Dragon's Tale 45

The waiting period had passed surprisingly quickly, as I was distracted by watching the training of the gladiators, most of the activities surprisingly similar to my childhood. The physical aspects of the training were harder than what I had experienced as a child, but considering they didn’t have any magical exercises they had to do simultaneously, the overall difficulty wasn’t too different. 

Though, the similarity in exercises was too much to be a coincidence, making me suspect that my grandfather had firsthand experience. Maybe he had worked as a trainer in youth, or owned a gladiator school. Pity that I couldn’t pop back in the mansion to check the truth of the matter. 

As the days progressed, most of the slaves collapsed before their deadline, though the majority collapsed during the early parts of the second day, not even making the halfway. When the while the other slaves around me collapsed one after another, finally hitting their exhaustion limit. The collapsed slaves were taken out of the school by servants, no doubt to be used for other markets.

Though, not all failures were about exhaustion. More than one slave suddenly exploded in rage after a particularly nasty insult, daring to attack the gladiator in question, only to be beaten handily before being taken away. Their defeat was not surprising. They might be good warriors, but so were other gladiators, and not only they weren’t delirious with exhaustion, but they were also wearing armor and carrying weapons. Their loss was a foregone conclusion. 

So, the group got smaller and smaller as the candidates got eliminated one by one. As the number of slaves decreased, however, the intensity of the insults and attacks from the passerby’s increased, going as far as hitting us directly.  But the remaining ones proved smart enough to understand their fate if they retaliated even if they didn’t understand the real aim of their low-key torture.

A rather harsh hazing ritual, though the lack of actual malice made it easier to bear the implied insult. Also, their insults needed quite a bit of work. 

As the sun started to set for the third day, the large group had been cut to five candidates including me, every single one of them holding through sheer willpower rather than physical strength. Standing up for three days without sleep or food was rather challenging if one didn’t have a boiling source of magic replenishing one’s physical state continuously. 

Still, I copied their trembling stance and empty expression, making sure I looked slightly stronger. Being the strongest candidate was important. I needed to be a famous gladiator to be invited to the patrician estates, and the easiest way to do that was to shine among the potential candidates, but not to a point of getting suspicious.

Just as the sun was setting, a bulky, armored man walked toward us, carrying an ancient-looking spear in hand, one that radiated more magic than I had ever felt in a weapon. None of the weapons in our family arsenal —at least the ones I was allowed to train with by my grandfather— had come close to it, nor any weapon I had seen being used in the Halls of Saturn back in Britanium. 

I doubted that even with my new abilities and everything I had learned from the library of the lost city, I could replicate such a spectacular weapon. 

Another man walked toward us, carrying a stick with him. “Line up for the master of Ludus Dacicus,” he shouted, his stick in the display, symbolizing the threat of physical punishment at the slightest delay. As much as I wanted to break that stick on his head, I obeyed the order quickly, not wanting to be marked as a problem maker. Also, after acting like a loser in the magical school for years, the open hostility of the gladiator school was much easier to handle. 

Five of us formed a line straight line in front of the cellblock. The master of the school stood in front of us, his bronze breastplate gleaming under the golden rays of the sunset, enhancing the impression further, making the other four straighten themselves with fascination. 

“Attention,” he shouted, his voice bouncing off the walls, deafeningly loud. I had to admit, the theatrics of the moment was excellent. The master of the school was a hulking man with a serious face, his muscles bulging threateningly even as he stood in front of us. The red cape he was wearing enhanced his stature further. For the other four, who was delirious with thirst and exhaustion, he must look like he was shining with the blessing of Mars. 

Just with one word, his authority was established. I wondered just how many times this little play happened since the school was established.

He let the silence stretch for a long while as he examined us, making a show of his distaste, then turned toward the man that carried. “Is this the best you can find, Pico? Are these the men we’re supposed to present as the public of Rome as their next legends,” he asked. 

“Unfortunately, that’s the best we can find, Master Antonius,” the man named Pico answered, equally artificial. “But at least, they are stubborn. If they are tough enough to handle my training without dying, maybe I can cobble a proper gladiator between all five of them.” 

From the way the four bristled, their low-key insults were working wonders. Understandable, as all four had the classical hallmarks of exceptional warriors, and they were likely one of the strongest ones in their tribe, if not the strongest. 

And if there was one thing a good warrior hated, it was being underestimated, ready to be killed, or be killed to prove their position. It was especially important if that insult came from someone they respect. While none of us knew anything about the master of Ludus Dacicus, we have watched other gladiators train for three days, even the weakest one impressively strong. The respect shown by the same gladiators toward him, combined with his impressive stature and showy entrance immediately cemented him as the most important authority in the training camp. 

So much that the same slaves that had been tortured for three days had their stances stiffen, trying to display their strength toward him the moment his gaze fell on them. I copied their fascination, of course, not wanting to be marked a troublemaker. “Not a total disaster,” he murmured after he examined each of us for a lengthy period. “Maybe you’re right. One of them might prove strong enough to be a gladiator, maybe even two if gods decided to take mercy on us.”  

Then, his gaze dragged along the school. “Gather round,” he called, and every single gladiator rushed toward us, gathering behind him as a half-circle. “There are five slaves here, but luckily for them, they proved themselves to be slightly better than other worms who are only fit to clean the asses of their noble masters. From today until I deem them as failures, they will be your younger brothers, apprentices that work toward the admittance to our glorious Dacian brotherhood, a holy entity that wrote its name to the Republic history with golden letters. Do you deem them satisfactory?” 

“No!” shouted every single one of them. 

“Tell me why!” he shouted. 

“They are weak!” called all of them simultaneously, their cadence echoing off the walls. 

“What else!” 

“They are untested!” shouted the gladiators. 

“What else!” 

“They are unbloodied!” 

Then, Antonius turned toward us. “You heard them. You’re yet to be accepted as a part of our group. Luckily, not all is lost. Pico here had turned worse worms than you into proper gladiators, as long as they were tenacious enough not to die from exhaustion. You’ll exercise when we tell you, you’ll eat when we tell you, and you’ll rest when we tell you. No exception. And if you prove tough enough to survive the training, we will turn you into demigods. Gold, women, fame… All will be yours.” Then, he once again turned toward the gladiators. “Show them, my warriors,” he shouted. 

Two gladiators split from the group, one using a spear, the other with a shield and a gladius, and without saying anything, they started fighting. Dashing, twirling, and dancing around each other’s blows, all the while delivering attacks strong enough to skewer a lesser man with just one blow, sand flying under their sandals as they moved, occasionally mixed with the blood as they delivered each other glancing blows. 

Impressive, I thought, especially since neither of them was actually displaying their full capability, their strength restrained not to deliver an accidental deadly strike. However, as impressive as they were, I couldn’t help but watch the others carefully, and almost every single one of them had a wound or more currently preventing them from moving efficiently. 

Apparently, Theodora’s information about the decline of Dacian School wasn’t just wild conjecture, if almost everyone had wounds to prevent them from moving efficiently, especially since they didn’t use magical healers to solve it. The only explanation was that they were wounded so often that magical healing started to become inadvisable. Occasional healing was completely okay, but if used too often, infusion of external energy could get very dangerous. 

Of course, my fellow slaves were focused on the show and their own exhaustion to notice that particular detail. Admittedly, it was a good show. 

“Enough,” called Antonius after a minute, as they pulled back, their breath not even quickened, showing the extent of their conditioning. Then, another man, a short, thin-looking one split from the group, carrying a battleaxe. He walked silently toward a training dummy, and when he swung his axe, the dummy split with a thunderous crack. 

For the next show, Antonius didn’t even say anything, just raised his hand, holding a large gold coin between his fingers. One of the other warriors picked a throwing pilum, and dashed to the other end of the opening, and threw it with a smooth movement, not only hitting the gold coin, but also hitting the target on the other side of the opening in the bullseye. 

“These are the men you’ll turn into, as long as you listen to Pico’s instructions obediently. Don’t forget, if Pico says fight, you fight. If Pico says sleep, you sleep. Because if Pico says you die, you die!” 

With that, he turned and left, and the rest of the gladiators followed him, their steady steps cracking like a storm, their weapons like thunder.  

“Do you understand the amazing opportunity you’re facing, worms?” Pico shouted as he walked closer to us. 

“Yes, sir,” came the answer from all of us, the exhaustion in our tone disappeared in excitement. And I had to admit, even I was excited, despite knowing just how calculated the show had been. The others had no chance, they were already sold to the glorious dreams of being a gladiator.

“No, you don’t, you just think you do,” he answered immediately. “But don’t worry, I’ll break you only to remake you into demigods. And when you stand in the middle of Colosseum, a hundred thousand citizens, nobles and commoners alike crying your name, you’ll understand the true value of the opportunity you’re facing.” 

He took a deep breath before continuing. “From now on, you’ll listen to my orders like gospel. I don’t care about your circumstances, your past, your families, your past achievements, your life story. For me, you have just born five minutes ago, the moment the master of the school deemed that you have the slightest chance to join our brotherhood. And until you step onto the arena for the first time, and step out with your life, earning your name, you’re children, and I’m your parent. Whatever I say is the law. Is that understood?” 

“Yes, sir,” came the answer simultaneously. 

“Not bad,” said Pico, nodding his scarred face. “Your training will start tomorrow. I want you all here at the first light of dawn, every single day, unless I specifically order otherwise. That’s your first order. You’ll not like the punishment if you are late to training.” 

He pointed as a servant standing in the corner. “He’s going to bring you to your dormitory. Until you prove yourself in the arena, you’ll all stay in the same dormitory, and your food will be brought there. Your food will be there when you wake up, and it’ll be ready when I send you to sleep. Everyone has to finish their plate completely. I don’t care if you don’t like the food, and I don’t care if you’re not hungry. If not, the servants will report it to me, and you’ll be punished. Eating your food as important as the training you’ll have. Understood?” 

“Yes, sir,” said the group simultaneously. 

He paused to make sure we had time to let his words sink in. “For the next month, you will be trained to build your strength and fitness up. When I think you’re strong enough, I’ll add weapons training, starting with the signature weapon of our Dacian school, the spear,” he said, twirling his own spear showily. “Then, based on your aptitude, we’ll be adding more weapons. Some of you will be experts to fight against wild animals, some of you will train to fight war prisoners. However, only the best of you will have the right to fight against the gladiators from other Ludus, the most glorious task a gladiator could be assigned.” 

“Follow my orders, and you’ll eat the food more delicious than you can imagine, and fuck women more beautiful than you can dream. Disobey, and pain awaits you.” He paused for a moment. “Disobey often, then death…” he added, throwing his spear even as he said so, hitting a target in the bullseye. An extraordinary maneuver considering it wasn’t even a throwing spear. 

Without saying anything, he dismissed us, and we followed the servant toward our new living area. As we walked, I couldn’t help but think that my time in Ludus would be more interesting than I had first assumed…