Slaughter

Kirk and Little Fatty, on the verge of death, were tied up to the side to observe as the others began their day of training.

Thanks to Bartitas, all the contractors were brought to the training grounds. Otherwise, the two brothers, severely injured, would have been stuck with them, and someone might have lost their temper and tried to kill them. However, The Space was very balanced. The brothers' escape was part of the plot, not their own choice, so they wouldn't suffer severe consequences, nor would it give anyone with ill intentions an opportunity.

Kirk observed that all the contractors this time were official "contractor" level. That is to say, each person had at least one basic attribute exceeding 10 points or one basic skill exceeding level 5.

Compared to the rookies in the newbie storyline, there were no easy targets here.

At this moment, Dochet had already divided the gladiators and contractors into dozens of one-on-one groups and started sparring.

After watching for just one hour, Little Fatty felt his injuries no longer hurt. The training scene opposite them was too brutal.

The gladiators used wooden swords for training, which had very weak attack power. Contractors, on the other hand, could use their spatial equipment to counterattack. These guys had managed to survive this long, so they must have at least one or two enchanted weapons, right?

Yet, the ones being beaten and crawling on the ground like grandsons were none other than the contractors!

The gladiators were crushing the contractors without any suspense. Moreover, they struck with extreme force, often leaving flesh torn and skin ripped. If they repeatedly struck the same area, it would lead to broken bones. This was because their livelihood depended on killing. In the gladiator arena, if your enemy didn't die, you would.

Kirk observed carefully. In terms of attributes, the contractors were not at a disadvantage. For example, a bearded man facing Spartacus, wielding a cool-looking medieval-style two-handed greatsword, was constantly having his rhythm disrupted by Spartacus's agile footwork, nimble movements, and perfectly timed positioning. One slip-up, and he would be severely beaten. Vero was also making an Arab man with a beard cry out in misery.

Facing the strongest person in the training camp, Cress, was a tank wielding a massive round shield. This shield was taller than a person and even larger than the round shields of Greek hoplites. The tank's Strength was outstanding. However, the gap in combat awareness between the two was huge. Cress could always skillfully break through defenses, find openings, and forcefully thrust his wooden sword down.

"Big brother! This is so satisfying!" Little Fatty finally recovered and excitedly watched the contractors get beaten black and blue, their faces swelling like pig heads. Seeing his contented look, one would think he wished he could set up a small stool, brew a pot of fragrant tea, put up a parasol, and leisurely enjoy the distant Mediterranean scenery while gloating at the contractors being brutally beaten by the gladiators.

"Don't let their current miserable state fool you," Kirk said with a smile. "They're all faking it! Those damn brats."

Little Fatty was surprised. "How is that possible? The gladiators are indeed much stronger than them."

"Yes, the gladiators' combat skills are indeed richer than the contractors', but the gap isn't this large. Look at that bearded man."

Little Fatty watched for a while and scratched his head. "I don't see anything wrong. He's even bleeding from his nose."

"Did you notice? He's only defending, focusing on protecting himself. When he attacks, he's holding back, just going through the motions..."

Little Fatty watched carefully for a while and nodded.

"Do you know how many times he glanced at us? Twelve times."

"Big brother, you mean? ***!" Little Fatty was furious.

"Yes, contractors are all about practical benefits. What good is training with gladiators to them? If they seriously injure or kill a gladiator, it will immediately draw the attention of the training camp and the contractors. Gladiators are all about survival. Their weapons are just plain wooden swords, and they won't drop anything good even if they die. Only by killing contractors can they gain something. That's why they're holding back, passively defending, and protecting themselves from injury. After the training ends, they'll return to the pens and find an opportunity to slaughter us two brothers!" Kirk said hatefully.

Little Fatty raised an eyebrow. "Big brother, even if we're meat, we've got three hard bones. Let's see if they break their teeth trying to swallow us!"

Kirk nodded. "Speed up your recovery. How are your injuries?"

"I have a 75% HP recovery speed bonus, so I'm fine now. How about you, big brother?"

"I've just recovered from serious injuries. It's probably around 50%. I think I should be mostly recovered after training. After all, escaping was a plot arranged by The Space, so The Space has to maintain some basic balance," Kirk analyzed.

"Big brother! A woman!" Little Fatty shouted, aggravating the wound near his mouth, making him wince.

Kirk was speechless. This fatty's nature hadn't changed. Even looking like a pig's head, he still remembered to look for the story's female characters. But as soon as he looked, he saw it was indeed a woman.

A beautiful female contractor!

A woman wearing a robe. Her thin white silk robe accentuated her curvaceous and slender figure. Her height of around 172cm made her appear slim and tall. Her face was hidden by the silk hood, so he couldn't see clearly, but judging from the curve of her chin, her fair chest, and her body's curves, she was definitely a beauty.

The gladiator opposite her was none other than the camp's lecher, "The Cripple" Ashur. This cripple had clearly lost his eligibility to fight. Now, he was in charge of the camp's logistics and supplies. Training opposite the beautiful "raw material" clearly showed his intentions were not on the training itself. Curses and provocative language spewed from his infamous foul mouth like a machine gun.

Perhaps one of his curses touched a nerve with the female contractor. She suddenly abandoned her usual strategy of only dodging and not attacking. She raised her right hand, chanted words, and a colorful beam of light erupted from her fingertips, striking Ashur's head like lightning. Ashur clutched his head, dizzy for a moment, and staggered to the ground.

"Magician?" Kirk was greatly surprised. This was the first time he had encountered a magician in The Space. According to the Newbie Survival Handbook, magicians were a difficult profession to manage in the early stages, with weak close-combat capabilities, low mana, and few spells. However, once they had sufficient resources, they could soar to great heights with immense development potential.

After defeating Ashur, the female contractor kicked him a couple of times before leaving. The training camp and gladiator arena did not prohibit the use of any spells or items. As long as it was your own ability, you could use it. You could even summon Sun Wukong to help you fight gladiators.

Kirk stared at Ashur's rolling eyes, lost in thought.

An hour later, Dochet clapped his hands, signaling everyone to stop and gather.

"Alright, the comfortable warm-up is over. Now, the raw materials leave here and continue in the afternoon. As for the gladiators, we begin formal training. It's one-on-one. Those who are defeated cannot have lunch!" Dochet shouted at the top of his lungs.

Dochet was once a famous gladiator, the only one to survive a battle against the legendary demigod gladiator "Shadow of Death." Dochet was now the head instructor of the training camp, guiding Spartacus and the others in combat. He was the most respected and trusted slave in the camp, upholding the cruel system with his whip. He was a strong, proud man with no personal feelings.

Thus, the raw materials lined up and were escorted back to the pens. Kirk and Little Fatty felt many ill-intentioned gazes lingering on their injuries, but both sneered and followed the group back to the pens.

Everyone entered the pens and sat down, starting to wrap their wounds. Although Bartitas had explicitly forbidden killing the raw materials during the morning training, they couldn't escape the consequences. Under the pressure of survival, the gladiators struck with extreme force. Almost every contractor who trained sustained injuries. The worst was a middle-aged man who fought "Mad Dog" Barka; his leg was torn open, revealing the white bone beneath.

The contractors' attention focused on the injured man's leg. Kirk and Little Fatty, however, were ignored. Everyone could see that the brothers' injuries had almost healed after the morning. Moreover, there were two of them, making them harder to kill than a lone man. If they were to attack Kirk, they would first need to team up with others, which meant profit sharing. Second, they could shout for help, and the guards were nearby; whips and dung pits were not to be trifled with. Third, these two had never made a move, so their strength was unknown; they might be tough opponents. This injured man, however, was quite ordinary.

Thus, 15 minutes later, after exchanging glances, a one-eyed, plump black man led a few men to surround the injured man with tacit understanding. One contractor tore apart a magic scroll, and a "Command Silence" rendered the middle-aged man mute. The attackers pounced like a pack of wolves, and it was impossible to see who struck. The sounds of the injured man struggling came from within the encirclement. A few seconds later, he became a cold corpse, his blood-red key and Soul Crystal having vanished.

When lunch was delivered, the guards discovered the body, and an alarm bell rang throughout the training camp.

Bartitas arrived at the scene with a grim expression, saw the injured man with his eyes wide open in death, and his cold gaze swept over all the "raw materials" in the pens.

He suddenly smiled. "Very good, someone killed him. Although he was injured, I was planning to have a gladiator kill him this afternoon. However, I never permitted you to kill him. According to Sacred Roman Law, you, including him, are my personal property. You are thieves! I can apply to the Consul to have you all hanged right now!"

The camp fell silent.

"Who did it? If you don't confess, I'll have those rookies kill you all this afternoon! The Dionysia Festival is about to begin in Marseille City, and I'm eager to send those rookie gladiators to the arena there for performances. They need to have taken a life as their entry qualification! If you don't speak, you will all die!" Bartitas roared.

A contractor with a blank expression stepped forward, one of the participants from the one-eyed black man's faction. With a look from Bartitas, this contractor was quickly thrown into the dung pit by the slaves.

Clearly, the one-eyed black man who committed the crime had hit Bartitas's weak spot for money. He reasoned that Bartitas wouldn't pursue the matter further because his financial loss was already a fact. Killing the perpetrator would only cause him greater loss! As long as there was a way to save face, Bartitas wouldn't investigate further!

This undoubtedly signaled the opening of the contractors' bloody killing ground!