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B2 Chapter 61: A Gauntlet of Gladiators
🕑 Added 2025-09-03 02:57:41 +0000 UTCB2 Chapter 61: A Gauntlet of Gladiators
It took only a few quick conversations for Quintus to work his way into the research teams and training schedule at the Colosseum. After all, there was no one to countermand his orders. Although that wasn’t the only reason they were followed. The Legionnaires in charge of managing the place were eager to have their Primus Pilus volunteer to help with their experimentation. And to watch the show that would certainly ensue.
Soon, Quintus found himself standing at one end of the arena, his spear held at the ready. In the audience sat hundreds of Legionnaires who had been lucky enough to be on leave during the event—and perhaps a few that he suspected were shirking their duties.
Despite the quantity of men, they barely filled a small fraction of the available seating. The amphitheater still looked positively empty from his vantage point. Perhaps one day, their numbers would swell to the point that even this structure couldn’t contain them all. But today was not that day.
The air around the arena seemed to shimmer for a moment as an invisible barrier settled into place, locking him inside. He settled into a defensive stance. From everything they’d seen so far, the challenges put forth by the arena seemed to scale to both the number and strength of those who stepped inside. With the exception of the kraken incident, of course. That had apparently been a monster that took up residence in the place when it was underwater.
The challenges set before them were almost always less dangerous than they first appeared. They'd only lost a few Legionnaires sent in to fight. Non-legionnaires died and were defeated at a much higher rate, though. Still, there was no telling what it might send against an individual combatant like himself.
Quintus felt his vision sharpen as he readied himself. This fight wasn’t just about getting away from the boredom of bureaucracy, nor was it just about learning about the arena’s capabilities. As much as his men joked about him being as eager for battle as a man half his age, he wasn’t simply here to satisfy his own inclinations either. No, Quintus hoped to achieve something else—progress.
He’d gotten used to the steady progress of his skill levels increasing day by day as he trained. Yet lately, those increases had slowed significantly. The few hours of training he managed in the morning was no longer enough to increase his level in [Swordsmastery], nor were the beatdowns of his fellow Legionnaires that some called “sparring”. The same was even true of his other skills.
It had been far too long since he’d evolved a skill, and that was unacceptable. He needed to provide more benefit to the Legion. Other men were earning higher rarity skills for their brethren every day. He couldn’t allow himself to grow complacent in that area—or when it came to his own abilities.
It seemed as though the arena itself recognized his intent. Four gates began to rise—a number that sent Quintus’s eyebrows rising as well. A single fighter ducked out beneath the first as it was still opening. The tall, hulking figure was one of the same faceless mannequins that comprised the bulk of the arena’s offerings. Its helmet bore a high crest and a broad brim, combining with the circular patterning across its surface to make it almost resemble a large scaled fish atop the mannequin’s head.
The opponent’s right arm was protected by a series of overlapping metal plates that ran from shoulder all the way down to his sword hand—a manica. Its opposite arm bore a shield not unlike Quintus’s own scutum. But aside from a loincloth, a belt, and a pair of shinguards, the figure’s torso and legs were completely bare.
Quintus recognized the attire. This mannequin was equipped similar to a murmillo—a type of gladiator. One that specialized in strength and endurance. The relative lack of armor left it unencumbered enough that it would be able to move quickly. Yet the armor it did have would make getting in a clean shot difficult if the thing had any kind of skill.
The murmillo walked forward slowly as Quintus began to circle, making sure that he didn't put his back towards any of the other opening gates as he sized up his opponent. The thing moved deliberately, its shield raised high and its left leg forward.
The stance didn’t give Quintus any easy openings. It clearly knew how to move such that its armor was able to protect its most vulnerable spots. However, the range of the centurion’s own spear kept it from approaching carelessly. It made him glad that he’d chosen to start with this particular weapon.
Of course, he hadn’t left behind his other tools entirely. His shield remained on his back while his gladius still hung from his waist, both ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice. But he needed to be fast and agile, especially given that more opponents were still emerging.
His eyes flicked over to check on the second figure stepping onto the arena’s sands. This one resembled the murmillo, but wore a plumed helmet with a grille across its front and a griffin motif. Its shield was a square much smaller than the other gladiator’s and a curved sword gleamed in its grip.
The thraex-style gladiator didn't wait for Quintus to react. Instead, it rushed forward with surprising speed. Quintus dipped the butt of his spear into the sand, flicking it up to blind the incoming opponent as he moved out of the way. He wasn’t entirely sure if the thing’s lack of eyes would render the tactic useless. But that was something he’d rather find out now rather than when he was backed into a corner.
Fortunately, the thraex reacted similarly to a flesh and blood human. The thing shook its head, unable to wipe its face through the grille on his helmet as Quintus danced back from both it and a quick testing swipe from the murmillo. Then he lunged, his spear going high and aiming for the open-faced helmet of the murmillo. It raised its shield to block, but a last-minute pivot had Quintus spinning the butt of his weapon into the murmillo's armored right arm. It cracked into the thing’s manica and sent him staggering.
Quintus wanted to capitalize on the opening, but didn’t have time. He spun the spear around again as he was forced to knock aside the curved blade of the second fighter. [Battlefield Intuition] suddenly screamed at him, causing him to launch himself backward into a dive. A split second later, he saw a weighted net fall right over the space where he’d been standing.
A third combatant pulled back his arm, both puppet-like hands wrapping around a large trident. This one wore no helmet at all—nor did it carry a shield. Only a single piece of armor covered its non-dominant arm and shoulder. A retiarius. Which meant…
Quintus spotted the final combatant as it dashed to the side, putting distance between itself and the other three. It was a fighter typically paired against the fisherman-like retiarius—a secutor. Its helmet was round and smooth with tiny eyeholes to avoid entanglement by nets. It also wore armor on its right arm and left leg, while its gladius and shield were those of a Legionnaire.
The four fighters spread out around the arena and moved to encircle their opponent. He readjusted the grip on his spear and shuffled his feet, feeling them dig in securely with [Sure Footing]. The shifting sand felt like solid rock beneath the soles of his caligae. Intuitively, he knew that the instant he launched forward, it would angle perfectly behind his heel to further propel him in that direction. He felt his other combat skills like a physical hum at the base of his skull, now familiar in their capabilities. But he didn’t want familiar. He wanted to push the boundaries of both himself and his skills.
Frowning at the enemies arrayed before him, Quintus decided to try something. He focused on [Group Tactics] and tried to activate it. The skill was one that he usually used to coordinate with his men. More than simply allowing him to analyze their positions and weaknesses, it also worked with [Voice of Command] to help his orders be interpreted more accurately. Instead of saying “move two and a half steps to the left,” he might just say “move left,” and somehow it would be enough for his subordinates to understand.
As expected, the skill didn’t seem to do anything. After all, he was fighting alone. But he persisted. He pushed harder, urging the skill to bend to his will. He didn’t want to coordinate with his own group. He wanted a deeper understanding of the opposing group’s tactics.
After a few long moments, Quintus felt something give. Understanding flooded through him as though a dam had burst, giving him an innate sense of his opponents’ intent. They were working together, not as Legionnaires would, but as gladiators. Each individual fighter had their own set of skills and capabilities, acting on their own even as they worked to give each other better openings. Yet their teamwork wasn’t perfect. And that was something Quintus could take advantage of.
Quintus darted forward, heading straight between the curved blade-wielding thraex and the murmillo. The others started to circle him as he closed half the distance he suddenly changed direction and leaped sideways, flinging his spear. His momentum added speed as he launched the long weapon right at the one opponent who lacked a shield— the trident-wielding retiarius.
The trident-wielding mannequin dove to the ground to dodge. Unfortunately for it, Quintus’s spear was not so easily avoided. It seemed to move in midair and home in on its target, sinking into the automation’s leg. One of the newer enchantments their blacksmiths had been experimenting with, and one he’d offered to test for them here.
There was a distinct lack of blood as the spear struck true. However, that didn’t phase Quintus. He saw how the blade pierced through to the other side and caused the mannequin to stumble. And though it remained eerily silent, he knew that the limb wouldn’t be seeing use anytime soon.
Before he’d even landed, his sword was already in his hand. His shield remained away for the moment, though. Right now he needed speed, and having the large rectangle protecting his back was more valuable than having to manage it in front of him.
The murmillo raised its own shield and stepped forward to block his path as the thraex attempted to flank him. But Quintus dove, rolling beneath another swipe from the murmillo and flipping up to his feet like some sort of performer. His body contorted as he somersaulted into the air, lashing out with both feet into the murmillo’s shield. Before it could rear back for another attack, he kicked off, sending the thing stumbling back as he propelled himself high into the air. His sword flashed as it arced down toward the helmet of the thraex.
The unorthodox style was practically un-Roman, but ever since coming to this world, Quintus had been attempting to make use of his increased stats. His much higher dexterity and strength let him do things that were practically impossible back on Earth.
The thraex raised its curved blade to meet his own. Quintus parried, deflecting it to the side as his free hand darted forward to grab the gladiator’s square shield. He turned and pulled with enough torque to almost break the thing’s arm as he slammed his helmet into its stomach. He drove it to the ground. Finding purchase with his feet and shooting himself vertically back into the air.
A brief glance allowed him to take in the state of the battlefield after his flurry of attacks. The murmillo and thraex were both regaining their feet from where he’d knocked them prone, though the latter appeared more injured than the former. The retiarius he’d stabbed in the leg was crawling along the ground, while the secutor was far enough away that he hadn’t yet made it halfway to where Quintus was.
Quintus tucked his knees in and placed them on either side of his sword blade, aiming it between his legs and gripping the pommel with both hands as his leap hit its apex. He began to plummet downward and activate [Stab]. Again, it was a use case that he’d never quite considered before. But today was all about experimentation.
The thraex attempted to manuver his shield between itself and the incoming blade. But with Quintus’s weight and momentum, not to mention the power of his unreasonably-leveled [Stab], the gladius plunged right through the shield and into its chest. The automaton shuddered briefly before going limp.
He stomped on the shield and yanked his sword out before stepping back to face the two remaining fighters on their feet. This was far more manageable. Shrugging his shield off his back, Quintus prepared for a more defensive encounter.
He began to circle the two combatants as he looked for openings. The two darted forward, working to pincer him between coordinated sword strikes. Quintus parried and blocked the blows just as [Battlefield Intuition] warned him of another threat. He tried to spin, only to feel a sudden weight on his back.
Quintus stumbled slightly as he was yanked backwards. A brief glance over his shoulder revealed that the retiarius had managed to limp over to its net and retrieve it. The mannequin propped itself up with its trident, the other hand gripping one end of the weighted mesh of rope and metal.
Quintus cursed himself. He should have known better than to treat these things like men. Of course, he hadn’t truly expected a wound like that to take the automaton out of the battle entirely. But he hadn’t thought it would be able to move so quickly.
The net tangled on his armor and helmet, snaring him. Quintus spun and twisted to free himself even as the retiarius fought to reel him closer, but the net only seemed to ensnare him further. Worse, it managed to wrap around his sword arm enough that he wasn’t able to hack away at the tangle of ropes.
The two other gladiators took advantage of the opening, lunging forward to stab at the partially-immobilized Quintus. He whipped his shield around to fend off the incoming blows, taking a few shallow cuts in the process. Realizing that he wasn’t getting anywhere, Quintus suddenly switched tactics. Rather than fight the retiarius’s pull, he went with it, charging the limping mannequin where it stood. His unexpected rush knocked the already unstable figure over, sending them both to the ground in a tangle of rope and limbs.
Quintus felt the net go slack around him. He dropped his shield, using his newly freed hand and sword to claw away the mesh and roll free. But rather than the graceful maneuver he’d been going for, a sharp pain blossomed in his back and sent him sprawling.
The first centurion grit his teeth. He barely managed to scramble away from a follow-up sword strike aimed at his legs. Even as he got to his feet, he could feel blood flowing from behind his knee.
He put some distance between himself and the three gladiator automatons, his breathing heavier than before. He took an experimental step. His left foot was fine, but the right foot behind him almost buckled as he put weight on it.
Quintus glanced down at himself. Blood dripped from his leg to the sands below. He’d managed to keep hold of his sword, but his shield remained tangled in the net that the retiarius was still gripping in one hand. The other two automatons stepped in front of it, blocking him from retrieving it easily.
He hummed in displeasure. Still, it seemed as though he might actually get the challenge that he’d hoped for.
Comments
Dust
Casualties doesn't necessarily mean deaths, they can be injuries too
TwistedToaster
Thanks for the chapter!
Swinter
If legionnaires have died here during their testing, I'm surprised they've even continued at all. It's one thing to lose some of their rare and irreplaceable troops to actual battles. But having them die to This seems like a very foolish risk. Why would that even have been signed off on when they know they need to avoid needless casualties? It'd have made a lot more sense if they had Yet to lose any, but that there had been heavy injuries.
