Dragon's Tale 46 (Patreon)

Two weeks passed since the speech, and, surprisingly, being a fake slave wasn’t as bad as I had been expecting. Yes, the days had been filled with endless exercise, followed by disgusting herbal remedies with many helpful but acrid-tasting plants, the stuff that was cheap not because they were harmful, but because no self-respecting noble would ever put them into their mouth. They were still expensive enough to cost weeks of earnings of a normal worker, even above the budget of a normal legionnaire, but considering we were being fattened for eventual combat, it wasn’t exactly surprising.

Pico was our main trainer, pushing us through a strict training regimen that would have killed the rest of the group if it wasn’t for the daily magical nutrition they received. Every day was the same, whether it was raining, scorching, or windy. After a hearty breakfast, we were summoned to the training field, forced to repeat the same excoriating exercises, trying to break our bodies and rebuild at the same time. 

Even with the magical remedies, it was a dangerous program —for the others, as I had long used to such exercises. Considering the money the school had spent to buy us, it was rather suspicious. I doubted the Ludus had earned their reputation by wasting the talents they had acquired without a reason.  

I made a point of lasting an hour or two more than the rest, though I didn’t neglect to fake exhaustion toward the end. After all, not only I had been doing similar exercises since my childhood, but also my ascension had increased my physical abilities to the point that what was supposed to be a grueling workout barely qualified as a warm-up. 

Interestingly, however, the exercises were far too familiar to my childhood ones to be a coincidence, suggesting that my grandfather had experience with gladiators. Of course, whether he was related to Ludus Dacicus or one of the other schools I didn’t know, nor I cared too much. It was barely more than an anecdote at this point, after all. 

The real thing that I paid attention to was the condition of the gladiators. Since the repeated magical healing might be dangerous, especially across weeks and months, most gladiators preferred to heal naturally as much as possible. Interestingly, the infirmary was never empty, and more importantly, more than one gladiator had died during their matches. 

It was noteworthy, because according to what I remembered about the discussion of my ‘noble’ peers back in the school, gladiators, especially the established ones, were rarely killed in the arena. After all, every gladiator was a celebrity, and their loss meant disgruntled fans and a loss of interest. The games with death were mostly for prisoners, war criminals —either desertion or victims of political games— or captives from battles too unruly to be used as a slave. 

Proper gladiators weren’t supposed to fall in this frequency. No wonder they were aggressively purchasing new slaves to plug the gap. 

Since I had observed the situation well, I wasn’t surprised —or felt proud unlike my fellow trainees— when Antonius suddenly barged into our training just before noon, declaring we were about to have our first practice with the weapons, declaring that he had been impressed with the dedication we had been showing. 

“Let’s see how well you can fight,” he said even as Pico quickly passed us blunted spears and bucklers, the trademark weapons of the Dacian tradition. “The one that fights the best will earn a great honor to open the spring games, which will happen tomorrow, against the Ludus Matutinus, promoting to full gladiator after the victory.” 

“Lucky boys,” Pico cut in in a rehearsed manner. “If you gain the qualification as a gladiator, it means you don’t have to stay in that small room with the rest of the smelly guys. You’ll get better food, better medical treatment, and most importantly, respect from others.” 

“Not to mention young noble ladies like the gladiators who distinguish themselves in the arena,” cut in one of the assistant trainers, earning some laughter, while Antonius, the leader of the school, sporting a small smile. 

The discussion about these so-called benefits of being the first one to qualify lasted quite a while, which would have been enough to arouse my suspicion even if I hadn’t already understood the situation. The attrition their gladiators were going through was rather obvious to anyone that wasn’t focused on their own torturous training, clearly indicating a ploy against the school. 

I understood that the spring games were supposed to be an important one, and Ludus Matutinus —also known of the school of Bestiaries— was a dangerous opponent. It was one of the four great gladiator schools, with a history equal to Dacian school, and unlike Dacian school, they weren’t struggling under a deliberate combined assault of their biggest competitor and several upstart schools at the same time. So, they had the capital to put together stronger opponents. 

Not to mention, unlike the other schools, they were responsibly providing the fighting animal, meaning they could easily explain any accidents that might befall a Dacian gladiator as a mistake made by a wild animal. I didn’t know which animal or animals they were going to use for the spring games, but I expect it to be supremely dangerous if Antonius was conceding this easily by sacrificing a newcomer to it. 

Well, dangerous to anyone but me. 

It was a bit wasteful for Antonius to use the best of the new slaves he had acquired, but understandable. Even as a sacrifice, he didn’t have the option to throw the fight with a substandard gladiator without hurting the reputation of the school, which would damage it even worse than losing a promising talent. 

Still, I decided to take the opportunity. Spring games, especially against a strong beast from Ludus Matutinus, were the perfect opportunity for me to gain considerable fame in one shot. 

“So, who’s the best among them?” Antonius asked Pico, deliberately loud. 

“He is,” said Pico, pointing toward me, which was an indisputable fact considering I always managed to stay an hour longer in the training field, but that didn’t prevent the others from bristling in dissatisfaction. After all, no warrior wanted to admit their inferiority if possible, not when they defined themselves with their martial talent. 

I just turned then and let out a smug smile, letting a bit of attitude slip in. I needed to show the reckless and arrogant warrior impression as well. 

“Okay, boy, show me,” said Antonius as he gestured me to pick my weapons. Then, he turned to the rest of them. “If anyone disagrees, they can step onto the field and prove it.” 

The strongest one after me, Amatus, lunged forward immediately, a sneer in his face. He had always been looking at me with dissatisfaction, itching to show me my place, but the endless training didn’t leave any strength for him to do so. 

“It’s about time,” he grunted in anger even as he twirled his spear, trying to intimidate me. 

“Did we met before?” I answered mockingly, which was not the best answer, but as far as attacking the fragile ego of a warrior who’s trying to find its place in a completely new situation, it worked excellently. He let out a scary war cry, and charged forward. 

I could have charged forward as well, as I was supremely confident in my strength, but since they were looking for someone to fight against a monster, I decided to show some tactics, just enough to make me a candidate for tomorrow’s fight. Of course, I needed not to show off too much, in case they decided to actually train me extensively as a trump card. 

I took a step back with my right foot before shifting my weight to the left, ready to support my shield for it, taking the simplest defensive posture I watched the other gladiators use during the training. Amatus’ spear slammed with full speed to my buckler, only to be deflected easily. I swung my own spear simultaneously, fast enough to unbalance him, but not fast enough that he couldn’t use his own shield to protect himself. 

Still, he stumbled back a couple of steps, while I received a nod of approval from Antonius. He tried to look like a proud teacher, which I promptly ignored. After all, he was using me, and I was using him —not that he was aware of the latter part. Everything else was just window dressing. 

“Careful while charging,” Pico barked at Amatus, making him grumble in dissatisfaction. 

Amatus started walking around me, looking for an opportunity. “Are you continue standing, coward?” he growled, trying to goad me into action, but just smiled at him smugly. This time, Amatus proved himself smarter than I gave credit for, and dashed forward just after opening his mouth like he was about to deliver another insult. 

Too bad I was ready for his cheap tricks. I once again used my buckler to push him back, but when I noticed his left arm tensing in preparation for a blow, I charged forward instead, forcing close combat, which was rarely the best move when using a spear. 

He was quick to dismiss that as well when I swung my shield, trying to duck under my swing, therefore, he was unprepared for my knee, landing in his chest. He collapsed, breathless. 

“Not bad,” said Antonius even as Pico gestured the next one, ordering him to attack before giving me a chance to catch my breath. Apparently, they made their choice, and were trying to make sure that I wouldn’t embarrass them. I decided to show off my endurance and evasion without being too suspicious, and started dodging and weaving around the assault of my opponent, which, admittedly, wasn’t exactly difficult. 

Still, after five minutes of chase, I put him down as well, while making a show of breathing loudly, trying to convince them that I was at my limit. 

I expected Antonius to order the next one, instead, he asked me to stand. “Ready position, fifty stabs,” he ordered, and I followed that, trying to do a good approximation of a tired yet stubborn warrior. “Dodge,” he ordered after ten even as he swung his own spear to my head. I dodged, but let it leave a bruise on my temple. After all, I needed to be strong enough to make a good showing, but not strong enough that my supposed loss was a grave danger to the school. 

“Not bad,” he said, before turning to Pico. “He’s the one that will fight tomorrow, make sure that he gets 

“Understood, sir,” answered Pico. “What about the name he’ll fight.” 

“Hmm, since he’s such a strong warrior, we need to find a good name for him. How about Peirous, one of the ancient Thracian kings that fought on the side of the Trojans.” 

“A good name, sir. It has been a long while since that name was used, and this boy deserves it. Strong, yet patient. A kingly bearing, I would say.” Once again, it felt like a show to encourage me, like they weren’t planning to use me as a sacrificial chip. 

“Excellent,” Antonius said. “Boy, from the moment you step on the arena, you’ll be known as Peirous. Be proud.” With that, he turned and left, leaving Pico to train me. 

“Right, you lot!” Pico shouted as he looked at them. “Take a spear and shield and stand in a line in front of the training posts!” They followed his order, and started receiving basic instructions from one of the junior trainers. Meanwhile, Pico faced me. “Boy, have you ever went to boar hunt with your spear?” 

“Often, sir,” I said. 

“Good, then at least I won’t have to start from nothing,” he said, though from his desperation, I could easily guess that I wouldn’t be facing a lowly boar tomorrow, but something much more dangerous. He started showing me several simple yet showy moves, one that would be rather useless in terms of clinching victory against a dangerous beast because they lacked the leverage, but flashy enough to make a good showing for the audience. 

I looked forward to it…