "Everything in Rome is dangerous, Angela. But if Pompey is reaching out, it means one thing."
Angela raised an eyebrow. "And what's that?"
James smirked.
"He knows I'm worth negotiating with."
James arrived at Pompey's grand villa, a massive estate overlooking the Tiber River. It was surrounded by Roman guards, each one armored like a soldier preparing for war.
Inside, Pompey sat in a marble hall, dressed in a fine red toga, his expression sharp as a blade.
James stepped forward, meeting Pompey's gaze without hesitation.
"James Stone," Pompey said, his voice smooth but laced with power. "The slaveholder who thinks he can play in Rome's game."
James smirked. "And yet, you invited me here."
Pompey chuckled. "True. You survived Domitius's assassination attempt. That makes you… interesting."
He leaned forward. "Tell me, James—do you think you can rule Rome one day?"
Angela, standing behind James, tensed. This is a trap.
But James?
He smiled.
"I don't think," James said, his golden eyes gleaming. "I know."
Silence.
Then—Pompey laughed.
"Ambitious. I like that." He leaned back. "So tell me, James, where do you stand in this coming war?"
James's smirk faded slightly. "You tell me, Pompey. Am I your ally… or your enemy?"
Pompey studied him for a long moment.
Then he answered.
"For now? Neither."
James raised an eyebrow. "Then why summon me?"
Pompey tapped his fingers against the marble table. "Because Marcus Domitius has already approached me. He wants my support in destroying you."
Angela's breath caught.
James?
He laughed.
"And what did you tell him?"
Pompey smirked. "I told him I would consider it."
James leaned forward, his voice low. "Then consider this—if you back Domitius, you're betting on a man who already failed to kill me. Twice."
Pompey's expression darkened.
"You think Domitius is weak?"
James's smirk returned. "I think he's already lost. He just doesn't know it yet."
Pompey was silent.
Then, after a moment, he nodded. "Very well, James. I won't stand in your way. Not yet."
James stood. "Good. Because I don't plan on stopping."
As he turned to leave, Pompey called out—
"James."
James paused, glancing over his shoulder.
Pompey's expression was unreadable.
"Be careful. Rome is not kind to men who rise too quickly."
James smirked. "Then Rome should prepare for me."
As James returned to his villa, he noticed something strange.
The gates were unguarded. The torches were dimmed.
Angela sensed it too. "Something's wrong, Master."
James stepped forward slowly, his hand resting on his gladius.
Then—
A dagger flew from the shadows.
James dodged at the last second, the blade missing his throat by inches.
From the darkness, a hooded assassin lunged forward.
James caught his wrist, twisting it hard enough to hear a bone snap. The assassin screamed, but James silenced him with a brutal punch to the throat.
The man collapsed, choking.
James ripped off the hood.
And then he saw who it was.
A familiar face.
A man he had trusted.
One of his own gladiators.
Angela gasped. "Master… he was one of our warriors!"
James's eyes burned with cold fury. "Who paid you?"
The gladiator coughed, blood leaking from his lips. "You… you rise too fast. Rome will never let a slaveholder become more than a master of dogs."
James stared at him for a long moment.
Then—without a word—he drove his gladius through the traitor's heart.
Angela looked away, but James didn't.
As the man shuddered and went still, James finally spoke.
"If Rome won't let me rise…" He yanked his sword free.
"Then I'll take it for myself."
Far across the city, Marcus Domitius sat in his villa, a goblet of wine in his hand.
His steward entered, bowing deeply. "Dominus… the assassin failed. James Stone still lives."
Domitius's grip tightened around the goblet.
"So," he murmured. "Pompey did not kill him. The mercenaries failed. And now, even a traitor in his ranks could not end him?"
The steward hesitated. "Shall we try again?"
Domitius sighed. Then, he grinned.
"No."
The steward blinked. "No?"
Domitius leaned back, swirling his wine. "Killing him won't work. Not now."
He took a slow sip.
"Instead… we take everything from him. His wealth. His allies. His power."
His smile widened.
"Let's see how strong James Stone really is… when he has nothing left."
Back at his estate, James stood on his balcony, looking over the city that would one day belong to him.
Angela approached. "Master… what now?"
James's golden eyes gleamed.
"Now?"
He smirked.
"Now, we prepare for the next battle."
Because this was no longer just about survival.
This was about taking Rome itself.
And James Stone never lost.