One month later.

The Coliseum. A majestic and complex amphitheater built to entertain the most powerful people of the Roman Empire. In it, the members of the senate and the highest class citizens, known as patricians, the commoners referred to as plebeians, and slaves, would all join hands in spectating battles to the death between impressive warriors and ferocious beasts.

Capable of holding over fifty thousand people, this marvel of architecture was mostly empty, as the main show would usually take place later in the evening, and it was now still early afternoon. Nonetheless, the few thousands of spectators present did not fail to make their presence known, as their cheering was heard hundreds of meters away, reminding the citizens of the capital that the entertainment had already started.

In the main stage of the round arena were now dueling a pair of gladiators. Each sporting a different type of armor and weapon. One of the two carried a scutum, and thick armor, while the other had opted for a leather cuirass, which would not hinder his movements as he handled his weapons. The only piece of equipment the two had in common was a full visor bronze helmet, which completely covered their heads and protected their faces.

In the row of seats closer to the center stage, various Lanistas bet the money given to them by the organizers to employ their gladiators, in hope to maximize their profits. Among them was Cossus, accompanied by the rest of his family and a few patrician friends. From Cossus' face, one could imagine how much money he had lost since the beginning of the games.

"You are almost out of money, my friend." Said a lanky man with blonde hair and an aquiline nose, dressed in a white and gold toga. In his right hand was a cup of red wine, while his left hand lay on top of a bowl of green grapes, which he seemed more interested in fondling rather than picking.

Just as this man finished speaking, one of the gladiators on the main stage roared in anger, frightening his clearly inexperienced opponent, which covered his face with his wide shield. The former, evidently waiting for this moment, kicked the shield with all his might, and sent the frightened gladiator tumbling on the ground. As the latter landed on the ground, the large and heavy shield fell on his chest, leaving only down to his shoulders and up to his knees uncovered.

Unwilling to let his opponent get up, the standing gladiator stepped onto the shield, locking the man in place, and pointed the tip of his spear at his opponent's throat.

The duel was clearly over, but the spearman did not finish his opponent. As a gladiator, he was taught that he was not free to take a life unless that was the will of the crowd or the organizers.. So as the duel came to a clear end, the spearman raised his fist in the hair, and let out a deafening shout that ignited the spirits of the crowd. Plebeians and upper echelon rose to their feet to cheer on the victor, while Cossus, the owner of the defeated, looked down in shame.

"Please.. Don't kill me.." Said the defeated gladiator, clearly terrified of what his opponent could do to him. The spearman did not respond, and instead looked down at his opponent in what appeared like disappointment and compassion.. Emotions which, due to his heavy helmet, failed to reach the trembling and injured gladiator. Soon after, the spearman let go of him, allowing him to get up and retreat towards one of the dark tunnels that led to the center stage while struggling not to trip over his own feet.

As he reached one of the stage's entrances, instead of being welcomed by his companions, the defeated gladiator was welcomed by a group of slaves armed with bronze bars and wooden clubs. The man, clearly too scared to think straight, ran through the group of slaves, who surrounded him before he could even notice it.

In the poorly lit tunnel, a club struck the now uncovered head of the injured gladiator, causing him to fall limp on the ground. What followed was the noise of wood and metal hammering onto the body of the now deceased gladiator, ripping flesh and shattering bones. This disgusting series of sound was completely covered by the cheering which the spearman kept receiving as, under his helmet, he started at the trail of blood that emerged from the path his late adversary had just taken.

"It is not easy to find a good gladiator." Said Cossus to the lanky man. His voice filled with a disappointment that was not reflected in his smile.

The crowd's enthusiasm was short-lived, as it died down the moment the spearman headed out of the main stage, after which the lanky man stood up and shouted, "BELLIGER PREVAILS AGAIN!! What a beautiful fight! A demonstration of power, skills and tenacity from Belliger, who managed to reach the threshold of three consecutive victories! May his opponent be remembered as the coward that he was."

Cossus did not fail to notice the Editor's crude remarks. 

As the representative of the Ludus Magnus, the most notorious gladiator school in the capital, the lanky man was Cossus' biggest competition. To berate his fighters once the spectators were aware of their school of origin, was but the norm. Yet, while irritated by the editor's tone, Cossus did not let himself fall for the provocation, and instead nodded apologetically to the crowd. As he raised his head once again, his narrowed eyes pointed at the editor's back, while his mouth curved into a malicious grin.

"Now, let us move to the next fight!" Said the editor, satisfied by the crowd's reaction.

-----

The fights within the vast arena went on continuously for the entire day, showing fights between men and beasts, clashes between factions formed by gladiators of different schools, and albeit extremely rare, a fight between gladiatrices.

As time went by, the ferociousness of each fight increased, just like the fame and skill of the combattants. By the time the sun was about to set, the enormous arena was completely filled. In it, over fifty thousand men, women and slaves screamed at the sight of their favourite fighters, eager to see them fight and triumph.

For the school of Cossus, the day had been nothing but a constant stream of defeats. A large amount of his fortune had been used to bet on the outcome of each fight, while the rest was begrudgingly reserved to either provide medical assistance to his injured fighters.. Or as funds to replace them with new fighters, who would require food and training. By the end of the day, his entire fortune had been halved.

Nevertheless, the malicious grin had never left his face. He sat next to the editor with eyes wide open, as the main guest of the night was about to make its entrance.

Under the reddish sky, dozens of braziers were lit by just as many guards, who stood next to them in wait-following this action, the crowd went completely quiet. The tens of thousands of heads turned towards what looked like a private booth, placed on the northernmost point of the coliseum. In it, a man in his early forties had emerged alongside ten heavily armored guards. 

This man was of average height, with a square face, short brown beard and hair on which he wore a laurel wreath, and sharp dark eyes. His attire was closer to that of a soldier than a commoner, as he wore a leather chestplate covered in decorative rivets of pure gold, while under it, he wore a purple-colored toga embroidered in gold.

"We welcome you, Imperator Caesar Traianus Hadrianus Augustus!" The editor exclaimed in as loud a voice he could muster without shouting. The greeting was repeated by the rest of the crowd, which burst in cheering and applause that seemed to go on to no end, unless interrupted.

About a minute after the cheering started, the emperor approached the edge of his booth, also called podium, and raised his right arm in an attempt to pacify the crowd. This attempt worked immediately, as the roar of clapping and cheering died in mere moments.

"Greetings, citizens of Rome." The man said calmly. "It is my pleasure to join you this evening to witness these valiant warriors fight for the glory and entertainment of our beloved empire. I hope my presence expresses the respect I feel for such honorable characters, but tonight, like each of you, I am just a passionate spectator. So, let the games continue!"

Once again, the crowd erupted in cheers.

-----

Underneath the amphitheater's grandstands, were a series of dark corridors that led to the rooms where the gladiators of different schools prepared. In these poorly lit rooms, the fighters would secure their equipment, and listen to the last few suggestions from their trainers before their turn to fight was up.

In the room reserved for Cossus' gladiators, only two fighters remained.

One of these two men was a massive man in his mid thirties, who wore a simple loincloth and a leather belt. His equipment consisted of a leather chest armor, a manica on his right arm, a bronze greave on his right leg, and a visored helmet with feathers on the sides, while his weapons were a gladius and a large rectangular shield. Each patch of uncovered skin revealed hideous scars, brands of past victories which he and anyone who cheered on him would consider symbols of honor and glory.

The man had spent the past few hours grunting, and looking at the dark corridor in front of him while stepping on his position, keeping his muscles warm and ready to advance to battle. Yet, his attention was divided between the dark path, and the young man who was sitting on a stone slab behind him.

For the past few months, this man had been the main attraction of Cossus' school of gladiators. He would be the last one to fight, as not many other gladiators could put up a fight the way he did. This time, however, things had changed. No longer the last to perform, a newcomer, whom he had never heard the name of or seen before, had taken the main stage in his stead.

The loss of favor had weighed on him, causing him to feel a grudge towards the new rising star.

"Don't surrender. There is no safety between these dark walls. Retreating will bring shame to the school, and a much more painful death to you." The large man said while once again checking the buckles of his equipment. "So once you inevitably lose, don't be a coward, and let your enemy finish you.. So that your body might be buried somewhere decent. Hehe.."

The other individual, an athletic gladiator dressed in a loincloth, a leather belt, a leather shoulder guard that covered his entire arm, a pair of padded greaves, and a bronze helmet, did not respond to the provocation. Instead, he maintained his calm posture, while breathing in the stale and humid air which carried the smell of sweat, dirt, and blood.

As the silence filled the room, a stepping noise came from the depths of the dark tunnel. These steps became more and more audible, until finally, a heavily armored guard appeared at the entrance of the corridor. "Both of you, come out. The emperor is here." Said the guard before turning around, and once again disappearing into the darkness of the corridor.

The two gladiators grabbed their weapons, and followed him for a few dozen meters, until finally, a light appeared at the end of the corridor. The banging of drums overpowered the sound of cheering, as both became more and more deafening the closer the two got to the light.

The clamour reached its peak as the two emerged from the corridor, and arrived at the main stage of the arena. On the other side of the amphitheater, two more gladiators had walked out, and were heading in their direction.

Aware of each other, the two pairs did not approach the other.. Instead, as they arrived in the middle of the stage, they ignored the shouting of the public, and turned towards the podium, where the emperor stood in wait. Then, from underneath their bronze helmets, they took a deep breath, and shouted at the top of their lungs, "Ave Cesare, morituri te salutant!"

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