The night passed in a flash. The next morning, all the prisoners across a dozen cells were woken up. Squads of guards dressed in red, fully armed and fully armored, removed their chains and guided them outside.

A few prisoners toyed with the idea of making a run for it, but the giant shields the guards carried and the stern look on their face suggested that would be a poor life choice.

The prisoners crossed hallway after hallway before the path forward suddenly became bright.

Before Jean knew it, she was already standing in a giant arena. Around her were dozens rows of elevated seats. It was sort of similar to the platform when the 43rd Voyager Legion was assembled in the City of the Voyagers, except this arena was like a toddler compared to the one with the Voyagers. Nonetheless, Jean could sense there were at least fifty thousand audience. Most of them were cheering zealously.

Mass events like this were always a good distraction from the gruesome life these poor people have to endure everyday.

On a side note, the construction material in this world must be given its due credits.

At the front of the arena was an elevated platform. Jean could see a number of high-ranking Romans sitting on that platform. Among the two leading Romans, one was the one who confronted she and the rest of the deserters. The other looked like another Legatus.

Elite Roman guards stood around the two Legatus. Even in the heart of the empire, there were still potential assassins.

A pile of weapons of all types were scattered across the ground. They included everything, from spears to swords to forks to axes. Jean also saw a handful of shields laying around. The Roman guards never entered the arena, and for the right reason. They have just put hundreds of desperate, highly experienced prisoners together and armed them.

Legatus Caius stood up and held his hand into a fist. Slowly, the audience quieted down. That was when Caius finally spoke.

“People of Rome, hear me!”

“For years, the Roman Empire has been tamed by those so called Protectors! Those heartless barbarians slaughtered our emperor and millions of our own fathers, brothers, and sons! They have insulted the glory of the Empire! But if they think they have tamed us, they are wrong!”

The crowd exploded in furious cries and chants. Almost all of them have lost someone to the Protectors. If nothing else, the Protectors crushed their pride. The people seated have always taken pride in being Romans. Even if they were just the second-lowest on the social pyramid, just above the slaves, they still rejoiced in the knowledge that they were a part of something great.

When the Protectors arrived, they realized how wrong they were. The entire time, they were like ants that foolishly screamed at the towering human beings. If the human didn't notice them, fine, but the moment they do is the moment the ants need to run and hide.

Caius continued. This hatred and fury was exactly what he wanted.

“By the grace of the Aggressors, the Roman Empire has been gifted the chance to raise its banner once again! This time, our blades aim for those who have wronged us! The Protector Corps and all their minions!”

“Yet, some of our own men have brought shame upon the empire! The prisoners you see in the arena used to be Roman soldiers! But in the face of adversity, they have elected to turn away from their duty! They don’t deserve the title of Romans! They are no better than slaves!”

Beside Jean, Maximus commented quietly.

“He’s rallying the crowd before the fight. This way, the more blood we shed in the fight that will soon occur, the more thrilled the people will be.”

Jean glanced at her as a few other Romans Maximus talked to before nodded, as if they just realized it. Clever. This Maximus was trying to use these subtle tricks to establish himself as a wise figure among this small group of deserters. The more he shows how clever he is, the more the others will listen to him, and the more he will be a leader. He’s not the best fighter, but he is definitely wiser than the average Roman soldier.

No matter. Jean had other, more important things to focus on. As Caius continued to fire up the audience, she silently tapped her watch and unloaded a couple of observers into the air.

It was still risky, but it was definitely better than using the Power of Death to blast herself out of the arena. Jean needed information to act quietly.

Plus, she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave just yet.

Her original plan was to somehow make contact with a Roman and transport her soul into that body. It shouldn’t be that difficult. Her conscience, aided by the Power of Death, could easily tear through any feeble resistance a single Roman could put up. With the new identity, she could easily free herself and climb her way up the social ladder.

But as soon as she entered the arena and the people started chanting, she sensed something different.

This arena was the biggest arena in the city. For hundreds of years, ever since this city fell into Roman hands and this arena was constructed, gladiators have fought and died here. In summation, at least thousands of gladiators bit the dust, or rather the sand, in this tiny area. All of them were elite fighters, and their deaths were glamorous and intense. Their bodies have been removed, yet a part of their souls remained. Throughout the centuries, these battered souls have gradually merged together into something powerful.

In the air was a grey cloud invisible to ordinary people but as obvious as possible to her. The cloud of souls.

That soul cloud wasn’t what interested Jean. What did intrigue her was the scent of death on the cloud. The pain and torture these especially powerful souls went through before their end made sure they were stained in pure death.

When Jean became a Reapress, she gained access to her own Power of Death, but her power was relatively primitive. She didn't know that, but according to Death, the peak Reapress could have a CAS of 800,000. Right now, Jean was about one-thousandth of that count. Why? On one hand, her soul was too weak, which meant the Power of Death she could control was weak in quality and quantity.

On the other hand, the Power of Death was different for every Reaper or Reapress. A single drop of Power of Death from, well, Death itself could kill an entire fleet. Jean’s initial Power of Death wasn’t the purest in form. It needed refining, a ton of them, and that refining could only be done in certain environments.

This was a great place to do that.

This realization made Jean frown a little. This felt too good to be true. In fact, it echoed of what happened in her Challenger Mission. She needed more understanding of Death, and she was killed hundreds of times after that. Now she needed to refine her powers, and all of a sudden, she was tasked with fighting a world which just happened to have the brutally slaughtered souls she needed?

But...did Welch set this up? But how could he know which world this was? Plus, if the Protectors were really under siege, then where did Welch find the time to look through the rebel worlds, find one suitable for her, and make her deployment accordingly? Wasn’t the Protector Corps going all-in on this?

These were questions she didn't have the answer to. Nonetheless, as Caius’s voice continued throughout the arena, Jean gently held out her hand and reached her power out. The idea was to compress the Power of Death inside the cloud as much as possible. The compression would make space for more Power of Death, which would come from the cloud. In the end, all her Power of Death would be refined to up one level. Its fatality would multiply.

But Jean’s effort was futile. As her reach swept across the cloud, it failed to gain any reaction. Jean could see the cloud, but see was all she could do. As of now, it was untouchable.

Meanwhile, Legatus Caius has reached a conclusion.

“And now, these cowards will redeem their honor, in the field of battle!”

“From now on, these cowards will pick up arms and fight each other to the death! There will be no mercy! The only way for them to live to see another day is when only one hundred of them are left!”

“May their blood and death act as a warning to any who may consider following their footsteps.”

“Begin!”

As Caius sat back down, the prisoners in the field glanced at each other before suddenly making a move. In a situation like this, comradeship no longer mattered. All they had in mind was their own survival, and the only way to do that would be killing each other.

Dozens of quick thinking Romans leaped onto the pile of weapons and grabbed onto whatever they could find before turning to those beside them. Blades and spears clashed with human flesh and bone. One tall Roman grabbed onto a shield and slammed it into the skull of a smaller man. The victim’s skull was shattered. White and red fluids were splattered across the sand.

First blood. Check.

Maximus and his small squad was quite a spotlight in the middle of all this. A few of them found their way to two square shields whereas two other Romans got to a sword and a spear. Individual Romans caught in their way were mowed down.

Jean quietly stood there, motionless. Two gladiators thought she was an amateur soldier who has either been paralyzed by fear or has given up on life already. They moved forward with smirks on their faces. An easy prey was the best thing they could hope for.

Jean was unfazed. When the first man’s dagger was inches away from her face, she suddenly took a step to the side. As the dagger and the hand holding it went past her, she suddenly stepped forward and sent her right knee into the man’s unprotected belly. The man immediately collapsed. A grown man shouldn’t be taken down by a single kick, but add in some Power of Death and things would be really different.

Jean took over the dagger and jammed it into the neck of the fallen before standing back up and tossing it at the second man. Before the man could even see it coming, the blade was already in his chest. He collapsed in mere moments.

Jean’s expression barely changed as two experienced Roman fighters fell at her hands.

On the stage, Legatus Decimus pointed at Jean and turned to his comrade.

“Who is him?”

“Oh, him? Just a legionnaire good with words. He convinced me not to execute all the deserters onsight. Well, he accomplished that, but I doubt he imagined this.” Caius smirked. All the talks about the Protectors and the Aggressors made him, a mere insect in front of the two, really stressed. He was more than happy to take that out on those below him.

“He’s a decent fighter. It appears like he’s as good with a sword as he is with words.” Decimus frowned.

“I still don’t understand it. How will a handful of men helped with your cause?” Caius glanced at Decimus before bringing up the issue again. “I’m sure someone as experienced as you have realized this. Unless these men are at the power of those Voyagers, a handful of them can’t change the tide of battle. Why not spend the resources on these men instead on building new crossbows and catapults instead?”

Decimus knew Caius would settle with less than some answers, so that was what he provided.

“An Aggressor has provided some...personal help.”

“What?” Caius’s eyes widened. “The Aggressors...I thought they only contacted the Emperor himself!”

“Well, the Emperor has been met with nothing but defeats in conquering AP592, and my victories at HR012, while insignificant in the grand scale of things, are tremendous in comparison. The Aggressors seek to reward me...and they promised to upgrade a number of my warriors.”

Caius was almost coughing in surprise. What? Wait...why is Decimus telling him this? If the Emperor knows this, he would no doubt feel threatened, and Decimus had no way of making sure Caius would stay quiet about this. Did he just say this to show-off? Impossible! No one at the stage of Legatus would be that foolish.

This could only mean one thing. Caius glanced at Decimus once again as the man continued, seemingly casually.

“You have to realize something, Caius. To the Aggressors, the positions the Emperor and I hold are no different, and I have done a lot more than the Emperor with a lot less resources. The Aggressors seek the destruction of the Protector Corps, and they are willing to do anything for it...including exterminating an incompetent underling.”

The sound of weapons clashing and men screaming continued in the arena, but Caius was no longer listening. Now he knew why Decimus said what he did. He was no fool. No fool at all. He said it to force Caius to make a decision. Caius could go against him, in which case Decimus made clear that he would be going against the wishes of the Aggressors. Or, he could follow the flow and serve Decimus.

He had one last question.

“Legatus, when will the Aggressors arrive?”

“Arrive? Well, I was told to give him a signal when I require aid. Of course, you have to see an evidence...” Decimus suddenly took something out of his pocket. It was a glass veil with blue liquid inside. Anyone not blind could tell it wasn’t from this world.

“How’s this for an evidence?”

“In that case,” Caius suddenly smiled. “the Emperor has been a disappointment to the Empire. He can no longer carry out the duties of protecting his people and conquering new land. Thus, I think it is time he should be replaced.”

Decimus grinned.

Such loyalty.