Some of the training instructors fell to their knees, begging for mercy. Unfortunately, this Gladiator School run by Batiatus had long been notorious for its harsh training. Over the years, many gladiators had died on the training grounds. There was no bond of camaraderie between instructors and gladiators—only endless resentment. This was a main reason why they were willing to join Spartacus in rebellion. Thus, without hesitation, they mercilessly stabbed the pleading guards to death, one by one.
"Batiatus has fled!" someone shouted.
Maximus instinctively looked up. Indeed, Batiatus's figure was nowhere to be seen on the balcony of the third-floor building.
"Forget that wicked wolf. Night is falling—we need to escape quickly," Spartacus said in a somber voice. "Antonix, take a few brothers to the kitchen and pack up everything edible."
"Got it."
"Cross, gather some brothers who can fight, and have them put on the armor and weapons from these men."
"Alright."
"Enomai, call a few strong brothers to come with me and break down the main gate," Spartacus continued. "Hamilcar, lead the others to help bandage the wounded comrades. Once the gate is open, bring them along when it's time to leave."
This rebellion had been planned for some time by the gladiators in the school, with Spartacus established as their leader, supported by Cross, Antonix, Hamilcar, and Enomai as key figures. After Spartacus gave his orders, everyone promptly set out to execute their tasks.
Maximus worried that Cross might see him and publicly berate him for betraying everyone—something that could ignite shared anger and turn the crowd against him. To avoid trouble, he spotted a wounded gladiator lying nearby and crouched beside him, pretending to show concern. "Brother, how's your injury?" he asked.
"...Oh, Maximus, help me! My right thigh took a sword thrust, deep and painful—it hurts so much that I can't stand..." the gladiator groaned while crying to Maximus.
His face looked very familiar, and, digging through the original host's memories, Maximus recalled his name—Fesaros. Once a young Illyrian pirate, Fesaros had ended up here. In recent years, Illyrian pirates had run rampant, frequently plundering ships traveling to and from Italy. Rome had to dispatch warships to patrol Italy's waters day and night to eradicate these pirates. Fesaros's pirate ship was captured by Roman vessels, with the lead captain executed on the spot. The remaining crewmembers became slaves, sold to towns across Italy. For slaves like them, Romans usually wouldn't buy them as household servants; instead, they were sent to mines or gladiator arenas.
In truth, Fesaros had a lively and cheerful disposition but had been forced into piracy to survive. When he first arrived at the Gladiator School half a year ago, he couldn't adapt to the grueling training. Luckily, Maximus, who had half Illyrian blood, helped him multiple times, forming a bond of friendship.
Seeing Fesaros's muscular right thigh streaked with fresh blood from the sword wound, Maximus pressed gently around the injury based on the original host's memories.
Fesaros gritted his teeth, suppressing the pain while letting out faint hissing sounds.
"The bleeding isn't too severe, so it probably hasn't cut any major blood vessels. Your foot can still move, meaning the tendons likely weren't severed either. You've been lucky—give it some time to heal, and you'll recover," Maximus said, putting on a look of relief for him. To gladiators, killing was their profession. Apart from honing combat skills, their instructors also taught them some basic anatomy to help them defeat opponents and preserve their own lives.
Fesaros, however, wasn't comforted by Maximus's reassurance. Worried, he asked, "Maximus, I'm injured—I can't run away. Will you all abandon me?"
Maximus hesitated briefly. Deep inside, he had just arrived in this world and felt no emotional attachment to anyone here. Given his currently precarious situation, he could hardly afford to be concerned about others. That said, based on the original host's memories, Fesaros was one of the few gladiators who genuinely respected him.
The reason for this respect was somewhat complicated. Although the original host had lived in the Gladiator School for several years and was considered a veteran there, he was still under twenty years old. While fit and skilled in combat, his mild temperament and lack of ferocity often led him to lose during training against other gladiators. On top of that, Batiatus had a soft spot for him and deliberately avoided scheduling him for high-risk one-on-one gladiatorial matches. As a result, although he got along well with his peers on the surface, deep down, many gladiators held him in contempt.
Even his nickname reflected this sentiment. "Maximus" wasn't his real name; it was given mockingly by the other gladiators. Meaning "the greatest," the name ironically contrasted his unimpressive fighting record. The nickname became his common name over time, replacing his original one since gladiators seldom used their own names, often adopting nicknames given by spectators or chosen by themselves.
Fesaros, newly arrived and treated kindly by the original host—plus being from the same homeland—regarded him differently from others.
Though new to this world and feeling overwhelmingly alone, Maximus instinctively didn't wish to undermine Fesaros's trust in him face-to-face. Quickly, he replied, "Don't worry. Spartacus certainly won't abandon the injured. When the time comes, I'll support you as you walk."
"Maximus, thank you!" Fesaros said emotionally, on the brink of tears.
Guilt twinged in Maximus's heart. He had only said this to soothe him; deep down, if Spartacus chose to abandon the wounded gladiators, he wouldn't oppose the decision. In fact, he'd feel relieved since an injured Fesaros would slow his escape. Feeling flustered, he avoided meeting Fesaros's grateful gaze and covertly surveyed his surroundings.
Cross had already gathered over twenty gladiators. They were stripping the guards' armor and putting it on themselves...
Clearly, Cross's efficiency stemmed from ignoring Spartacus's instructions to carefully select fighters. Instead, he had handed the armor and weapons to the Gaul Gladiators under his command. This school was primarily composed of Gauls and Thracians, with Cross as the leader of the Gaul Gladiators.
The others were busy tending to their wounded comrades. Among the crowd, Maximus spotted someone familiar. His eyes glinted as he leaned toward Fesaros and whispered, "Look, Pequot is over there. Thank heavens he's uninjured."
Fesaros turned to look and couldn't help but call out, "Pequot!"
The gladiator named Pequot had bronzed skin and a stout, muscular build. Hearing Fesaros's call, he strode over without hesitation. Saying nothing, he tore off his linen undershirt and began wrapping Fesaros's wound.
Based on the original host's memory, Pequot was Fesaros's fellow pirate from the same ship and one of the only two Illyrians in the school. Unlike Fesaros, Pequot had been a pirate for many years. Quiet and reserved, he was brutal and fierce during training, matching his grim appearance. Even veteran gladiators avoided provoking him. Though the original host had tried to win him over, Pequot remained indifferent toward him. However, Pequot maintained a close bond with his former comrade, Fesaros.
Some time later, Spartacus, Cross, Antonix, Enomai, and Hamilcar reconvened in the center of the training ground.
"The gate has been smashed open," Spartacus said directly. "Hamilcar, how much food did you find?"
"Just five sacks of barley and one hand-sized piece of smoked meat," Hamilcar replied. "I also had the brothers bring the copper pots and pottery jars from the kitchen."
"With that miser Batiatus, the kitchen wouldn't have had much worth taking," Cross said bitterly.