Rome Must Fall

Some of the training instructors knelt and begged for mercy, but unfortunately, the Batiatus’ gladiator school was known for its harsh training. Over the years, many gladiators had died on the training grounds. There was no bond of affection between the instructors and the gladiators, only endless resentment. This was one of the main reasons why they were willing to join Spartacus in this rebellion. Therefore, without mercy, they stabbed the begging guards to death one by one.

“Batiatus has run away!” someone shouted.

Maximus subconsciously looked up and indeed, there was no sign of Batiatus on the balcony of the three-story building.

“Forget about that wicked wolf. It’s getting dark, and we need to escape from here quickly,” Spartacus said in a deep voice. “Hamilcar, take some of our brothers to the kitchen and pack up all the food we can take.”

“Alright.”

“Crixus, you are in charge of selecting some of our brothers who are capable of fighting and equipping them with the armor and weapons of these people.”

“Got it.”

“Oenomaus, you bring a few strong brothers with me to break open the main gate,” Spartacus continued. “Artorix, you take the others and help bandage the wounded brothers. After the gate is opened, take them with you to leave.”

The gladiators in the school had been planning the rebellion for some time now. Several leaders had emerged, with Spartacus at the forefront and Crixus, Artorix, Hamilcar, and Oenomaus as his aides. After Spartacus assigned the tasks, they immediately went to carry them out.

Maximus was worried about being seen by Crixus, who might publicly accuse him of betraying everyone, causing anger and harm to himself. So, when he saw a wounded gladiator lying not far away, he immediately crouched beside him and pretended to be concerned, asking, “Brother, how are your injuries?”

“Oh, Maximus, please help me! My right thigh was stabbed deeply by a sword, it hurts so much I can’t stand,” the gladiator groaned and cried to Maximus.

His face was very familiar, and in the memory of the previous Maximus, the current Maximus found his name: Phaselus, a young and former Illyrian pirate.

In recent years, Illyrian pirates had been rampant, frequently plundering ships traveling to and from Italy. Rome had to send warships to patrol the surrounding waters of Italy day and night to eliminate these Illyrian pirates.

Phaselus’ pirate ship was captured by a Roman warship, and the leader was beheaded on the spot. The remaining crew members, including him, became slaves and were sent to various towns in Italy to be sold. Slaves like them were usually not purchased as household slaves by the Romans but were often sent to mines and gladiator arenas.

The actual personality of Phaselus was lively and cheerful. It was only because of his difficult life and the need for survival that he had to become a sailor on a pirate ship. When he first arrived at the gladiator school six months ago, he couldn’t adapt to the harsh training at all. Maximus, who had half Illyrian blood, actively helped him multiple times, and as a result, they became good friends.

Looking at the bloody sword wound on Phaselus’ sturdy right thigh, Maximus gently pressed around the wound according to the memory of the original Maximus.

Phaselus endured the pain and let out a hissing groan through his clenched teeth.

“The bleeding isn’t too severe. It shouldn’t have cut any blood vessels, and your foot can still move, so there shouldn’t be any severed tendons either. You’re lucky. With some time to heal, your injury will be fine,” Maximus said, looking relieved for him. The profession of a gladiator is to kill, and besides training them in combat skills, the instructors also teach them some knowledge of human anatomy to help them defeat opponents and protect themselves.

Phaselus didn’t feel much at ease despite Maximus’ reassurance. He worriedly asked, “Maximus, I’m injured now and can’t escape on my own. Will you all leave me behind?”

Maximus hesitated for a moment. In his heart, as a newcomer to this world, he had no emotional ties with anyone here, and his own situation wasn’t great either. But from the memory of the previous Maximus, Phaselus was one of the few gladiators who respected him.

The reason for this respect was somewhat complicated. Although Maximus had been living in this gladiator school for several years and was considered one of the older residents, he was still under 20 years old. Despite his strong physique and decent combat skills, he had a gentle temperament and lacked ruthlessness. He often lost to other gladiators during training, and Batiatus never arranged risky one-on-one matches for him. So, although he had a good relationship with the other gladiators, they looked down on him from the bottom of their hearts.

His name revealed this as well. “Maximus” was not his real name but a nickname given to him by the gladiators. Maximus meant “greatest”, but his poor gladiatorial record clearly didn’t match up to that name. It was everyone’s way of mocking him, and they often referred to him as such. Over time, it became his gladiator name (gladiators rarely used their real names; they either received titles from the audience based on their fighting style and record or chose names according to their own preferences).

As Phaselus had only recently arrived, the previous Maximus had taken care of him, and they were also from the same hometown, so his attitude towards Maximus was quite different from that of the other gladiators.

Maximus, who was new to this world and felt extremely lonely, instinctively didn’t want to lose the trust of the person in front of him, so he quickly said, “Don’t worry, Spartacus will definitely not abandon you. I will support you when the time comes.”

“Maximus, thank you!” Phaselus was moved to the point of tears.

Maximus felt a slight sense of shame in his heart. He was merely speaking empty words. If Spartacus truly decided to abandon these injured gladiators, he wouldn’t oppose it. On the contrary, he would be relieved. After all, Phaselus, with his leg injury, would slow down their escape. Maximus avoided Phaselus’ grateful gaze and looked around.

Crixus had already selected more than twenty gladiators, who were now stripping the armor from the guards and putting it on themselves…

Of course, the reason Crixus was moving so quickly was that he hadn’t followed Spartacus’ instructions for selection at all. Instead, he had given all the equipment from the fallen guards to the Gallic gladiators who followed him. The gladiators in this school were mainly composed of Gauls and Thracians, and Crixus was the leader of the Gallic gladiators.

Others were taking care of their injured comrades. Among the crowd, Maximus spotted someone very familiar. His eyes shifted, and he whispered to Phaselus, “Look, Pequot is over there. Thank goodness, he’s not injured.”

Phaselus turned to look and couldn’t help but shout, “Pequot!”

The gladiator named Pequot had a dark skin and a muscular physique. Upon hearing Phaselus’ shout, he immediately walked over in large strides. Without saying a word, he forcefully tore off his own linen undershirt and began to bandage Phaselus’ wound.

In the memory original Maximus, Pequot was Phaselus’ fellow pirate on the same ship, and one of the only two Illyrians in this school. Unlike Phaselus, Pequot had been a pirate for many years. He was always silent in gladiator school, but fierce and ruthless during training which matched his fierce appearance, so some experienced gladiators didn’t want to provoke him. The previous Maximus had tried to befriend him, but Pequot had always maintained an indifferent attitude towards him. However, he had a good relationship with Phaselus, his former companion.

After a while, Spartacus, Crixus, Artorix, Oenomaus, and Hamilcar gathered again in the center of the training ground.

“The main gate has been smashed open,” Spartacus asked directly, “Hamilcar, how much food did you manage to find?”

“We only found five and a half bags of barley and a palm-sized piece of smoked meat,” Hamilcar replied. “I also had our brothers bring the copper pots and clay pots from the kitchen.”

“With the stinginess of the wicked wolf Batiatus, there won’t be anything good left in the kitchen,” Crixus said with a bitter tone.