Ash still clung to his skin as Neron crossed the jagged terrain surrounding the ruined outskirts of Tyria. Smoke rose from shattered towers and broken dragon perches. The ground occasionally rumbled beneath his feet—a reminder that Valyria lived atop a chain of sleeping gods.
After two hours of careful scouting, Neron spotted what he was looking for: torchlight. Faint voices echoed from a hollowed ruin in the cliffs. He climbed to a vantage point and crouched low, peering over the edge.
A camp. Crude tents. A stone fighting pit. And men—at least thirty of them—brawling, gambling, training.
Slavers.No mistake about it. Their black-and-silver armbands marked them as part of House Zoryan, one of the Forty Valyrian families known for running the Gladiator Markets east of Oros.
But what caught Neron's eye wasn't the pit.
It was the cage beside it. A reinforced steel cage holding a dragon egg—green-scaled, with glowing veins pulsing across its surface.
Another notification blinked in his vision:
[Objective Updated]New Opportunity Detected: Gladiator RebellionOption 1: Join the Camp – Gain Influence with House ZoryanOption 2: Infiltrate as Slave – Incite Uprising from WithinOption 3: Kill Leader – Seize Control of Camp
He grinned. "Bannerlord rules apply."
He chose Option 2.
📛 Six Hours Later…
Neron let them catch him on purpose. He approached alone, unarmed, bloodied himself slightly with a rock, and collapsed near their supply road.
The guards found him, cursed in Valyrian, and dragged him back to the camp. They laughed when he claimed he was a sellsword from Volantis, robbed and left to die. Within the hour, he was tossed into the pit with other captives.
One of them—a hulking Summer Islander with ritual tattoos—eyed him with curiosity. "You don't smell like fear."
"I'm not here to die," Neron replied in flawless Valyrian.
The man laughed. "Then you're in the wrong pit."
That night, the Blood-Pit games began.
Drums pounded. Nobles and slave-masters shouted from the rim of the arena. Neron was thrown in with two others—both criminals, both armed with chipped shortblades.
The announcer roared, "To live, one must kill!"
They charged him.
Neron let them.
He sidestepped the first, cracked his jaw with a spinning elbow, and stole his blade mid-motion. The second he disarmed with a wrist lock, then stabbed him through the thigh and dropped him with a boot to the temple.
He raised his stolen weapon to the crowd—and roared.
[Combat Skill +1][Weapon Mastery: Shortblade – Tier 2 Unlocked][Influence Gained: Gladiator Rank Initiate]
From the stands, a silver-haired woman leaned forward. Her violet eyes narrowed. "That one… mark him."
Three Nights Later…
Neron knelt before the leader of the camp—a burly Valyrian brute named Commander Orys Zoryan—as cheers filled the pit.
"You fight like a shadowhound," Orys said. "Where were you trained?"
Neron smiled faintly. "The ghosts of the Wyrmlands taught me."
Orys laughed. "You'll fetch a fine price in Oros."
Neron met his gaze. "Or… you give me five men and a real sword. Let me win you gold. And in return…" He glanced toward the egg, "You let me keep the next prize I earn."
Orys raised an eyebrow. "You think you can win the Death Trials?"
Neron stood tall. "I know I can."
[New Quest: Win the Death Trials]Reward: Gladiator Command Rank + Dragon Egg Ownership
[End of Chapter 2]