Late at night in the camp, a shadowy figure slipped through the dimly lit corridors. The camp was quiet, save for the occasional murmur of sleeping slaves and the distant clink of chains. The spy, a lowly worker who had ingratiated himself with the guards, moved with practiced stealth, making his way to the meeting point in the abandoned storage shed near the outer fence.
The spy’s heart raced as he approached the shed, its wooden door hanging slightly ajar. Inside, the dim light of a single candle flickered, casting eerie shadows on the walls. A cloaked figure stood waiting; face hidden beneath a deep hood. The spy glanced around nervously before stepping inside.
"I have news," the spy whispered urgently, glancing over his shoulder to ensure they were alone. "Lysander has created an elite team of newcomers and he is ramping up their showmanship. They're gearing up these warriors to dominate the pits with elaborate costumes and weapons."
The cloaked figure nodded, the candlelight catching the edge of a sinister smile. Reaching into his cloak, he handed the spy a small pouch of coins. "Good work," he murmured. "I'll take this to Lord Rufus immediately."
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The next morning, the grand hall of Lord Rufus Atilius' estate buzzed with activity. Sunlight streamed through tall windows adorned with rich, crimson drapes, illuminating the opulent room filled with marble statues and lavish tapestries. Servants moved silently, polishing silverware and arranging fresh flowers.
At the centre of the hall, Rufus Atilius, a tall, imposing man with piercing blue eyes and a meticulously groomed beard, listened intently to the spy’s handler. Seated beside Rufus was his daughter, a beautiful 19 year old girl, his warden and a few of his closest advisors.
"Interesting," Rufus mused, leaning back in his gilded chair, his fingers steepled. "So, Varon is preparing a spectacle. He wants to take back the pits. We'll give him a spectacle to remember."
Rufus turned to his warden, his eyes gleaming with delight. "Pick 5 of the strongest most experienced colosseum fighters we have and issue a formal colosseum challenge. Find out what we need to do to make them stand out and give them some enchanted weapons. I don't care about the cost. We're going to humiliate Lord Varon."
One of the advisors, a shrewd man with a keen mind for strategy, spoke up. "My lord, Lysander's only real fighters are tied up in the tower challenges. This new team they are training are mere inexperience pit fighters."
Rufus nodded, a devious smile playing on his lips. "Exactly. Lysander will have no choice but to either withdraw his tower climbers to accept the challenge, which he won't risk, or send his pit fodder dressed up in their new costumes. Either way, we win."
The warden nodded solemnly and left to carry out the orders. Rufus then sat down at his ornate desk, quill in hand, and began to write a letter to Lysander. The scratch of the quill on parchment was the only sound in the grand hall as Rufus penned his challenge.
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The next day, in the bustling market square, the town crier stood atop a wooden platform, ringing a large bell to gather the crowd. The square was alive with the sounds of merchants hawking their wares, children playing, and townsfolk going about their daily business. As the bell rang, people stopped what they were doing and gathered around, curious about the announcement.
The crier, dressed in vibrant red and gold livery, unrolled a scroll and cleared his throat. "Hear ye, hear ye! By the decree of Lord Rufus Atilius, a grand gladiatorial event shall be held in the Colosseum in two weeks' time. Lord Rufus challenges Lord Varon's team to a grand battle. Will Lord Varon's fighters rise to the occasion, or will they cower in the shadows? The people of the city demand a spectacle!"
The crowd erupted in murmurs of excitement and anticipation. Children clambered onto their parents’ shoulders for a better view, and merchants whispered among themselves, already planning to capitalize on the influx of spectators the event would bring. The challenge had been issued, and the countdown to the grand event had begun.
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Back in the gladiator camp, the news spread quickly. Slaves whispered about the upcoming battle, their eyes filled with a mix of fear and hope. Tyler, Marcus, Elric, Darius, and Livia exchanged determined glances, the news had come down, they were heading for the colosseum. Their preparation had just become even more critical.
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The following days were a blur of hard work and anticipation. Tyler, Marcus, Elric, Darius, and Livia threw themselves into their tasks with a determination fuelled by the promise of a better chance at survival. Not only did the warden grant them access to supplies and a workspace, but they were also given three small mana cores, just enough to add a minor enchantment to a weapon. Magic items were not banned in the pits or the Colosseum. However, most slave owners refrained from equipping their fighters with such items due to the risk of losing them to other nobles. Simply because enchanted items were worth more than the actual slaves.
They had two weeks until their first fight to get everything ready. They had to complete their characters in one week, leaving the second week for intensive training and strategy development.
Every night, after the gruelling day of training, they were allowed into the workshop and the blacksmith's forge. They worked under dim lighting, with minimal supervision. The guards, seemingly disinterested in their activities, allowed them some freedom as long as they didn't cause trouble.
Elric, with his steady hands and keen eye for detail, took on the task of tattooing. He laid out the ink and needles, and one by one, they got everyone’s tattoos completed. The design was simple yet powerful—a tribal pattern that incorporated the dimensional rune. Each of them would have it on their right hand, not just as a symbol of their unity and shared goal but also as a clever misdirection for anyone looking for a rune.
Elric and Tyler worked throughout the week to develop new hidden runic functions and added a few additional tiny runes hidden in strategic places on his body, ready for experimentation.
In the blacksmith’s forge, Darius took charge with remarkable skill. Tyler watched in awe as Darius moulded and shaped the metal, transforming raw materials into deadly tools. Marcus’s scythe was the first to take shape, its triple blades gleaming wickedly under the forge’s light. Darius embedded a mana core in Tyler's weapon, providing a plausible explanation for some of the magic Tyler used.
For Livia, Darius crafted a lightweight yet powerful bow. For Elric, he forged a sleek spear and a small shield. They decided to add mana cores to both Livia’s bow and Elric’s shield to enhance their potential for enchantment. For himself, Darius created a formidable Warhammer. Once the weapons were completed, Tyler meticulously added unique runes to both the shield and the bow, preparing them for future use.
Tyler’s own weapon was a pair of short swords, designed for agility and speed. He wanted something that allowed for quick, precise strikes, fitting his fighting style. Elric and Tyler added some experimental runes to Tyler's swords, hoping to enhance their effectiveness in subtle ways that wouldn't be immediately noticeable.
Meanwhile, Marcus and Livia worked tirelessly on the outfits. Tyler had decided, for the sake of time and because they were only able to procure large sheets of dark material and some red and white off-cuts, to have Livia make Naruto inspired Akatsuki cloaks for each of them with matching head protectors. The simple, uniform look provided a sense of unity and intimidation.
Despite the late hours and exhaustion, a sense of camaraderie grew among them. They laughed and joked, their bond strengthening with each passing night.
One evening, as they worked on the final touches, Tyler gathered them together. "We’re almost there. This week has been insane, but we’ve made incredible progress."
Elric nodded, inspecting his spear. "We wouldn’t have gotten this far without everyone pulling their weight."
Marcus adjusted his cloak, a satisfied look on his face. "We still have one week left to train with these weapons and finalize our strategies. Let's make the most of it."
Tyler smiled, feeling a surge of pride and determination. "Agreed. Let’s show them what we’re made of."
The next morning, they began their final week of training with renewed vigor. They practiced tirelessly, learning to wield their new weapons with precision and developing strategies to complement each other's strengths. Tyler led the way, his quick thinking and innovative tactics earning the respect and admiration of his team. Tyler wasn’t sure what happened, but Lysander was backing them with a lot more resources than he expected. He allowed them to use the new weapons training in the yard and brought in some skilled fighters to train against them.
As they honed their skills, Tyler's mind raced with the possibilities. The tattoos, the weapons, the cloaks—they were all pieces of a larger puzzle. He knew that their success in the arena would depend not just on their fighting abilities but on their ability to work together as a team since any powerful display of magic would immediately raise questions.
Every evening, after a day of rigorous training, they returned to their cell, exhausted but hopeful. Tyler was pushing himself a far as his core would let him. His team had come a long way from the terrified prisoners they once were. Now, they were fighters, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
As the final night before the fight approached, Tyler gathered his team one last time. "Tomorrow, we step into the arena as warriors. We’ve prepared as best we can, and I believe in every one of you. Remember, we’re not just fighting for survival—we’re fighting for our future."
The others nodded; their expressions steely with determination. They had formed a bond that went beyond mere survival. They were a team, united by their shared struggle and their hope for a better future.
With that, they settled down to rest, knowing that the next day would be the ultimate test of their skills and their resolve. As Tyler lay in the darkness, he felt a sense of calm. There was just one last thing he had to try that would put the cherry on top.