Changed the thing previous one didn't make sense so here is this one.
Class Skills – Saber
Magic Resistance – Rank CMinor spells flickered against his skin like sparks on steel. The rituals of modern magi held little weight against a soul forged in older, darker rites. He needed no counterspell. His endurance was his rejection.
Personal Skills
Feral Instinct – B+He moved before thought, muscle twitching before logic. Arrows missed. Blades slowed. Every strike that came near him met a ghost instead—a blur of brutality and grace. A predator honed in the pits, born to read motion before it became danger.
Scars of Betrayal – BChains once bound him. Lies once commanded him. When trickery filled the air, something in him flared. His power surged, raw and merciless, every limb screaming with buried rage. Deceivers woke the beast that chains could not hold.
Arena Veteran – AThe tightest alleys, the smallest rooms—where others faltered, he thrived. He didn't fight in warzones. He fought in cages. Every shift in footing, every shallow breath from a foe was a whisper, and he listened. No terrain was unfamiliar. Every space was a battlefield waiting to be claimed.
Honor of the Unbound – C+Though shackled once, he forged his own law. He would not strike the fallen without cause. He would not serve without question. Against domination of the mind or soul, he resisted—not through knowledge, but through sheer defiance.
Specter Rhythm – PassiveThe sword in his grip pulsed with his mood. When he was still, it cut like silence. When his anger rose, it danced and screamed, bending its edge with madness. The blade mirrored his inner world—fluid, dangerous, loyal only to the rhythm of his fury.
Noble Phantasm
Gladius Furiarum – Blade of Shattered VowsType: Reality MarbleRank: AClassification: Anti-Army / Anti-PsychologicalTrue Name Release: "Let the arena echo with ash and agony..."
When released, the world bends—not into fire or shadow, but into memory.
Stone arches rise. Sand bleeds. Screams return.
The Colosseum returns.
Chains curl from the sky. Bleachers of ghostly spectators shimmer in endless rows, weeping and wailing. Every swing of Remus' blade echoes with the weight of forgotten pain. Each enemy inside feels it—not just as fear, but as personal history unraveling.
Their worst betrayals—relived. Their darkest guilt—whispered back at them by the crowd that never dies.
His sword, forged from broken oaths and shattered steel, shifts shape. From short gladius to twisted fang. It obeys not will—but wrath. When calm, it cuts with surgical brutality. When awakened, it tears through armor and mind alike.
Inside this Reality Marble, Remus becomes more than a gladiator.
He becomes the memory of every fighter who died unheard.
And the arena demands blood.