Dragon's Tale 70

Antonius was waiting for me at the other end of the tunnel as I made a show of stumbling out, exaggerating my exhaustion and pain. “Congratulations,” was the first word that left his mouth. And to his credit, he managed to look like he was happy with my victory, at least until I made a show of collapsing on my knees. 

Before I could say anything, two guards arrived, carrying a stretcher with them to carry me. I twitched as I allowed them to put me on it. “Thanks, Lanista,” I managed to murmur before making a show of collapsing. 

They didn’t help me when I was in the arena even as I stumbled — well, other than not actually caring about my wellbeing — because the sight of a gladiator being carried out of the arena would damage my reputation of strength. 

And while Antonius wanted to kill me, I doubted he wanted to do so in a way that would hurt the reputation of his business. 

Even as I faked unconsciousness and being dragged to the infirmary, that didn’t prevent me from watching the room. Antonius maintained his genial yet proud expression, not that it surprised me. I wasn’t the only gladiator he ‘owned’ and it would hardly help if the others realized their Lanista was not above actively plotting the death of his gladiators. 

However, that expression of geniality was erased when he was in the infirmary with me, along with the healer. “How is he?” he asked in a stony tone. 

“Very exhausted,” the healer said. “He needs at least a couple of days to recover even with my full focus.” 

“Are you sure, because I remember you guaranteeing that he wouldn’t survive the potion?” Antonius said, his expression stony. The healer trembled, realizing the underlying threat. 

“It was supposed to, but his body is stronger than I expected. Probably something about his barbarian heritage, maybe they had some kind of monster in their lineage. Otherwise, he couldn’t have survived, not with those wounds,” he said as he pointed at my still-bleeding wounds, still making no attempt to actually cure me, or even bandage me. 

I wondered if Antonius decided to pull the plug, a decision that made me tense. Not that I was afraid of actually dying, but if they decide to do something like that, I would act, probably lethally. 

Escaping from the capital as a slave after killing my so-called master was hardly the easiest thing, not to mention I would have to abandon everything I had worked for.

“How confident are you?” he asked. “Because your mistake already cost me a lot of money. Even your uncle’s favor can’t save you from another mistake.” 

“I … I’m sure,” the healer managed to stammer even though he trembled in fear, clearly afraid of the implied threat. I might have even pitied him, if he wasn’t actively conspiring to kill me. Meanwhile, it was interesting to know that Antonius was actually betting against his own gladiators, adding an interesting twist to the game. 

It would have been a shocking and unacceptable thing if it was known by the other Romans, as Colosseum was the center of the cultural activity, affecting the joys of every citizen, from plebians to patricians. The fact the Lanista of one of the four great gladiatorial schools was actually sabotaging his own warriors and putting bets in the process was enough to create a scandal that would rock the social structure for months. 

Not that it surprised me. Growing on the edges of the noble society, I had met with a similar scenario with a surprising frequency, people exploiting so-called traditions for their benefit without even blinking despite all their grand-standing. 

“Still, it’s good if we can get a couple more shows from him. It’ll help us recoup today’s losses. Can he fight?” 

“I doubt he could ever put a decent performance unless we dose him again. The potion had left some significant damage.” 

“If we dose him with stronger potions?” 

“Hard to say. Two, maybe three times if we’re lucky enough.” 

“And what if we overdose him for one fight?” 

“Then he’ll collapse in a few minutes as his heart gave out, but he’ll put a good fight beforehand.” 

“G00d—“ Antonius said, relaxing me as he accepted the healer’s comment, delaying his plans for a while, which allowed me to plan accordingly. Before he could finish his sentence, however, the door opened without even knocking, and someone burst in. 

“How dare—“ Antonius started as he turned around, only to fall silent. Meanwhile, I barely maintained my exhausted state as a surprising familiar figure burst in. 

Marcus, the unlucky suitor of Olivia that had found himself on the other end of the glass during the party — along with the rest of the men — left me free to entertain the rest of the girls. 

“Why is he still alive?” he growled in anger as he looked at me, his fingers already around his knife. “You promised me that he would be dead today.” 

“I’m sorry, my lord, but unfortunately, he was too lucky,” Antonius said, but even as he turned his back to me, I could see his unwillingness as he referred to him that. While technically, as an heir of a noble Equite family, Marcus was superior to Lanista of a gladiator school, in practice, the difference wasn’t big enough for Marcus to act as he wished. 

He didn’t belong to a patrician family, after all. 

“I don’t care, you promised me that he would be dead,” he growled. I wished I wasn’t acting unconscious so I could shake my head in amusement. The sight of him acting as the poster child of spoiled nobles hardly helped me to take him seriously, even with the fact that he was trying to arrange my death. 

“I should kill him right now, you can say that he died of his wounds,” he growled as he pulled his dagger, unknowingly about to sign his own death warrant. Just because I was amused by his incompetence didn’t mean that I was willing to lay obediently as he stabbed me. 

Luckily — for him — Antonius was quick to intervene. “I’m sorry sir, but we can’t do it like it,” he said as he grabbed Marcus’ waist. Marcus looked dissatisfied, but facing Antonius’ sharp gaze, he fell silent. 

I might not like Antonius, but there was no doubt he was strong enough to intimidate a spoiled noble. 

“Why?” Marcus growled, but only after taking a couple of steps back. 

“I’m afraid that if he dies out of sight, they might get suspicious, and my school is not strong enough to actually handle the attention of a Patrician house,” Antonius said. “Especially one as grand as…” 

He trailed off, but I didn’t actually need to hear him finish his sentence to guess which house they were talking about. Even among the patrician houses, there were only a few that would awaken that level of respect and fear just by the mention, and there was only one that I was linked to. 

House Junia.

“You better keep him here tonight then. I would be very angry if he’s at the party tonight.” 

“Tonight,” Antonius suddenly stammered, shocked. “There’s a party tonight? Are you sure that they would request him?” 

“I don’t know,” Marcus growled. “But I can’t risk him being there to be a distraction, not when I almost seduced her. Tonight’s party is very important.” Pity I had to fake unconsciousness, because I would have loved to explode in laughter. Meanwhile, Marcus looked down on me, satisfied. “At least, he won’t be able to join, even if they call for him.” 

However, his words didn’t make Antonius any calmer, especially when the healer intervened in panic. “Unless they send a healer of their own,” he said. 

“Didn’t you just say he was certainly going to die?” Antonius growled, for the first time showing the signs of actual panic rather than just annoyance. 

“Not if an actual healer from a Patrician house intervenes. If they are really determined, they could send an expert. Those that can create actual miracles. I doubt that a few internal wounds and a berserk potion could stop them.” 

I wouldn’t want to be the healer’s place as Antonius looked at him with his piercing gaze, promising pain, and torture. He flinched, while Antony was lost in thought. However, despite the shock he felt, Antonius was quick to come up with an answer, showing that it wasn’t an accident that he was the leader of a business that made a spectacular living out of death and violence. 

“Poison him,” he ordered to the healer calmly. “Use the poison from the snake, but don’t use an excessive dose. It shouldn’t be so much that our failure to notice is an admission of failure. And don’t forget to use the fangs to create a small wound in somewhere hard to notice, like the edge of his bleeding wounds.” 

Smart, I thought in respect, despite the fact that he was trying to arrange my death. His plan was simple, but its genius lay in its simplicity, as it was easy to explain even if they dug deeper. At worst, he would just throw the healer to the mercy of the Patrician house for their failure. 

I smirked even as they left the room, leaving me alone. Antonius and Marcus were convinced that their plan had succeeded despite the initial setback, and the healer was dashing to get some poison from the carcass of the beast I had just defeated, determined to kill me with the poison of my own victim. 

It would have been poetic irony. Too bad that I had no intention of complying with it.