"Pfft!"
Just as Spartacus broke free of the iron stakes and strode toward Samael, a teal arrow tore through the air and pierced the gladiator's shoulder with perfect accuracy.
The powerful impact gouged away a huge chunk of flesh from the horrific wound. One arm flew through the air, and Spartacus staggered before pitching forward.
The intense pain cooled the gladiator's boiling blood somewhat, restoring a measure of reason.
Under the moonlight, the Huntress stood on a branch, brow furrowed, fingers taut on the bowstring. This time, the cold gleam of her arrow was aimed at her target's brow.
Samael gently shook his head, signaling Atalanta in the shadows to stop. He then walked up to the King of Gladiators, extended his hand once more, and spoke leisurely.
"Spartacus, if you are willing to serve me, then once we win this Holy Grail War, I can return your sanity to you as payment, pardon your rebellion, and let you become a truly free man. What do you say?"
A faint glow drifted between the ancient serpent's fingers, rippling with gentle white radiance as though the gates of Heaven had opened.
"You are wrong, Roman!"
Yet the gladiator, crawling on the ground and now shorter by one arm, raised his head high. He burst into hearty laughter, his shout deafening.
"From the moment I stood up, I ceased to be anyone's slave! I have no need for your pardon! And my freedom—the freedom of the oppressed—does not require the mercy of those above us. It can only be won between blades!"
A battered Roman shortsword rose resolutely toward his target. The fire in his eyes was not the reverence of an insect in the dust gazing upon a god, but the tenacity of a rebel at the foot of a mountain