Chapter 9: Spartacus (2)
Chapter 9: Spartacus (2)
"Now, let the audience enter."
"The children of the senate and senators themselves may come forward. We have prepared the best seats for you."
On the day of the competition, the amphitheater was packed with people from all around. It was such a vast crowd that Marcus wondered if every resident of Capua had shown up.
Those who couldn't get inside the stadium camped nearby, hoping to hear the sounds of the games.
Marcus and the senators from Rome were escorted to special seats with the best view of the arena. From there, he could see the entire event and easily place bets, as staff circulated, asking if he wanted to wager before each game started.
Everyone was eager for the bloody spectacle that was about to unfold.
"All spectators who have found their seats! You've waited long enough. Now, let the match begin!" The presenter at the podium shouted, drawing the audience's attention. "The first match features newcomers, who have just started their journey as gladiators, bravely facing ferocious beasts! Let’s see if any of them can survive and become true gladiators!"
"Waaaaaa!"
"Let them be torn apart!"
"Shut up and bring out Spartacus and Crixus! I didn’t come here for a minor game!"
"I'll kill all the newbies if they lose! I bet on them, so they better fight hard!"
The cheers and shouts filled the amphitheater as the gladiators appeared.
Those who fought beasts were known as Bestiarii and were not considered ordinary gladiators. They often included newcomers with little experience or those who couldn't keep up with the rigorous training.
Their role was to generate excitement and entertain the audience before the main event began.
As the Bestiarii, armed with bows, spears, and armor, took their positions, the host swung his arms and whipped the crowd into a frenzy.
"The beast they will face is a ferocious creature brought in from Parthia! It’s the Caspian tiger! Twice the length of a man and weighing over three times as much! Will these gladiators withstand the beast, or will their bones be crushed by its powerful jaws? The showdown is about to begin!"
After a brief period for betting, the beasts were released into the arena.
There were as many spectators eager to see the Bestiarii torn apart by wild beasts as there were who anticipated a thrilling beast hunt.
The betting was evenly split, with no clear favorite.
The children of the senators who had come with Marcus chatted excitedly and placed their bets.
"Marcus, why aren’t you betting?"
"Not yet."
"Aha, you don’t want to spend any money on entertainment like this? Well, considering the games in the afternoon, it might be wise to save your money for later."
Marcus felt he couldn't bring himself to pay for a spectacle where people would die, but others were convinced and moved on.
Fortunately, the match ended with the Bestiarii emerging victorious. The arena buzzed with the mixed cheers of those who won their bets and the curses of those who lost their money.
The presenter, smiling with satisfaction, raised his voice to announce the next event. "Now! Thanks to everyone’s support, we are hosting a special match! Ten prisoners, who should have been executed, will battle it out. Only one survived and continued as a gladiator, having defeated the other nine. Who will emerge as the ultimate fighter? Only one will survive until the end! We await your choice!"
Marcus muttered under his breath, "You’re completely crazy..."
Despite Marcus’s disapproval, the crowd's excitement was palpable and intense. Although gladiatorial fights were notorious for their high mortality rate, a battle royale where everyone except the last man standing died was a rare and thrilling spectacle.
"I'm betting on the guy with the twin swords! Hey! Fight to the death and win me some money!"
"You bastard with the spear! If you lose, I’ll kill you!"
"If you lose, you die anyway!"
At the presenter's signal, ten gladiators entered the arena, each armed differently. Spectators began placing bets on the weapons and predicting who would win.
Different types of gladiators had varying success rates. For example, the Retiarius, who used nets and daggers, typically had a high win rate. Gladiators wielding powerful weapons often had less armor, while those with lower win rates wore thicker armor—a kind of balancing act.
However, this was a ten-person melee, not a one-on-one duel. The crowd began jeering at the Retiarii, relying on their high win rates.
The gladiators quickly formed groups to eliminate the strongest opponents first.
"For now, let’s take out the Retiarii and then fight among ourselves."
"Agreed. We’ll team up until only two of us are left."
"You cowards! You’re not fighting fair!"
"I will survive."
"What nonsense!"
In an instant, alliances formed and broke apart as gladiators began attacking each other. Betrayal was quick, and the temporary alliances fell apart when one gladiator turned on another.
In the end, only one gladiator stood victorious—one armed with twin swords. Though some were still alive despite severe wounds, they were ultimately overshadowed by the victor.
The crowd erupted in cheers and celebration, especially those who had bet on the two-sword gladiator. The defeated, on the other hand, were met with anger.
"Kill the losers!"
"These incompetent fools aren’t worth the money! Kill them!"
"Kill them! Kill them!"
As the angry crowd demanded executions, the moderator signaled to the surviving gladiators.
The gladiator with twin swords finished off the wounded and let out a roar that bordered on a scream. It was a stark display of the brutality of the times.
The excitement in the match was undeniable. Gladiatorial fights were far from random. Sponsors and promoters carefully planned and orchestrated these events to ensure a competitive balance.
Marcus noticed this. Rather than focusing on the outcome of the bloody spectacle, he observed the process and skill levels of the participants.
'Compared to the veterans, the new recruits clearly lack skill. While new recruits are often paired against each other, only a few show promising development.'
'According to preliminary research, most new gladiators die within a year. If they survive that long, they usually last only another two years.'
'If we allow gladiators more time to develop their skills, the quality of the matches would improve. But I doubt the audience would be satisfied with just that...'
Marcus glanced away from the arena and surveyed the crowd. The audience's craving for blood and desire for ever more thrilling fights were palpable.
'There needs to be a convincing reason to create an environment where gladiators can develop over the long term. At the same time, the organizers' profits must remain high.'
It was a challenging condition, but Marcus thought a breakthrough might be possible by looking at modern sports.
From Marcus’s perspective, Roman gladiatorial games lacked something. This was a shortcoming he recognized because of his exposure to popular modern sports leagues.
'If I'm going to change gladiator fights, I need to do it in a way that makes the audience even more interested.'
'Reforming the games solely with a sense of justice or human rights won't be effective.'
Ancient citizens were far more accustomed to seeing blood than modern people. Moreover, most slave gladiators were captured enemies from Rome's wars.
Marcus understood the citizens' brutal enthusiasm.
There could be no gladiator fights without deaths. The essence of these games was in the bloodshed and fatalities.
'I don’t expect to completely change this system, nor do I have the desire to.'
'If I can reduce the death rate slightly and improve the treatment of gladiators, that would be enough.'
'The citizens will be excited by a more engaging system, the gladiators will benefit from better treatment, and the organizers will see increased profits.'
'If I can't achieve this, it may be best to abandon any efforts to improve the system and leave things as they are.'
Though the treatment of gladiators and slaves was harsh, Marcus was not a human rights activist. He felt no need to intervene unless it increased overall utility.
Whether this trip to Capua would end as merely a spectator experience or result in a meaningful achievement would depend on the upcoming main event.
"It's starting soon."
As the afternoon games neared their end, spectators buzzed with anticipation and excitement. The earlier matches had been impressive, but they were mere appetizers compared to what was to come.
The presenter, attuned to the crowd's mood, exaggerated his gestures and raised his voice from the podium. "You've waited so long! Finally! The moment you've been anticipating is here. Although he lost to Spartacus and came down as the second player, everyone still remembers his legendary performances! With 17 wins, 1 draw, and 1 loss out of 19 matches, Capua’s pride for the glorious 20th match is Crixus!"
"Whoooooa!"
"Crixus! I bet on you!"
"Stick a knife in your opponent's belly again today!"
The door to the waiting room swung open, revealing a muscular Celtic man. The atmosphere was electric, and even Marcus, an outsider, could sense the difference.
Gambiorix, towering over the crowd, pointed his sword to the ground and waited for his opponent in silence.
"The fighter facing him has never been defeated in Gaul! Gambiorix! Can he overcome Crixus in just 3 minutes?"
"Ooooh!"
"I bet on you! Let me win some money!"
Unlike Crixus, who had received cheers, Gambiorix emerged to a roar that was closer to boos than cheers.
While Crixus was also a formidable figure, Gambiorix was even larger. His bulging muscles and fierce demeanor made it clear why he was considered undefeated in Gaul.
The audience's excitement was palpable. Even among the nobles who had accompanied Marcus, some began to reconsider their bets.
But that excitement quickly faded.
According to the advance information, Crixus was known for his strength. However, once the match began, it became clear that Crixus had evolved significantly since his defeat by Spartacus.
Crixus's swordplay displayed not only raw power but also finesse, turning Gambiorix’s strength against him. Gambiorix, who had hoped for a straightforward power struggle, found himself overwhelmed.
Despite his endurance and pride, Gambiorix lasted only about 10 minutes. His defeat was not due to lack of skill but purely from Crixus's superior technique and tactical prowess.
Crixus ended the match by deflecting Gambiorix's sword and delivering a fatal thrust to his opponent’s throat.
The audience was electrified. Seeing a former champion return stronger after a defeat was a narrative that fueled their excitement.
No one demanded the execution of the defeated gladiator. Instead, the crowd cheered wildly for Crixus, who had demonstrated overwhelming strength.
Before the cheers had even died down, the host ignited the crowd’s anticipation with his announcement.
"This concludes today's lengthy tournament! Now begins the match you’ve all been eagerly awaiting! With 15 wins out of 15, an unblemished record, the flawless champion who knows no defeat—Spartacus!"
"Ooooh!"
"Spartacus!"
The roar of the crowd reached a deafening pitch, surpassing any previous cheers. The thunderous sound of stomping feet echoed throughout the amphitheater.
"The opponents are the elite trio from the Claudius Gladiator Training Institute! Even the strongest gladiators will struggle in a three-on-one battle! Who will emerge victorious?!"
Three gladiators entered the arena first, each armed with different weapons: one with a sword and shield, another with twin swords, and the third with a sword and armor.
Following them, a solitary figure walked slowly.
Each step he took, barely audible over the crowd's roar, seemed to resonate with profound significance. His presence was commanding, not due to sheer size like Gambiorix, but because of the formidable aura he exuded despite his shorter stature.
Even the gladiators who outnumbered him felt a palpable tension as they swallowed nervously.
One of them whispered in awe, "Spartacus..."
The man named Spartacus turned his gaze toward them.
His cloak, which flapped like a general's cape, added to his imposing presence.
"Let’s do this," he said.
Though his words were few, they carried an overwhelming weight, creating an air of impending confrontation.
Without hesitation, Spartacus launched himself toward his opponents with explosive speed.