The afternoon brought a visible change to the ludus. Preparations for the games intensified—workers expanded the temporary arena structures, merchants delivered supplies in impressive quantity, and even the gladiators seemed energized by the frenetic activity.
Lucius watched all this with peripheral interest as he headed to his second training session. The commotion provided convenient cover—with everyone's attention focused on the spectacle, subtle movements went unnoticed.
In the secluded yard, he found not only Atticus, but also Marcus. The lanista's presence was unexpected.
"Change of plans," Atticus explained as Lucius approached. "Marcus will participate today because of the specific nature of your opponents in the games."
"I've supervised three prior combats against similar warriors," Marcus elaborated. "Practical experience that will complement Atticus's approach."
A slight tension between the two suggested the arrangement wasn't entirely voluntary—likely the result of Quintus pushing for more formal involvement from the ludus.
"Any help is welcome," Lucius replied diplomatically.
The session that followed was far more conventional than the previous one—practical techniques against untrained opponents rather than skills for covert operations. Marcus offered insights based on direct experience, while Atticus adjusted his method to accommodate the lanista's presence.
"Tribal warriors differ from conventional opponents in three fundamental ways," Marcus explained while demonstrating defensive stances. "First, they don't follow recognizable patterns—without formal training, there's no predictability. Second, they have a much higher pain tolerance—due to cultural conditioning and often combat drugs. Third, they're willing to irrationally sacrifice their own bodies—self-preservation is secondary to them."
"Basically, you'll be facing opponents willing to suffer severe injury just to hurt you," Atticus summarized. "Calculated trade-offs won't work."
Lucius absorbed this information, adjusting his plans. "Any specific advice?"
"Immediate neutralization is essential," Marcus replied without hesitation. "Wounds that would disable a trained gladiator only enrage them. Decisive strikes are crucial—major joints, tendons, arteries."
"Lethal efficiency over prolonged display," Atticus translated. "Which creates a dilemma for a public spectacle."
The implication was clear—conflicting expectations between efficient elimination and the audience's desire for a dramatic show.
"Understood," Lucius replied, recalculating his strategy.
The session continued with demonstrations of specific techniques, including simulations of unpredictable attacks. Marcus and Atticus alternated as opponents, each presenting chaotic styles that forced Lucius to adapt.
About two hours in, the session was interrupted by a messenger—a visibly nervous young assistant of Quintus.
"Apologies for the interruption," he began hesitantly, "but Quintus requests Lucius's immediate presence. We have important visitors."
Marcus frowned. "Who?"
"Tribune Cornelius, sir," the boy replied, "accompanied by... Senator Cassius's daughter."
The information triggered visible reactions—surprise from Marcus, calculated interest from Atticus. The simultaneous presence of the Tribune and Livia was significant, given their rivalry.
"An interesting coincidence," Atticus remarked, though his look suggested he doubted it.
"Let's go at once," Marcus decided. "Atticus, come with us as Metilius's appointed instructor."
On the way, Atticus leaned toward Lucius for a discreet comment:
"A convenient and dangerous meeting. Watch how they interact—especially their attempts to assert dominance."
Lucius nodded, understanding. The joint presence of conflicting patrons created both an opportunity for observation and a risk of being drawn into their rivalry.
Quintus's office had been hastily reorganized—furniture rearranged, finer wine served, even fresh flowers in vases that were normally empty. The ludus owner moved nervously, his anxiety evident in every exaggerated gesture.
Tribune Cornelius occupied the central seat, reclining comfortably in the chair that usually belonged to Quintus. His expression combined aristocratic boredom with constant observation—apparently uninterested, but clearly alert.
Livia Cassia, on the other hand, was pure energy. Instead of feigned aristocratic detachment, she displayed open curiosity about everything around her. She moved freely, examining objects, asking direct questions, acting as if the entire event were arranged for her.
When Lucius entered with Marcus and Atticus, both guests turned their attention to him—the Tribune with quiet assessment, Livia with open appreciation.
"Finally!" Quintus exclaimed with relief. "Our illustrious guests expressed interest in discussing the preparations directly with you."
"Shared interest, but for different reasons," Livia commented with a provocative smile aimed at the Tribune. "Cornelius is always so focused on... practical investments, while I enjoy the more... aesthetic aspects of the show."
The comment was a deliberate provocation, immediately establishing a competitive dynamic the Tribune chose to ignore.
"The unique format of the games justifies exceptional interest," Cornelius replied diplomatically. "One gladiator against three tribal warriors is a particularly revealing demonstration of... capability."
"Capabilities that clearly go beyond the ordinary arena," Livia added, stepping gracefully toward Lucius. She wore nearly transparent silks, strategically arranged to suggest more than they revealed. "I mentioned to my father yesterday the potential... applications for such exceptional talents."
The Tribune finally reacted—a momentary clench of the jaw, quickly suppressed. "Senator Cassius certainly appreciates the value of well-directed skills," he said with a controlled tone.
"Of course," Livia agreed with exaggerated innocence. "Father always says true power lies in control over exceptional resources. The question, naturally, is who wields that control most... productively."
The provocation was now fully transparent—a clear declaration of competitive interest in the same "resource" the Tribune had already effectively claimed. Quintus looked increasingly uncomfortable, fidgeting like a nervous host at a dinner gone awry.
"The development of exceptional talent benefits from experienced guidance," the Tribune noted, finally abandoning his pretense of disinterest. "Especially when future... performances will require significant refinement."
"Completely agreed," Livia responded promptly. "That's why I discussed with my father the possibility of personal sponsorship after the games." She turned directly to Lucius, her eyes deliberately seductive. "The right environment often unlocks previously constrained potential."
The proposal was now explicit—an alternative sponsorship directly competing with the Tribune's arrangement. Quintus seemed torn between the extraordinary opportunity of multiple powerful patrons and the fear of offending either one.
Lucius maintained a neutral expression, though he quickly assessed the implications of this unexpected confrontation. The situation presented both a rare opportunity and corresponding danger—the chance to benefit from multiple patrons balanced against being entangled in an existing rivalry.
"I'm honored by the interest," he finally replied, carefully balancing acknowledgment with avoiding premature commitment. "Naturally, as property of the ludus, any future arrangement would depend on Quintus's consideration of the house's benefit."
The answer was deliberately evasive, deflecting the decision to Quintus's authority while keeping both options open. A brief approving glance from Atticus confirmed Lucius had handled a precarious moment well.
"Of course, of course," Quintus agreed quickly. "Institutional considerations are crucial, though such distinguished patrons merit full attention."
Tribune Cornelius studied Lucius throughout the exchange, revealing little, but his posture suggested deeper evaluation. "Regardless of future arrangements," he said finally, "performance in the games will strongly influence subsequent considerations."
"Precisely why I came to inspect preparations personally," Livia declared, stepping deliberately between the Tribune and Lucius. "Potential investments deserve due diligence, don't you agree, Cornelius?"
"No doubt," the Tribune replied dryly. "Though methods of evaluation often reveal more about the evaluator than the subject."
It was a veiled criticism of their contrasting approaches—the Tribune's clinical analysis versus Livia's openly personal interest. She merely smiled, apparently taking it as praise rather than a rebuke.
"Fascinating how different perspectives identify complementary qualities," she replied, turning again to Lucius. "Some value practical efficiency, others... adaptive versatility."
The double meaning was obvious, prompting varied reactions—heightened discomfort from Quintus, analytical interest from Atticus, brief irritation from the Tribune, and even a slight flush from normally stoic Marcus.
Lucius kept his expression composed, though internally he noted an unexpected reaction to Livia's seductive presence—a genuine appreciation for the sophisticated social game at play.
It was exactly the kind of vulnerability that required vigilance—a basic human response to a calculated stimulus that could compromise rational judgment.
"Time for adequate preparations is running short," Marcus finally intervened, apparently deciding things had strayed too far from professional ground. "Perhaps we should discuss practical aspects of the games?"
"Naturally," the Tribune agreed, also eager to steer the conversation back to safer territory. "Details on the tribal warriors would be particularly relevant for proper preparation."
The conversation shifted to technical matters—characteristics of the tribal opponents, structure of the presentation, expectations for the public display. Lucius participated when asked, offering measured answers that showed competence without revealing his full strategy.
Livia, clearly bored by the technical talk, eventually announced her desire to explore the rest of the ludus. "Perhaps Lucius could show me the training fields," she suggested with calculated innocence. "Seeing things firsthand is better than abstract discussion."
Before Quintus could respond—torn between pleasing his guest and protecting the arrangement—the Tribune interjected smoothly.
"Excellent suggestion. However, given his greater familiarity with the facilities, perhaps Marcus would be a more informative guide. Lucius would surely benefit from continuing this technical discussion."
It was a deft countermove—seemingly agreeing while effectively neutralizing the underlying intent. Livia recognized it immediately, her smile revealing appreciation for the skillful play rather than frustration.
"Of course," she agreed graciously. "Marcus will surely offer a valuable perspective." She turned to Lucius with a provocative smile. "Fortunately, the games will soon offer an opportunity for direct observation. I'll be watching with... heightened interest."
With that deliberately suggestive farewell, she allowed Marcus to escort her out, leaving Lucius with Quintus, Atticus, and the Tribune.
As the door closed, the Tribune's expression subtly shifted—the mask of aristocratic detachment giving way to sharper assessment.
"Livia Cassia presents a significant complication to our arrangement," he said bluntly. "Her influence over the Senator exceeds the typical filial bond—especially when it comes to acquisitions that spark her... personal interest."
The implication was clear—a specific warning about the danger posed by Livia's involvement, considering the existing arrangement for Lucius's post-games transfer to the Tribune's service.
"I understand," Lucius replied simply.
"Excellent." The Tribune turned to Atticus. "Metilius shared a positive preliminary assessment. We will proceed with accelerated preparation as planned."
"Certainly," Atticus confirmed. "We've already implemented specific adaptations for the revised game format."
"Perfect," Quintus interjected eagerly, clearly relieved by the return to safer topics. "All resources of the ludus are focused on optimal preparation for an exceptional performance."
The Tribune nodded absently, his attention clearly fixed on larger considerations than the lanista's reassurances. "Post-game arrangements remain essentially unchanged," he declared, looking directly at Lucius. "Though adjustments may be considered depending on... intermediate developments."
It was both a confirmation of the existing deal and a veiled warning about the consequences of becoming entangled with Livia.