Among Rome's great noble families, there was no shortage of slave warriors.
Even when reinforcements were needed, demands were never made on such a large scale.
Fresh blood was replenished only occasionally.
Nor had he heard of any noble dispatching private troops to suppress bandits.
At present, in all of Rome, the only one who truly needed massive recruitment was him.
…Or was it that someone in the Senate had already set their sights on Crassus and was deliberately blocking him?
Surely no one was foolish enough to believe they could restrain his growth in such a way.
A dangerous thought flickered through his mind.
After all, what truly made him terrifying had never been these so-called private troops.
If any senator dared to grow restless, he would personally teach them how dignity was forged upon the edge of a blade.
When that displeasure surfaced, a faint yet oppressive aura leaked out—like a raging flood or a lurking beast.
The overwhelming pressure caused Crassus's expression to change instantly, making him sober up.
Some of the greed in his eyes quietly receded.
"I'm not lying to you," Crassus said seriously. "These warriors, along with the Spartans from earlier—originally belonged to a certain influential figure within the Senate.
I've already handed all the Spartan warriors over to you.
At this point, the only way to make up the difference is by adding more Thracian warriors.
If you're not particularly concerned about bloodlines or origins, I also have quite a few ordinary gladiators with decent combat strength.
They're sold in groups of ten. If you buy more, say, five groups or more, I can even give you a discount."
Sincerity was a lethal weapon.
And Crassus clearly understood what kind of attitude suited what kind of guest, what would leave the deepest impression and bring endless wealth in the future.
His tone was earnest.
Even through Night's keen perception, there was no trace of deceit.
Since it wasn't intentional…
Then fine.
"One and a half times the price," He said calmly.
"Thracian warriors—however many you have, I'll take them all."
This time, he did not name an outrageous price.
Spartan warriors carried a faint trace of Heracles' bloodline within them.
In his eyes, they were highly valuable for cultivation. Combined with the scarcity of Spartans—
Three times? Five times?
Even ten, twenty, or a hundred times the price,
he would still buy them.
Of course—
If the price truly soared beyond reach, then he simply wouldn't buy them.
He would take them.
Robbing slave traders brought him not the slightest pang of guilt.
Crassus: "..."
So the tycoon was picky too.
He had been more than willing to spend lavishly on Spartans.
But when it came to Thracians, he suddenly became frugal.
…Fine.
A profit of one and a half times was still substantial.
Unable to suppress the itch in his heart, Crassus silently offered another apology to Lord Marius.
It wasn't that he had broken his word—
It was just that the price offered was too high!
In the end, he sold fifty Thracian warriors.
When only thirty-five Thracian warriors remained, Crassus paused.
Well ..it it wasn't because he had a sudden attack of conscience and decided to leave them for Marius, it was simply because he wanted to raise the price.
But Night refused to pay even a single coin more.
In the end, Crassus could only sigh in pity.
"I don't have that much money. But I've brought a friend. Just follow me and take the money."
When it came time to settle the payment, Night stated calmly.
"Very well, sir..."
Crassus didn't doubt him.
After all, his subordinates had already reported that Night had arrived earlier in high spirits with members of the Caesar family.
Coupled with his bearing and presence, he didn't seem like the sort who would scam people.
But when Crassus finally saw who this "friend" was—
He froze.
…It was him?
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Gnaeus Pompey was in an extremely foul mood.
He felt like he had been played.
Played for a full twenty talents.
Especially when he arrived with Crassus in tow, and with the Caesar family following behind as well.
They had heard that debts were being collected and had come along to claim the gambling winnings they had earned together.
When Pompey saw this group of distinguished figures gathering together just to demand money from him, a fire ignited in his chest.
His gaze moved first to him, and for a brief moment, he froze.
That face was handsome enough to rival God Apollo himself. That body was powerful, perfectly proportioned, overflowing with restrained strength.
As a man destined to become Rome's future God of War, Gnaeus Pompey, whose name was fated to shine across the empire, might not have matched Spartacus in sheer brute force, but he had long surpassed the limits of ordinary men and stepped into the realm of heroes.
His talent in battle was extraordinary.
His body had grown to near perfection, vitality surging so fiercely that among his peers he resembled a monster.
There was simply no one of the same age who could truly contend with him.
For a long time, that strength had been the source of his pride and confidence.
No matter the enemy, he could face them calmly, without panic or hesitation.
But when his eyes settled on the man before him, something changed.
Just as Spartacus had felt the first time he saw him, Pompey felt it too.
That overwhelming presence.
That instinctive sense of danger.
This man was not simple.
He could not tell how great the gap between their life levels truly was, but the pressure, the intuition screaming that the moment they clashed he would die, forced Pompey to finally take this encounter seriously.
This was a terrifyingly strong man, one who would not be any weaker than the Spartacus he had just witnessed in the arena.
Since when had Rome produced so many monsters?
After giving him a wary glance, Pompey did not show obvious hostility.
Instead, his gaze suddenly shifted and locked viciously onto Crassus at his side.
"Lord Crassus, is it? I've heard your name many times, but I believe this is our first meeting."
Hearing the words, Night was stunned for a moment.
Pompey's sudden hostility toward Crassus completely caught him off guard.
To be honest, he was already prepared. If Pompey turned out to be as uncooperative as his father, he was ready to teach him how to properly part with his money.
Yet instead, Pompey had set his sights on Crassus.
Were these two already on such bad terms?
He had never heard of Pompey and Crassus clashing at this point in time.
Crassus himself was even more bewildered.
Although this was indeed their first meeting, Crassus had his own channels.
Through various means, he had long obtained portraits and information on young men and major figures in Rome worth investing in, so he recognized Pompey immediately.
This young noble was currently making waves under Sulla's command.
It was worth noting that Pompey's father, Strabo Pompey, had been deeply at odds with Sulla.
Yet in order to insert himself into the Roman military power now completely controlled by Sulla, Pompey had ignored his father's objections and joined Sulla's faction.
He had been gone for several years.
Now, nearing thirty, he had returned as an outstanding commander capable of leading armies on his own.
A young man with such boundless prospects gave Crassus no reason to deliberately provoke him.
So where was this hostility coming from?
That gaze, so savage it felt as though it wanted to kill him outright, sent a chill straight down Crassus's spine.
Had his support for Lord Marius already been exposed?
Was Sulla sending Pompey to kill him?
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