The first light of dawn streamed through the tall windows of their private chambers, the golden rays breaking apart the shadows of the night. One by one, the three stirred awake.
Alaric was the first to rise, stretching his broad shoulders and exhaling a long, heavy breath. He took his time, folding his blanket with military neatness before setting it aside. "Another day begins," he muttered, his voice low but steady.
Sylas awoke next, rolling out of bed with a muffled groan, his hand brushing against the dry mask at his bedside. He fitted it on without hesitation, tightening the straps as though it were second nature. "You'd think after saving an entire city we'd be allowed to sleep in," he said dryly, adjusting his cloak.
Celestria woke last, yawning softly, her pink pajama shifting slightly as she sat upright and rubbed her eye. For a moment, she let herself enjoy the softness of the sheets—then she remembered where they were, and the importance of the day ahead. "Sleep in? Please. If we did that, you'd complain about missing breakfast."
Sylas let out a sharp chuckle. "Fair point."
They regrouped in the hall outside their rooms. Still silent from the haze of sleep, they walked together toward the bathhouse once more. The steam greeted them like an old friend, curling around their skin as they shed their clothes and sank into the warm water. Unlike the playful chaos of the previous night, this bath was calm, restorative.
Alaric leaned back against the stone edge, letting the warmth seep into his sore muscles. "I needed this," he admitted, eyes closing.
Sylas closed his eyes beneath the shadow of his hood, his face hidden but his posture betraying a rare tranquility. "If I had a place like this in Gaul, I'd never leave."
Celestria hummed faintly, dipping her hair beneath the water, enjoying the heat that settled deep into her bones. "You'd get bored after a week," she teased.
"Not if the company is like last night," Sylas fired back, smirking beneath his mask.
Alaric sighed heavily, not amused. "You're impossible."
Afterward, they dressed, each in their own style. Alaric in plain yet strong casual wear, Sylas in light garb beneath his ever-present cloak and mask, and Celestria in a fresh dress with simple touches of elegance. Together, they returned to their chambers, packed their belongings, and slung their satchels and weapons over their shoulders.
They descended the polished staircase back to the lobby, where the same woman from the night before greeted them with a polite bow. Alaric stepped forward first, setting the small brass key upon the counter.
"We'll be leaving now," he said. His voice carried a respectful firmness.
Sylas followed, twirling his key once before dropping it onto the counter with a metallic clink. He said nothing, but his sharp gaze beneath the mask softened just slightly as he offered the woman a curt nod.
Celestria lingered, her eyes darting once toward the polished decorations in the lobby, almost as if she wanted to ask for just one more trinket before leaving. But she placed her key down gently, offering the woman a sweet smile instead.
"Thank you," she said softly.
The three pushed open the heavy doors, stepping into the bustling streets of Rome. The city was alive even in the early hours, with merchants calling out their wares, horses pulling carts over cobblestones, and the scent of bread and herbs carried on the crisp morning air.
Their stomachs rumbled almost in unison.
"We need to eat before we move on," Alaric said, already scanning the streets for somewhere suitable.
"Agreed," Sylas muttered. "But it better not be crowded. I don't feel like being stared at while I chew."
"I just want something light," Celestria added, her tone almost pleading. "I can't fight properly on a heavy stomach."
"You think everything is about fighting," Sylas smirked.
"And you think everything is about flirting," she shot back without missing a beat.
So they walked, weaving through the city. They passed stalls selling fruits, bakeries where fresh loaves were being pulled from the oven, and taverns where laughter spilled out the doors even at this early hour. None seemed quite right. Either the tables were full, the atmosphere too loud, or the food too plain for their liking. The search stretched on longer than expected, their hunger growing sharper with each step.
Finally, tucked between two marble-pillared shops, they found it: a modest yet inviting eatery with warm light glowing from its windows and the faint aroma of spices drifting into the street. The sign above the door was simple, carved wood with golden lettering, but it carried a quiet charm.
They entered, greeted immediately by the rich scent of herbs, roasted meats, and fresh bread. The interior was well-kept and cozy: polished wooden tables, walls decorated with hanging plants, and a faint tune played by a lone musician in the corner. The three glanced at one another, then made their way toward an empty table near the window.
As they sat, the hum of the room settled around them. The air was filled with low chatter, clinking mugs, and the occasional burst of laughter, but their table felt comfortably private.
Sylas leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "Now this feels right."
"Don't say that yet," Alaric said. "We haven't even tasted the food."
A waiter approached—a young man with neatly tied hair and a friendly smile, holding a small leather-bound notepad. "What will it be this morning?" he asked with practiced warmth.
Alaric glanced at the menu briefly, then closed it with a decisive snap. "Bring me something popular here. Whatever the locals enjoy most."
The waiter nodded approvingly. "A fine choice."
Sylas leaned forward, his voice low but deliberate. "Coriander. However it's served. Bread, stew, I don't care—just make sure it has coriander."
The waiter blinked at the unusual request, but wrote it down without comment. "Understood."
Finally, Celestria peeked up from her menu, her cheeks faintly pink. "Something light, please. Cinnamon toast, if you have it… and perhaps fruit on the side?"
The waiter smiled kindly at her and jotted it down. "Of course, miss. I'll bring your meals shortly."
As the waiter left, the three settled in, the hunger gnawing but their spirits finally at ease.
"Coriander, Sylas?" Celestria asked, resting her chin on her hand. "Of all things?"
"It's refreshing," he answered simply. "Sharp. Like me."
Alaric rolled his eyes. "More like bitter."
"Bitter works too," Sylas quipped.
Celestria laughed softly, her smile warming the table. "I hope the food is good. I think we deserve it."
"For once, I'll agree," Alaric said, leaning back in his chair.
Outside, the city of Rome carried on its morning bustle. Inside, the three heroes finally allowed themselves to savor a quiet moment together.
The clatter of plates announced the arrival of their food. The waiter placed each dish down carefully—before Alaric, a hearty platter of roasted meats with fresh bread and spiced vegetables; before Sylas, a fragrant bowl of stew garnished generously with coriander; before Celestria, a neatly arranged plate of golden cinnamon toast, sprinkled with sugar and paired with a bowl of bright fruits.
"Looks good," Alaric said, nodding in approval before tearing into the bread with his large hands.
Sylas leaned forward, inhaling the aroma of his stew through his mask, the faintest sound of satisfaction slipping from him. "Now this," he murmured, "is exactly what I needed."
Celestria, far more refined, delicately cut into her toast and took her first bite, closing her eye in delight. "Mmm… sweet, but not too much. Perfect."
The three ate heartily, the room filled only with the sounds of utensils clinking and quiet chewing. For a while, there were no Hollowed Ones, no Druids, no looming destiny—just food, warmth, and each other's company.
When the plates were cleared and the last of their drinks finished, they left the eatery with satisfied stomachs, stepping back into the sunlit streets of Rome.
As they walked, Alaric glanced sideways at Celestria. She strolled gracefully in her elegant dress, the sunlight catching on her jewelry, making her stand out even more than usual. He frowned slightly.
"Why are you wearing a dress?" he asked bluntly. "What happened to your mage cloak?"
Celestria blinked, then tilted her head. "Why? Is there a problem with it?"
Before Alaric could respond, Sylas stepped in, his voice cutting through. "Because we're going to Rome today. You know, dangerous roads, enemies lurking. Dresses don't exactly scream combat-ready."
Celestria stopped in her tracks, her cheeks puffing as she pouted, glaring at them both. "And you two didn't bother to tell me earlier?"
Alaric rubbed the back of his neck. "We thought you knew."
Sylas smirked beneath his mask. "Guess not."
With a huff, Celestria raised her hand. Above her, a fiery red portal tore open in the air, swirling with energy. On the other side, a perfect reflection of herself stood waiting—in her usual mage cloak, eyepatch gleaming, hood shadowing her face. The portal then collapsed downward, engulfing her form in its glow before vanishing entirely. When the light faded, Celestria now stood in her battle garb once again, cloak flowing around her shoulders.
Crossing her arms, she narrowed her eye at the two of them. "There. Happy now?"
Alaric smirked faintly. "Better."
Sylas chuckled and adjusted his bowstring. "Much."
Celestria let out a long sigh, muttering under her breath. "Men."
The three then continued down the street, their path clear, their minds already turning toward the road to Rome.
At last, they reached the towering gate that marked the edge of Gaul. Standing before it was a man clad in full gladiator's armour, his helmet adorned with the crest of a plume, the iron mask giving him a fierce and unyielding presence. His muscles bulged beneath the metal plates, and the Converter shimmered faintly around him, still active in full armourbound.
When the three approached, the gladiator turned his head slightly toward them. His voice was deep and steady, echoing through the iron mouthpiece of his helmet.
"I have been tasked to escort you to Rome."
Alaric glanced at Sylas and Celestria. They exchanged a silent look, each raising a brow in quiet question before all three simply nodded.
"Sure," Alaric said at last.
The gladiator gave a single nod in return, stepping forward. "Then let us set off."
The four of them began walking the dirt road beyond the gate, the morning sun rising higher, stretching shadows across the path.
As they traveled, the gladiator spoke again, his voice carrying weight.
"The average journey to Rome is four hours—if undisturbed by creatures. But if the road is not kind, it may take an entire day."
Sylas adjusted the strap of his bow. "So, the usual."
The gladiator ignored the jest and continued.
"In Rome, the creatures you will face are far worse than anything outside its walls. That is why we hold rite hunts—ritualized battles against the beasts. The greater the beast, the greater the reward. But more importantly… the greater the proof of your strength."
Celestria tilted her head, her cloak swaying as she walked. "So Rome measures worth not by words, but by blood and survival."
"Exactly," the gladiator rumbled. "Only those who triumph in these hunts earn true recognition. And only those recognized may rise above as warriors of renown."
Alaric's tired eyes narrowed slightly, his grip tightening around the hilt of his sword. "Then we'll prove ourselves."
The gladiator's helmet turned just enough for them to see the faintest nod of approval.
"Good. You'll need that resolve where we're going."
The four continued down the long path, the air heavy with the weight of what lay ahead.
The three had been lost in conversation with one another, their laughter and idle talk making the long road lighter. But all at once, the gladiator halted, his armored hand gripping the Converter-spear that shimmered into being with a flash of light and flame. Without a word, he hurled it into a thick bush beside the path.
The spear struck, and instantly, the earth trembled. A roar erupted, so deep it shook their bones, echoing through the trees. Birds scattered into the sky, their cries piercing the silence.
Alaric, Sylas, and Celestria stopped mid-sentence, their expressions hardening. With a swift motion, all three activated their Converters—each one glowing with its unique energy. Ice crystals ran up Alaric's gauntlet, shards forming into a razor-sharp sword that shimmered in the morning light. Sylas pulled back his bowstring, lightning crackling violently into shape as a bright, sparking arrow formed. Celestria's staff flared alive with fire, the tip glowing brighter and brighter, feeding on her mana.
Then, from the trees, the monster revealed itself.
The shadow lunged forward with terrifying speed, and the four barely threw themselves out of its path before it smashed through the ground where they had stood, dirt and stone scattering like hail. As the sunlight pierced the mist of dust, its form became clear.
It was no ordinary serpent.
A massive anaconda slithered forth, its scales as black as tar, glistening with slick moisture. Its girth was as wide as a city street—fourteen feet across—and it towered above them as it rose, stretching sixty feet high. Its eyes burned with a sickly yellow glow, and its fangs dripped venom that hissed when it struck the earth.
The gladiator pulled his spear back into his hand with a burst of flame, the weapon reforming in his grip. His voice thundered from beneath the helmet.
"Stand your ground! This is no beast of the wild—this is a Hollowed serpent!"
The serpent let out another ear-splitting roar, the trees around them snapping as it thrashed.
Alaric narrowed his tired eyes, frost curling around his sword. "I've fought worse…" he muttered, though his voice carried the weight of battle-ready determination.
Sylas smirked faintly beneath his hood, electricity sparking as he pulled the bowstring taut. "Guess breakfast wasn't enough of a warm-up."
Celestria, clutching her glowing staff, whispered under her breath, "Then let's show it what happens when it threatens us."
The serpent coiled back, muscles rippling as it prepared to strike. The earth groaned under its weight.
And then—
It lunged.
The battle for survival had begun.
The serpent lunged like a tidal wave of flesh and muscle, its fangs bared toward Alaric. He barely dodged, rolling backward as the jaws snapped shut where he had been a moment before, the impact shaking the ground like thunder. With a snarl, Alaric raised his sword, ice crackling up his arm, and flung a barrage of jagged blades straight into the monster's gaping maw. The icy shards tore through its tongue and throat, piercing deep, and the serpent recoiled, thrashing violently as it let out a guttural, ear-shattering hiss of pain.
Sylas seized the opening, drawing back his bow. Lightning arced violently across the string, sparks burning into the air as his arrow loosed. It streaked like a bolt of heaven's wrath, striking one of the serpent's glowing yellow eyes. The creature shrieked, blood and smoke hissing from the ruined socket.
Blinded, the serpent whipped its colossal tail in a frenzy, smashing trees like twigs. Each swing split the ground and sent tremors through their feet. The gladiator stood firm, his spear glowing with fire, ready to meet its fury. But the anaconda reared back and spat a torrent of venom toward him—a stream of sizzling green that hissed as it ate through the stone.
Before it could land, Celestria's eyes burned bright. She raised her staff and hurled fireball after fireball, colliding with the venom midair. Explosions erupted in a chain of flame, the acidic spray vaporizing before it could touch the armored warrior.
"NOW!" the gladiator roared, timing his leap perfectly as the serpent's tail swept past. Using its own momentum, he vaulted onto the beast's back, boots searing into the scales with flame. He sprinted forward, balancing atop the writhing mass of muscle and darkness. His voice boomed from beneath the helm.
"Distract it! Keep its fury off me!"
The three nodded without hesitation, springing back into action.
The serpent struck at Sylas, the ground exploding as its head snapped down like a hammer. But the archer moved with uncanny speed, rolling aside and loosing arrow after arrow. Lightning lanced across the serpent's back, sparking against the wounds, charring its flesh.
Meanwhile, Celestria summoned fireballs one after another, flinging them into the torn scales Sylas had opened. Each explosion left blackened burns, smoke rising from the monster's flesh.
But in its chaos, the serpent turned sharply, faster than Alaric could react. With terrifying speed, its gaping maw engulfed him whole.
"ALARIC!" Celestria's scream ripped the air.
"Damn it!" Sylas cursed, loosing another arrow, but the serpent had already swallowed him into darkness.
The beast's body bulged grotesquely, the massive muscles coiling as it writhed. Then, with eerie intelligence, it shifted its focus toward Celestria, lunging forward with murderous hunger. She raised her staff, ready to burn it back—but at the last second, the serpent feinted, jerking away and thrashing violently.
The gladiator had reached its head, driving his flaming spear down with all his might. Sparks rained as steel struck unyielding scales—the hide too thick, too armored. He growled, planting his feet, trying again and again, each strike gouging shallow scars but never piercing through.
The serpent roared in agony, thrashing so violently that its coils tore ruts in the earth. Then suddenly—
BOOOOM!
The snake convulsed, its scream like a death knell. Its enormous stomach burst open in a wet, horrific explosion. Chunks of flesh and entrails sprayed outward in a shower of blood, bile, and steam.
And from the gaping wound, Alaric emerged. His body was drenched crimson, steam rising off him as frost covered his armor and skin. His sword pulsed with ice, shards dripping from it. He had frozen the serpent from the inside, and with one savage burst, he had shattered its gut outward.
Blood and viscera rained across the battlefield. The serpent writhed uncontrollably, rolling onto its back as its coils spasmed, smashing the ground in a final violent death throe. Its head struck the earth one last time, shattering stone and dirt—then it lay still. Its yellow eye dimmed, its body slack.
The battlefield was painted red. Steam rose from the ruptured carcass, a mountain of gore and muscle stretched across the ruins of the path.
Breathing heavily, Alaric dragged himself out of the wound, ice dripping from his armor. He planted his sword into the ground and glared at the corpse.
"Never… swallow me again."
Celestria ran toward him, covering her mouth at the sight of the gore, but relief filled her eye. "You—idiot! Do you have any idea how scared we were?!"
Sylas gave a half-grin, lowering his bow, though his face was pale with disbelief. "Alaric… you're insane. And I mean that as a compliment."
The gladiator stood atop the serpent's head, spear raised triumphantly, his booming voice carrying through the forest.
"The Hollowed serpent is slain!"
The world was silent for a heartbeat—then the winds carried away the stink of blood, leaving only the four of them, victorious, bathed in gore and exhaustion.
The four regrouped, blood still clinging faintly to their armor and clothes, though the serpent's gore had mostly dried to a sticky crust. They walked side by side down the beaten road, the forest slowly giving way to open plains. Their steps were heavy, but the silence soon gave way to quiet conversation.
"Alaric," Sylas smirked, adjusting his bowstring as he glanced over, "if you ever get swallowed again, I'm not wasting my arrows saving you. That's your problem."
Alaric gave a tired chuckle, running a hand through his damp hair. "Don't worry. Once is enough. Next time, I'll freeze the thing before it gets the chance."
Celestria folded her arms, glaring but unable to hide the relief in her voice. "You're both reckless. And disgusting." She wrinkled her nose. "I can still smell that thing on you, Alaric."
"Better smell than the grave," Alaric replied simply.
The gladiator marched ahead of them, spear resting on his shoulder, his voice deep beneath the helmet. "You fought well. Even in Rome, few could have felled a serpent of that size. You have proven yourselves already."
Four long hours passed. The sun sank lower in the sky, painting the plains in orange fire. The road widened, the shadows of colossal walls rising in the distance. Their journey slowed as the gate of Rome loomed before them—towering, fortified, alive with the sound of horns and clashing steel.
Two centurion guards in polished bronze stood at the gate. Their crimson plumes swayed as their eyes fell on the gladiator. Recognition flashed instantly. Without a word, they saluted and stepped aside, pulling open the gate.
"Welcome back, Champion," one said respectfully.
The gladiator nodded, then turned to the three. "Welcome to Rome—the crucible of strength."
The gates opened, and the city revealed itself in grandeur. The roar of a thousand voices echoed through marble streets. Stalls brimmed with weapons, armor, trophies of beasts long since slain. Towering arenas stood in the distance, banners fluttering with sigils of war. The smell of roasted meat and burning oil filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood.
Everywhere they looked, warriors trained. Blades clashed in sparks. Arrows split the air. Chanting crowds surrounded combat pits where armored figures fought beasts with claws like swords. It wasn't merely a city—it was a world built on battle, on proving one's worth through combat.
Celestria's eye widened in awe, her voice soft. "This… this is like nothing I've ever seen…"
Sylas gave a low whistle, scanning the vastness, the coliseums rising high like mountains. "Looks like paradise… if paradise is filled with maniacs who like killing things."
Alaric said nothing at first, his gaze firm, his jaw set. Finally, he muttered, "This is where we'll be sharpened. If we want to be ready… this is where it happens."
The gladiator motioned them forward, his voice like stone.
"From here, you will learn the ways of Rome. And only the strongest will rise."
Celestria froze mid-step, her mind replaying the guard's words. Her single visible eye widened as the realization hit her.
"Wait… Champion?!" she blurted out, her voice louder than she intended.
Alaric and Sylas both turned their heads sharply toward the armored figure walking before them. The Gladiator didn't deny it—he simply stopped, arms crossing over his chestplate, spear angled against the ground with casual weight.
"Yes," he said, his voice steady, almost indifferent to the weight of the title. "I am the Champion. The one who won the last Championship of the Colosseum."
The three stared at him, stunned. Alaric's brows furrowed in confusion. Sylas tilted his head, intrigued. Celestria opened her mouth, closed it, then finally managed, "What… what exactly does that mean?"
The Gladiator's helm tilted toward them slightly, his tone carrying the pride of a man who had lived through countless battles.
"The Colosseum is no ordinary arena. It is where Rome gathers to witness the greatest trials of strength. Champions are not simply warriors—they are legends. The championship is fought not only against beasts, but against other warriors who have clawed their way through blood and bone to stand upon that stage. To be Champion is to prove oneself the strongest in Rome."
The three exchanged looks—Alaric with his usual seriousness, Sylas with a half-smile as if trying to mask his own interest, and Celestria with visible awe, her lips parted in amazement.
"So you're saying…" Sylas finally spoke, "you're basically the strongest man in Rome."
The Gladiator didn't boast. He only tightened his grip on the shaft of his spear. "I am saying that I survived. That I endure where others did not."
Alaric nodded slowly, respect flickering in his eyes. "That explains your strength back on the road."
Celestria, her curiosity burning, leaned forward slightly. "And… you said people watch these battles?"
"Yes," the Gladiator replied. "Tens of thousands fill the seats of the Colosseum. The roar of the crowd fuels the bloodshed. Victories are sung for years. Defeats are forgotten in days." His tone softened slightly, almost thoughtful. "And it is there where Rome will test you."
The three were silent, each lost in thought, until the Champion shifted his stance and gestured toward the sprawling streets ahead.
"If you wish, I will be your guide. Rome is vast, and without direction, you may become lost in both streets and in purpose. But with me, you will see the places that matter—the arenas, the training pits, the heart of the city itself."
He lowered his arms, his voice firm. "So, what say you? Will you let me be your tour guide?"