Slaughter

The dying Kirk and Little Fatty were tied up at the side to watch, while everyone else began the day's training.

Thanks to Bartitas, who had gathered all the Contractors on the training ground. Otherwise, with the brothers' injuries so severe, someone might have been tempted to take their lives if they were left alone with them. But the space was perfectly balanced. Their escape was part of the plot, not their own choice, so it wouldn't make them suffer severe consequences or give ill-intentioned people a chance to take advantage.

Kirk observed that all the Contractors this time were at the official Contractor level. That meant each had at least one basic attribute above 10 points or one basic skill above level 5.

Compared with the rookies in the Newbie Survival Handbook's beginner scenario, none of these people were pushovers.

By then, Dochet had divided the gladiators and Contractors into dozens of one-on-one pairs, and they had begun sparring.

After watching for just an hour, Little Fatty felt that his injuries no longer hurt. The training on the field opposite them was simply too brutal.

The gladiators trained with wooden swords, which had little Attack Power. The Contractors, on the other hand, could use their spatial equipment to fight back. They'd made it this far, so surely they'd managed to get their hands on a couple of Enchanted Weapons?

And yet the ones getting beaten and crawling across the ground like dogs were, without exception, Contractors!

The gladiators overwhelmed the Contractors without question. They struck with tremendous force, often drawing blood and tearing flesh. Repeated blows to the same spot would break bones and snap tendons. That was because their livelihood depended on killing. In the arena, if your enemy didn't die, you did.

Kirk watched closely. In terms of attributes, the Contractors weren't at a disadvantage. Take the burly, bearded man currently facing Spartacus. He wielded a flashy, Middle Ages-style two-handed greatsword, but Spartacus kept disrupting his rhythm with nimble footwork, swift movement, and perfectly judged positioning. One slip, and the man would be beaten soundly. Vero was also making an Arab with a bushy beard howl in misery and plead for his life.

The one matched against Cress, the strongest in the training camp, was an MT carrying a massive round shield. It stood taller than a man, even larger than the round shields used by Greek hoplites. The MT was exceptionally strong, but there was a huge gap in their combat awareness. Cress could always find a way to pry open his defenses, spot a gap, and drive his wooden sword in hard.

"Big bro! This is great!" Little Fatty had finally recovered enough to excitedly watch the Contractors get beaten black and blue, one after another, until they all looked like pigs. He looked so pleased that he could have dragged over a little stool, brewed a pot of tea, and set up a parasol, then leisurely admired the view of the Mediterranean Sea while gloating over the Contractors getting thrashed by the gladiators.

"Don't be fooled by how badly they're getting beaten now." Kirk smiled. "They're all putting on an act, those bastards."

Little Fatty was taken aback. "How could they? The gladiators are clearly much stronger."

"Sure, the gladiators have better fighting skills than the Contractors, but the gap isn't as big as it looks. Look at that burly bearded man."

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

"Have you noticed that he only defends, focusing on protecting himself? When he attacks, he puts on a show but doesn't put any real force behind it..."

Little Fatty watched carefully for a while, then nodded.

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

"Big bro, you mean...? Damn it!" Little Fatty was furious.

"Exactly. Contractors care most about practical gains. What good does training with gladiators do them? If they go all out and kill one, it'll immediately draw the attention of the training camp and the other Contractors. Every gladiator is dirt poor, and their weapons are just Whiteboard wooden swords. Killing one won't get them anything good. Only killing a Contractor can bring them a reward. So they're holding back, defending passively, and making sure they don't get hurt. Once training ends and they return to the cattle pen, they'll find a chance to butcher us two brothers!" Kirk said bitterly.

Little Fatty raised his eyebrows. "Big bro, even if we're meat, we've got three tough bones between us. Let's see if they choke when they try to swallow us!"

Kirk nodded. "Focus on recovering. How are your injuries?"

"I've got a 75% boost to my healing speed. I'm fine now. What about you, big bro?"

"I've only just recovered from being critically injured. Maybe I'm at 50%. I should be about recovered by the end of training. After all, the escape was part of the space's plot, so the space has to maintain a basic balance." Kirk analyzed.

"Big bro! A woman!" Little Fatty shouted, reopening the wound at the corner of his mouth. He grinned and groaned.

Kirk was speechless. The fatty hadn't changed a bit. Even with his face beaten into a pig's head, he still couldn't stop looking for women in the plot. But when Kirk glanced over, there really was a woman.

A beautiful female Contractor!

A woman in a robe, her slender white silk garment revealing a curvaceous figure. At around 172 centimeters tall, she looked slim and statuesque. A silk hood covered her face, making her features impossible to see, but the curve of her chin, her fair chest, and her figure made it clear she was a beauty.

The gladiator facing her was none other than Ashur, the camp's most lecherous man. The lame man had clearly lost the right to enter the arena. He was now in charge of supplies and logistics at the camp. Putting himself opposite the beautiful "raw material" for training was clearly a case of having ulterior motives. Profanity and lewd advances poured from his famous filthy mouth like gunfire.

Perhaps one of his insults touched a nerve. The female Contractor suddenly abandoned her usual strategy of dodging without attacking. She raised her right hand, fingers extended, and began to chant. A rainbow-colored light burst from her fingertips and struck Ashur's head like lightning. Ashur clutched his large head, staggered for a while, and fell over.

"A mage?" Kirk was astonished. This was the first time he'd encountered a mage in the space. According to the Newbie Survival Handbook, mages had a hard time early on. They were weak in close combat, had little Mana and few spells, but once they had enough resources, they could soar to new heights and had enormous potential.

After knocking Ashur down, the female Contractor kicked him hard twice before walking off. Neither the training camp nor the arena prohibited the use of spells or items. As long as an ability belonged to you, you could use it—even if that meant summoning Sun Wukong to help you fight the gladiators.

Kirk stared at Ashur's rolled-back eyes, deep in thought.

Another hour passed. Dochet clapped his hands, and everyone stopped and gathered around.

"All right, the comfortable warm-up is over. Raw materials, get out of here. We'll continue this afternoon. As for the gladiators, your real training starts now. One-on-one. Whoever loses won't get lunch!" Dochet bellowed.

Dochet had once been a famous gladiator and the only man to survive a battle with the legendary demigod gladiator, Shadow of Death. He was now the training camp's head instructor, teaching Spartacus and the others how to fight. He was the most respected and trusted slave in the camp, enforcing its brutal rules with his whip—a strong, proud man who showed no favoritism.

The raw materials lined up and were escorted back to the cattle pen. Kirk and Little Fatty felt many unfriendly gazes roaming over their injuries, but they both sneered and followed the group back.

Everyone went into the cattle pen and sat down, then began bandaging their wounds. Although Bartitas had explicitly forbidden anyone from killing the raw materials during the morning's training, they could not escape the pain. Under the pressure of survival, the gladiators struck with tremendous force. Almost every Contractor who had trained was injured. The worst off was a middle-aged man who had fought "Mad Dog" Barka. The flesh on his leg had been torn open, and white bone showed through.

The Contractors' attention focused on the injured man's leg, leaving Kirk and Little Fatty alone. Everyone could see that the brothers' injuries had nearly healed over the course of the morning. Besides, there were two of them, making them harder to kill than a lone man. To go after Kirk, they'd first have to team up with others, which meant splitting the profits. They could also shout for help; the guards were nearby, and neither the whip nor the cesspit was anything to take lightly. Finally, the two had never shown what they could do, so their strength was unknown. They might be tough nuts to crack. The injured man, on the other hand, seemed ordinary.

So, fifteen minutes later, after exchanging glances, a few men led by a fat Black Contractor with one eye moved in around him. One Contractor tore up a magic scroll, and a "Command Silence" spell rendered the middle-aged man mute. The killers pounced like a pack of wolves. It was impossible to tell who struck him amid the crowd, but the injured man's body could be heard thrashing. A few seconds later, he was a cold corpse, and the blood-red key and [Soul Crystal] had vanished.

At lunchtime, the guards found the corpse, and the alarm bell rang throughout the training camp.

Bartitas arrived at the scene with a dark expression. He saw the injured man lying there with his eyes still open, then swept his cold gaze across all the "raw materials" in the cattle pen.

Suddenly, he smiled. "Good. Someone killed him. He was injured, and I was planning to have a gladiator kill him this afternoon anyway, but I never gave you permission to kill him. Under Sacred Roman Law, you all—including him—are my personal property. You're thieves! I could apply to the Consul right now to have every one of you hanged!"

The training camp fell silent.

"Who did it? If you don't confess, I'll have those rookies kill all of you this afternoon! The Dionysia Festival in Marseille City is about to begin, and I can't wait to send those rookie gladiators to perform in the arena there. They need to have blood on their hands to qualify! If you don't talk, you'll all die!" Bartitas roared.

A Contractor with an expressionless face stepped forward. He was one of the men involved, from the One-Eyed Dragon's group. At a glance from Bartitas, slaves quickly threw the Contractor into the cesspit.

Clearly, the One-Eyed Dragon had found Bartitas's weakness: his greed. He was certain Bartitas wouldn't pursue the matter any further. The loss of his property had already happened. Killing the perpetrators would only cost him more. As long as Bartitas was given a way to save face, he wouldn't investigate further!

This was tantamount to declaring the opening of the Contractors' bloody killing ground!

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