Journey back to house main Cassius was ordeal in itself.
Step each sent waves of pain through body battered.
Sun was setting over Rome.
Casting shadows long through streets that gradually emptied as citizens and slaves retreated into houses and taverns.
When finally crossed through gates of property senatorial, allowed self to limp visibly.
Was no need to maintain facade of strength here.
No one from ludus was present to witness weakness small this.
Guards at entrance cast glances surprised at seeing condition.
One opened mouth as if to make comment some.
But thought better and merely nodded silently.
Servants who crossed path in corridors inner reacted similarly.
Shock momentary followed by indifference studied.
In world this, suffering of others rarely provoked empathy.
More often, merely awakened relief at not being one afflicted.
When finally reached quarters, locked door and allowed self moment of vulnerability true.
Let self fall onto edge of bed.
Grunt of pain escaping involuntarily from lips.
For time first since awakening in world ancient this, felt wave of rage genuine rising in throat.
Not anger cold, calculating that had guided thus far.
But something more primitive and visceral.
With movement sudden, swept jug water from table nearby.
Sending crashing against wall where shattered into fragments dozens.
"Damned barbarians," I murmured, voice low but charged with intensity.
Explosion momentary brought no relief.
Only clarity painful.
World this was not just different from own.
Was fundamentally more cruel.
More direct in brutality.
In century twenty-first, even in situations most extreme—training military elite, combat real—there were codes of conduct.
Structures of respect mutual.
Recognition basic of humanity shared.
Here, was no veil of civility covering instincts most basic.
Hatred was open.
Violence celebrated.
Cruelty not merely tolerated but actively encouraged.
Humiliation was not byproduct regrettable of system.
Was tool deliberate, used with precision surgical to establish and maintain hierarchies.
"Rationality," I murmured to self while examining cut deep on forearm. "What joke. What good is thinking steps three ahead when throw pieces on floor and stomp?"
Question hung in air.
Without answer immediate.
For moment, allowed self to feel weight complete of situation.
Alone in world strange and hostile.
Surrounded by enemies.
Without ally single true.
Sensation of isolation was almost suffocating.
Servant knocked at door.
Interrupting introspection dark.
"Enter," I ordered, quickly composing self.
Slave young entered carrying basin large of water clean and cloths for cleaning wounds.
Behind him, men two stronger brought crates wooden.
"Tools requested, dominus," announced servant, placing basin on table. "And water for... wounds."
Was curiosity poorly disguised in eyes of man young.
But no questions were verbalized.
In world this, curiosity excessive from slave could be punished severely.
"Put crates there," I instructed, indicating corner of room. "And leave."
When door closed, quickly examined contents of crates.
Livia had been generous and efficient.
All tools requested were there.
Along with wood quality good.
Ropes.
Strips leather.
Even pieces metal forged according to specifications rudimentary.
First, however, needed to tend to wounds.
Undressed slowly.
Movement each revealing bruise new or cut.
In mirror bronze polished, reflection showed body marked by contusions dozens in stages various of development.
Newest vivid purple-red.
Others already maturing to tones greenish and yellowish.
Cut above eye left would need attention special to avoid leaving scar permanent.
Methodically, began cleaning wound each.
Applying ointment medicinal provided by Servius to most serious ones.
Process was painful but familiar.
How many times had done this before, in world another, after sessions training that now seemed almost gentle in comparison?
"Have been through worse," told self.
Mantra that sounded hollow even to ears own.
While working on wounds, mind repeatedly returned to combat with Mors.
Defeat was not merely physical.
Was break in perception of superiority inherent over inhabitants of world ancient this.
Gladiator masked was not just strong or fast.
Was predator complete.
Movement each calculated not for display, but for efficiency lethal maximum.
Underestimated all of them, acknowledged internally.
Assumed knowledge modern meant superiority guaranteed.
Mistake would not make again.
Reflections were interrupted by knock another at door.
Firmer, more authoritative than previous one.
Before could respond, door opened and Livia entered.
Stopping abruptly upon seeing condition.
"By gods all," she exclaimed, eyes wide. "What happened?"
I did not respond immediately.
Observing reaction with interest clinical.
Was surprise genuine on face.
Perhaps even concern.
But was something more as well.
Gleam almost fascinated as examined body marked.
"Day training," I finally replied, continuing to clean cut on shoulder as if presence was not event extraordinary. "Father was quite specific about participation complete in regimen ludus."
"Training?" repeated Livia, indignation growing in voice as approached to examine wounds more closely. "This is not training—is abuse! Will speak with father immediately. Tacitus clearly exceeded—"
"No," I interrupted, tone firmer than intended.
Softened voice before continuing.
"This is precisely what father intended. And is necessary."
Livia stepped back slightly.
Surprised by interruption.
Rarely spoke to her in tone such direct.
"Necessary?" she questioned, incredulous. "How can this be necessary?"
"To establish position," I explained, applying pressure to bruise particularly painful on flank. "To eventually be accepted. If interfere, will only ensure am hated even more—and probably killed at opportunity first that arises in arena."
She studied for moment.
Anger initial giving way to understanding more calculating.
"Politics gladiator," she murmured. "Suppose is similar to games power in Senate, only more... direct."
"Precisely."
Livia moved around room.
Fingers absentmindedly tracing outline of tools newly arrived.
"So these are materials for... project training alternative?"
"They are," I confirmed, finishing treatment of wound last serious. "Will begin construction today."
"Now?" She seemed genuinely surprised. "In condition this?"
"Especially in condition this," I replied, rising with effort controlled to avoid showing how much movement really hurt. "Pain is temporary. Weakness cannot be."
Something in words seemed to capture attention of Livia.
Observed with kind new of interest.
Not just desire physical usual.
But something more complex.
Perhaps respect.
Perhaps simply curiosity renewed about enigma represented.
"May help?" she offered, surprising me.
I quickly evaluated offer.
Would have been more efficient to work alone.
But was value strategic in allowing to feel part of project.
"Can hold pieces while saw them," I suggested, selecting tools necessary. "Will need stability for cuts precise."
In minutes following, silence comfortable established itself between us while began working wood.
Movements were deliberate and precise.
Despite pain effort each provoked.
Plan for structures training was necessarily simple.
Versions rudimentary of equipment that would be considered basic in any place training modern.
Adapted for limitations technological of era this.
"What exactly building?" Livia finally asked, firmly holding plank while sawed.
"Bars parallel," I explained, indicating design mental was following. "For exercises strength upper body. And then, structure inclined to work groups muscular different in chest and arms."
"Fascinating," she murmured, genuinely intrigued. "And this is superior to training conventional at ludus?"
"Complementary," I corrected. "System their has... merits. Particularly work at palus."
Mention of post training brought back memory vivid of brutality faced hours before.
Muscles protested as if responding to memory.
"Who was it?" Livia suddenly asked, eyes fixed on bruises most visible.
"Who was what?"
"Who did this. Who defeated you."
Perception was sharper than had initially credited.
"See marks different—some are rituals initiation, of course. But there is pattern specific here," she indicated bruises on forearm left, "that suggests combat real. Opponent single, technique refined."
I hesitated briefly before responding.
"Call him Mors."
Reaction was immediate.
Livia straightened, eyes wide with surprise genuine.
"Mors?" she repeated, voice low. "Tacitus put against Mors on day first?"
She shook head slowly.
"That goes beyond testing or ritual. Wanted to humiliate... or see if would die."
"Survived," I commented dryly, continuing to work on wood.
"More than survive," corrected Livia, studying with interest new. "Few last more than moments against Mors. Is not just gladiator—is assassin trained father acquired under... circumstances particular."
Information was valuable.
Confirmation external of suspicions own about combatant mysterious.
"Know history?" I asked casually, while beginning to assemble pieces first of structure.
"Only rumors," replied Livia, helping to stabilize planks while fixed with nails iron. "Say was trained from childhood by sect of assassins in east. Others claim is actually noble fallen who killed family own in rage. No one knows face—mask is never removed, not even during sleep, they say."
"And father controls him?"
Livia laughed.
Sound genuinely amused.
"No one controls Mors. Father simply... directs lethality. Arrangement mutually beneficial, apparently."
Worked in silence for time some.
Frame for bars parallel gradually taking shape.
Despite pain, found comfort certain in work physical precise.
Something tangible and controllable in world that seemed determined to remind of limitations.
"Why really doing this?" Livia eventually asked, watching test stability of structure partially completed.
"Already explained—"
"No," she interrupted, surprising me. "Not equipment. All of this."
She gestured vaguely.
Encompassing not just room but implicitly situation entire.
"Accepting humiliation at ludus. Building to exhaustion after being beaten. There is more here than survival simple or ambition."
Question was unexpectedly perceptive.
Forcing to consider response carefully.
For moment, almost told truth.
That was trapped in world not own.
That movement every was calculated to eventually find way back.
Or at least to create position of power genuine in environment hostile this.
Instead, opted for half-truth knew would resonate with her.
"Control," I finally replied, adjusting support diagonal for stability greater. "In world where everything can be taken at moment any—freedom, dignity, life—control only real is here."
I touched temple own.
"And here."
Indicated body that, despite wounds, still obeyed will.
Livia remained silent for moments several.
Absorbing response.
When finally spoke, voice carried tone different.
Softer, almost vulnerable.
"More alike are we than imagine," she said, surprising me. "For woman in Rome, even one of lineage highest... control is also illusion. Body, future, even thoughts—all belong first to father, then to husband he chooses."
Was opening rare.
Glimpse of person real behind facade of aristocrat capricious.
I recognized moment as opportunity valuable to deepen influence over her.
"Perhaps that is why 'whims,' as father calls them, are so important," I suggested, putting touches finishing on part first of structure. "Acts small of rebellion are form of control."
She studied with eyes slightly widened.
As if seeing for time first.
"Exactly," she murmured. "Really understand."
"Understanding is held that all seek to control what can, when world insists on reminding how powerless are," I replied, testing weight of bars parallel newly constructed.
Structure was rudimentary compared to equipment modern knew.
But would serve purpose intended.
With adjustments final few, stepped back to evaluate work.
"Is finished?" asked Livia.
"Part this, yes," I confirmed. "Tomorrow will build bench inclined, then structures for weights."
"And then?"
"Then begin work real," I replied, wiping sweat from forehead. "Transforming body this to survive whatever comes next."
Livia approached.
Eyes traveling over torso battered with mixture of concern and desire poorly disguised.
"Let help with wounds," she offered, fingers lightly touching bruise particularly vivid on chest. "Have ointments better than these."
I recognized offer for what really was.
Not just assistance medical.
But invitation implicit to intimacy.
At moment another, would have accepted readily.
Seeing opportunity to strengthen influence over her.
But something had changed on day brutal this.
Reevaluation fundamental of priorities immediate.
"Tomorrow, perhaps," I replied, surprising with refusal gentle. "Tonight, need to rest properly. Day tomorrow at ludus will be even harder than today."
Disappointment briefly crossed face.
But was quickly replaced by kind new of respect.
"As wish," she agreed, moving toward door.
At threshold, paused briefly.
"Know, Lucius, there is something about you have not seen in man any other—not even father. Determination that transcends ambition simple or pride."
"Just doing what necessary to survive," I replied, exhaustion finally beginning to overcome.
"No," she contested with smile slight. "Is more than survival. Is as if playing game that no one else can see."
With words disturbingly perceptive those, departed.
Leaving alone with thoughts.
When finally allowed self to lie down, muscle every in body protesting, contemplated day that had passed.
Humiliation.
Pain.
Revelations.
World ancient had shown face true today.
More brutal and merciless than had experienced so far.
In world original, even in situations most extreme, there was always structure.
Purpose.
Level some of respect mutual even among adversaries.
Here, cruelty was art refined.
Cultivated through centuries of practices that transformed humans into commodities disposable for entertainment mass.
And yet... was something strangely liberating about honesty brutal of world this.
No one pretended to feel civility did not possess.
Hatred was open.
Violence direct.
Intentions clear even when deadly.
As exhaustion finally pulled toward sleep, thought crystallized in mind:
To survive and prosper in world this, would need to learn not just rules.
But essence fundamental.
Capacity to face brutality with brutality even greater.
To absorb pain and transform into strength.
To look at death without blinking.
And, if necessary, become predator ultimate in world of predators.
Training at ludus was not just about combat physical.
Was about forging type specific of mentality.
Hardness inner that few in world modern ever needed to develop.
Tomorrow would be worse, as Briseus had promised.
And day after, worse still.
But blow each, humiliation each, drop each of blood shed would be step another in transformation.