A young boy was perplexed at the scene before him.
His father stood over the famed Torchwick champion, the other wise strong and gallant Gladiator was reduced to a blubbering mess that was unfit for a man among men.
"Grovel and swear it to me." Remus Torchwick wore an indifferent face over his slave.
Roman watched the man grit his teeth as he put his forehead to the sand to beg, "I swear I'll stay loyal to the Torchwick name, have mercy on my family."
A solid kick was planted on the slave's jaw, "Have mercy what?"
The slave gripped his hand into a tight fist, "Have mercy, Master Torchwick."
Remus grinned as he motioned for the guards to drag the slave back to his cell.
"Father, what happened?" Roman was curious.
"He was disloyal, my son." Remus doted on his only boy quite often, "That thing is a product of our House, once a product goes bad you must seek out ways to correct the problem."
"But… How did you do that? Isn't Varro a rather stubborn one?" He referred to the Torchwick champion, Roman had seen a few occasions where the slave had acted out against the slaver.
"Their hearts." Remus smiled as he motioned for his son to follow him into the Villa, "Hearts are a rather powerful thing – like in the Arena, if you win the hearts of the crowd then you win over the people as well."
"Is that why everyone likes us? Because we win their hearts?"
Remus nodded his head, "We win their hearts with our famed Gladiators." He looked his son carefully in the eye, "And to control a person, you must find what is closest to their heart."
"What do you mean 'find what is closest to their heart'?" Roman was confused.
The Torchwick patriarch laughed, "I see you're still a bit young." He ruffled his son's hair, "One day, when you fall in love, you will understand why it's important."
Roman Torchwick did fall in love one day – he fell in love with the power that House Torchwick had built and exuded.
Power that would have disappeared after the Reaper's loss before the King, but thankfully Oum was smiling down on him.
He sent to Torchwick an angel by the name of Salem to save him.
"Have you figured out which of the nobility has been infiltrated?" His green eyes narrowed as he registered the information that had been briefed to him for the past 3 hours.
The Fall Villa was strangely empty, the slaves once again locked up in the cells below as this meeting took place. Salem sat comfortable in the most lavish chair of the parlor, Roman sat across from her with Cinder at his side. Emerald chose to stand off to the side while Mercury stood in the center to tell his tale.
"Not yet, I need to build more rapport with him." Mercury answered in a bored tone, Roman resisted the urge to put the 'slave' in his place.
"Do let me know, I will say I am slightly unhappy at the situation." Roman would have to reflect on his documents and make a list of all of his slave transactions for the past year.
Mercury chuckled, "I don't think you have anything to worry about, you're a tough nut for that Faunus to crack. But he does have an eye on your Gladiators… Which makes sense, you have the fiercest fighters in all of Mistral – well maybe not the fiercest." He referred to the Torchwick loss earlier in the Arena.
Roman growled at the younger man.
"Play nice now, Mercury." Cinder cooed as she smirked at her friend's reaction, "But you understand, right?"
"Besides not going bankrupt, what do I get out of all this once the dust settles?" He crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat, steady eyes were kept on the Councilman herself. "This is treason we're talking about." A leer was present in Roman's eyes.
Salem smiled, "What do you think would be enough to suffice for the Torchwick name?" Her hands were folded calmly, she was comfortable with the stare, "Do keep in mind the fairy tale of the boy who flew too close to the sun."
The slave master chuckled, "And this is why I am so fond of House Fall," Emerald was impressed with the way the man worked under pressure – he was trying to barter a bigger deal other than the one that they had already offered him.
He would be foolish to not accept because that would be the end of the Torchwick name.
"So, which one did you have in mind?" Roman cut to the chase, "You can take your pick of the litter."
Cinder bit her lip, "I would personally love to have Red, but Mother was the one to strike up the deal – so I'll be respectful to that claim."
The Councilman sighed, "You already have these two over here, I don't understand why you need a third." Salem stressed as she rolled her eyes at her daughter, "But I must confess, I have been feeling a bit lonely as of late – but what I crave is something much more heartier than what's available. No offense, my dear Mercury."
"None taken." He shrugged it off.
"So the Monkey King then?" Roman offered, the Faunus was his most popular Gladiator in terms of service.
Salem shook her head, "The Wilding is what I crave." A coy smile.
"One Wilding for a cleared debt, coming right up." Roman Torchwick smiled, his life and name still secure despite the disappointing loss that Red had incurred.
"And one more thing, this is more for our usual business we conduct." The slave master turned towards Cinder, "I remember you mentioning something about a reenactment?"
Cinder racked her mind as she mentally went over the schedule of events laid out for the Great Stone Coliseum, "Yes, the reenactment of Vale's last stand during the war – I figured it would be a great way to start off the beginning of winter in two weeks." She raised a brow towards the slave master, "What of it?"
"I would like to throw Red in there, if it's still open – as a matter of fact, I insist." He wore a smug grin at whatever was going on through his head.
"As one of the Valesians? Roman, we won that battle."
"Oh no, not as a Valesian – I meant as a Mistrali."
Emerald's face twisted into a sinister grin, Mercury perked up and held back the laugh once he and the bodyguard exchanged a knowing glance.
"Oh, that would be an absolute delight."
"I'm sorry, but we need more than just that." Oobleck sighed at the two in front of him, "The few slave owners of the suspected prisoners you pointed out are pressing for a legal trial. Bottom line, if we can't come up with their official identification paperwork from the office, then we can't take them away." Yesterday Jaune confronted 3 slave owners about the suspected prisoners they kept, all 3 vehemently denied it and demanded proof. At Oobleck's suggestion, they decided to hold back on the rest until they got evidence.
Jaune rumbled, "This. Is. Bull. Shit." He looked over the list of names, it was at least 10 people long – a list of people that they suspected to be Valesian prisoners but couldn't find their identification papers from the Office of Official Records. What they were going off of were entries from the archived logs of slaves and prisoners.
"This country is barbaric in the way you treat your prisoners – turn them to slaves?! The Valesian Commander was tightly wound from the last few days, he was supposed to go back to Vale tomorrow with what should be the last of the prisoners of war. "Vale was able to release all the Mistrali prisoners we had taken within a month of the treaty being signed. But here I am, nearly half a year later and I'm still tracking down Valesian soldiers." King Ozpin kept the captured Mistrali soldiers as such, simply prisoners with basic human rights.
Oobleck looked sympathetic, "I apologize, but that's just how this Kingdom runs." Mistral had the largest slave population and market in all of Remnant.
"It's cruel…" Jaune ran a hand through his blond locks, "What if I were to find proof of their citizenship from Vale? That'll suffice, won't it?" 10 good men were still kept from their families.
Oobleck nodded, "It would." He looked over a particular name, "This one in particular, though – 'Scout R.R.', I took a look in the office myself and I couldn't find anything that correlates to what you told me." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, "It's suspicious, I will say." That particular name has proved to be the most difficult to decipher from the original list of suspected prisoners. But it was just as he said, he couldn't find a 'Ruby Rose' recorded any where in the records.
It was suspicious.
Pyrrha narrowed her eyes, "Ruby Rose, that's the Reaper's real name." The Mistrali Commander took a deep breath, "I saw it and Jaunt saw it, it was a Valesian salute she used – she has to be a prisoner." She looked over the name once more on the list.
"Pyrrha," The Councilman was sympathetic, "I believe you, I do think there's something suspicious going on, but I must remind you that it will get political. This is Roman Torchwick we are talking about, to accuse him of trapping a prisoner is futile if we don't have solid evidence." Oobleck's face was grim, "I never liked the man, or the entire House Torchwick, if I were to be blunt. But for generations that house has known it's way around tongue and quill – they're more influential than most of our politicians and the Torchwick roots do run deep. No doubt House Fall would be quick to aid him if we went through with the accusation."
"So are you suggesting we wait to bring it up?" Pyrrha raised a brow, "If we-"
Oobleck cut her off, "No, don't bring it up – not until we have evidence." He stood tall, "I have a gut feeling that if we accuse him of keeping a prisoner without proper evidence, something might happen to Ms. Rose." The Councilman had been thinking it through for some time now – it was extremely odd that there was no other record available that mentioned 'Ruby Rose'.
Bartholomew Oobleck suspected foul play.
Jaune sighed, "I'm sure we'll have something back in Vale about her, I know for a fact that we keep good records of everyone – especially our soldiers." He looked over the list of names, "It'll be at least a month, or two at most, before I get back," It would be at least a week to travel by boat from Mistral to Vale, and then another week for the return trip.
Pyrrha placed a hand on Jaune's shoulder, "Your prisoners, I'll keep a careful eye on their slave owners until you return then."
"You have been in an awfully good mood lately." Klein commented as he set down the final bit of paperwork for that week.
Business was booming for Weiss Schnee, they were in the midst of going over some new plans for opening up a main headquarters in the heart of the Kingdom. This would mean that they would have to hire more people to help keep things running smoothly. The Merchant had every right to be in a good mood as of late.
It was just too good of a mood and Klein had his suspicions that it had something to do with a certain Gladiator.
Weiss smiled brightly, "It has been a good past few weeks." The paperwork was re-examined one last time before being filed away. Next to the stack was an envelope from her Father in Atlas, sending his praise for increasing their profits that business quarter by 25%. The Schnee Merchant Company was selling their regular wares of food, clothing, and other items. And their Dust was selling exceptionally well.
The partnership with Roman had proved to be most helpful, his connections amongst the Mistral elite helped get the Schnee brand out there and establish the first foothold. Weiss quickly learned over the course of time that she had been in Mistral that the Dust market was lacking – especially in comparison to Atlas.
Weiss figured it was due to the lack of natural Dust mines in the entire Anima continent. The northern continent had a lot of Dust mines to speak of, but a good majority of it was located far north in the deep tundra of Solitas.
Dust was discovered almost 50 years ago, they were unsure at first of what to do with the new and strange resources – but due to the curiosity of some they found ways to use it for practical means. Fire dust to light dark rooms or even start a fire if you hit it just right with a rock, ice Dust to help preserve the freshness of food, and then earth Dust crystals could be used to reinforce walls against any threat, namely keeping the Grimm at bay outside of each Kingdom's walls.
But she was a bit wary of the Dust now; her Father also sent news of some recent break through that Atlas scientists recently discovered when it came to Dust… The Altesian military immediately stepped in on the break through. For now, the break through was going to be close hold – but Weiss knew that her Father also exchanged letters with Roman.
What was the saying?
"Loose lips, sink ships." Weiss learned the phrase from Pyrrha.
"What was that, Master Schnee?" Blake was in the study at Klein's request (the elder gentleman wanted also wanted to get out of the Villa for a bit after being cooped up all day but didn't want to leave Weiss all alone with the menial work) to help organize the rest of the files. The Faunus wasn't a complete rarity, but her ability to read was considered very valuable.
Weiss looked over to the Faunus, she didn't even notice Klein leave and Blake entering. "It's quote I learned from Lady Nikos, it has to do with basically keeping a secret."
"Ah." Blake responded, she left it at before returning to the task at hand – she kept her remarks about the sheer amount of gold lien the Schnee was making to herself.
Weiss frowned; she saw this as an opportunity to talk to the slave, rarely were they ever alone and in such close proximity to each other without Klein being around. She knew the Faunus could keep a conversation, she's over heard the idle chatter Blake would have with the manservant.
"My Father sent a letter, which is what reminded me of the quote." The phrase hung in the air.
Blake picked it up, but was unsure how to proceed. She could sense it, Weiss was trying to be amicable to her once more. The Faunus wanted to keep things like these to a minimum, but in the same hand, the Schnee hadn't really done anything to warrant the cold shoulder – now Blake was just coming off as an ass.
She took a breath – Weiss did buy her a book, a really good book at that, "What was the letter about?" Klein was pleasant to talk to, so maybe she wouldn't be so bad as well.
The Merchant kept a small smile to herself, "He was sending his regards about the company's performance this last quarter."
"From the looks of it, it's well deserved praise." Blake looked over the name of the receipt from a local vendor in town and the placed it in the proper drawer.
"How much of the paperwork can you understand?" Weiss always pondered about it, she knew the Faunus to be intelligent.
Blake had a deer in headlights look as her ears folded against her head.
"No, no – I'm not mad, really. I'm just curious." Weiss tried again.
The slave relaxed, the Merchant seemed genuine "Oh – well, I guess enough to know that you're close to owning about half of the fishing ships on the docks and that Lady Adele's clothing line has had a price surge of nearly 30% due to high demand this quarter." She quickly looked over the document and filed it away.
The Schnee was colored impress; the math and verbiage used in the transactions were considered to be at a higher competency rate than the average person. "You're very intelligent, Blake – back in Atlas it would take a few months for a junior merchant to learn how to comprehend some of the charts on here."
"I read a lot before I – when I was younger." The Faunus left it at that.
Weiss knew they were approaching a sore spot, Blake's past as a free person.
"I can tell you read a lot, you still do – speaking of which, how was that novel?" A change of pace, "I read it back home and I saw the title in town and thought you would enjoy it too."
Blake was glad for it, "Fantastic, I thought for sure the Heroine was just going to walk away towards the end." A gleam in her eye, "She didn't have to go back, she did what she needed to do."
Weiss nodded her head in affirmation, "I was surprised too, and I thought her a little foolish for going back."
"I didn't think it was foolish," Amber eyes looked into blue ones, just to make sure she could have an opinion. Weiss looked up and nodded for her to continue, "I thought it showed how she remained true to what she believed in the end."
"I will say that I try to be as pragmatic as possible when it comes to a lot of things, other things not so much."
Blake raised a brow, "What are you not as pragmatic about?"
Weiss wore a mischievous smile, "Loose lips sink ship." She was starting to become a bit of an optimist when it came to certain matters of the heart.
It's cold in the Arena.
The signature mix of gold and bronze gleamed in the dim lighting, the maroon shirt and distinct Mistrali patterns that were etched into the armor was a familiar sight within the ranks of that Kingdom's army. I can see my breath with how cold it is in here.
I abhor Torchwick and everything he fucking stands for.
For the past few weeks I've been trying to figure out why he's been in such a good mood, I was expecting the complete opposite since I lost that big match against Pyrrha. Instead of being called into his office and given a stern lecture by him, he pretty much left to my own devices. No extra training and no threats, even Nadir found it eerie how normal everything was after the Match of the Century.
Even today the people are still talking about it.
I rub the new scar on my throat, the mark that will forever remind me of my loss against Pyrrha Nikos. Honestly, I'm still questioning how I'm still standing right now – no normal person should even be alive after all this crap I've been through.
I hear some scuffling to my right, slaves dressed in Vale's signature colors and armor. I bite the inside of my cheek so hard that I can taste blood, the armor the slaves wore weren't some cheap knock off – no, they were the real deal. Meaning that the corpses of my brethren were defiled robbed of the very uniform we so proudly wore. I would give anything to switch armor with these slaves.
"And the army of the King Ozpin holed up for a final stand on the island of Vytal!" I hear the voice announce.
They're re-enacting the Vale's Last Stand in the Vytal Conflict – the slaves over there are supposed to be the Valesian Army and I am supposed to be some Mistrali Commander who led the charge, I didn't catch his name, but I know that it's not Pyrrha because she was here when the war ended.
"Go!" One of the guards ordered, the slaves looked at me and then at the guard, then once more at me. The fear is evident in their eyes as they hesitate to step outside.
I almost want to yell at them for their cowardly behavior while wearing Vale's uniform.
A crack of the whip echoed in the hall, "I said, GO." The guard was losing his patience. My opponents finally run out into the open, I hear the jeering as soon as I see them step into the cold day light. The guard turns his attention to me, "And you Reaper, make Mistral proud today." A slight smile was cocked on the guard's face.
"The one to lead the charge against Vale's last stand was none other than our honorable Commander Haizel Rainart – who will be represented by none other than the Reaper!"
I take my cue, the armor I wore was stifling to say the least – I wish more than anything to be wearing the proud silver and green of Vale. I take my sword and flourish it towards the crowd, I spy someone dressed in Mistral's uniform up in the stands.
I'm assuming the man with the grizzly beard and dark brown hair that's built like a Beowulf is Commander Haizel Rainart. The nobles around him are giving him a pat on the shoulder and the Arena is still applauding the war hero.
Immediately in front of me I see the slaves from earlier in a crude formation. There's about seven of them, and from my initial look of them I don't think any of them have had much experience – except for maybe one or two. Looking closely I see that the two I had pegged to have some battle experience had rallied the small band together.
They're shields are raised as they stood together line-abreast, some had their swords drawn, but I can see that some of them aren't used to holding the sword.
"Together!" A slave with dark eyes seemed to command them, I take a closer look at him and really get to figure him out in the sunlight rather than the dark catacombs of the Coliseum.
He definitely is no stranger to battle. I see a few scars decorate on his arms – but I have no real time to think about where he could have possibly come from.
"Impatient, are we?" I hear the commentator in the marble stands comment, "Let this re-enactment begin!"
I bite the inside of my cheek, I don't think I've ever been this out numbered before. I spy Roman up in the stands with that Oum forsaken smile on his face – he thinks this match is in the bag, but he obviously doesn't see or feel what I do. Despite how clumsy this rag tag group's formation looks, it's just giving off a certain vibe – an ominous vibe.
Because I think I might be in some real trouble right now.
It's a stale mate; I'm staring down the wall of shields for the first minute. I have my own shield at the ready as my instincts tell me to not under estimate these slaves.
My instincts are never usually wrong.
The slave with dark eyes shouted something, but it's hard to hear over the crowd. I watch as the slaves begin to break formation and make a run for it.
Shit.
I know exactly what they're trying to do.
My legs pump hard and fast and I'm quick to head off one of the slaves that tried to encircle me from behind. I can see the shock on a few of the slave's faces – they weren't expecting me to move this quickly. He manages to block my first strike with his shield, but his swordplay is extremely lacking when he attempts for a stab at my mid-section. I'm quick to punish him for his mistake by burying my sword right above his naval.
Quickly I raise my shield arm to block the next attack – I quickly see that two slaves are trying to take me on, but once again – they're sword play is abysmal at best.
"Re-group! Re-group!" I hear the voice roar, the dark haired slave is commanding the slaves to come together again. His eyes are burning with something, I can't blame him, and I did just take out three of their own in the span of nearly a minute.
I'll give them credit, were they a bit more skilled (and faster) their plan to try to trap me in encirclement might have worked.
"Wh-What do we do?" I hear one of the slaves voice crack, it's just four of them now and they're tense as the leader is thinking something through in his head.
"Together. We go together." A second slave spoke up, this one has lighter eyes and is also the one I pegged earlier to have some battle experience.
I decide not to give them a moment longer to re-think a strategy as I rush in head first to the last of them. The dark eyed slave's eyes widened in surprise, but he doesn't hesitate as he heads me off from the other three. His swordplay is actually pretty good as we trade blows and he even manages to stay his ground.
But I really don't have time to critique him, because the other three are starting to rush in on the fight.
Oum dammit, as I expected, the light-eyed slave decided to join the fray with the dark eyed slave. The two actually work very well in tandem, reading each other perfectly and giving me minimal time to rest.
What also doesn't help is that the other slaves, though their strikes are clumsy at best, are joining in and sneaking in a thrust here and a swipe there. I'm glad my stamina is stupidly big as I manage to keep up this juggling act for what seems like hours.
I need to do something soon because I can't keep up this game of blocking everyone here.
"Don't let up! Keep going!" The dark eyed slave commanded, the other two slaves who didn't have any real battle experience nodded their heads, but I can see that they're visibly tired.
I smirk to myself as I see an opening as they both come at me. I manage to knock back the first slave to cross swords with me; the second wasn't so lucky as I lift my left arm quickly to slash my sword across his chest. I don't wait to watch his body fall to the sand since I have to quickly re-engage with the last three.
The light-eyed slave has his sword raised, I block his strike with my shield and I see the dark eyed slave charging towards me. My leg muscles flex as I prepare to parry out of the way.
But my leg is caught – or rather held in place.
This son of a bitch I struck earlier is holding on to my ankle with his dying breath in an attempt to help what's left of these bastards.
"Fuck!" I seethe as I try to wrench my foot from his hold. I see the sword strike coming, but my body can't respond properly as I try to create some space between my attacker and me.
It's not enough.
I feel the burn of cold steel penetrate my upper right thigh. I bite back a scream as I watch the slave's gladius get buried half way through my fucking thigh. I can taste the iron in my mouth. I fall over on to the sand with the sword still sticking out of my thigh.
I immediately feel a kick find it's way into my side, the dark eyed slave is trying to capitalize on my state. Despite being stabbed in the fucking leg, I still managed to keep a grip on my sword thanks to the constant training and battles. Before the second kick can connect, my body jerks over and I stab my sword upwards and return the favor.
I've always wondered what a man would sound like if he were stabbed in the loins.
The last two standing slaves both stop in their tracks as they watch in horror the dark eyed slave scream like a banshee and his form falls over. I could be benevolent and give him death, but the fucker doesn't deserve it for nearly maiming me.
I look down at my leg, I don't think the sword went through the bone, because I can kind of move… I look at the other two who are simply stricken with disgust at the slave bleeding out through his manhood.
I grit my teeth together and grip the handle of the protruding weapon. With a swift jerk I remove the cold blade, which is now dripping, with my blood.
"Arrrggh!" I grit my teeth tighter as I force myself to stand up once more.
The crowd roars at the sight. The remaining two slaves pale at me.
My blood runs warm down my legs, I know I need to get this treated soon – so I suppose I have to make quick work of this. But I can hardly move the way I want to the last slaves.
"Are you dickless too like that cunt there?!" I goad them.
And it works as the two charge at me.
It's easy for me to read their attacks as I parry with minimal movement – it's a real crowd pleaser since I'm here without a shield and simply dodging these strikes.
I spy an opening from a poorly executed overhead slash. The tip of my blade goes straight for his neck, I take a half step to the side to dodge the strike coming from the light-eyed slave. With as much strength as I can muster I rip my gladius from the dead slave's neck and aim a sword slash across the last slaves stomach.
Which connects quickly and cleanly. The light-eyed slave brings a hand to his stomach in disbelief.
I let out a breath and for the first time since the fight has started I take a real look at the sands around me.
All I see are dead men wearing Vale's uniform – the thought sickens me.
But I can't let it show. Not in front of him.
I look towards the marble stands and both Commander Rainhart and Torchwick have a please look on their faces. I fucking loathe it, I want nothing more than to throw this gladius aimed straight for Roman's putrid face. I want nothing more than to watch his blood run red on that pretentious white tunic he parades around in.
Oum, I absolutely abhor the slave master.
"Fuck!" I impulsively yell loudly in frustration at the thought of Torchwick and my leg as well as I can feel the strength in me depleting.
I notice the Arena go silent at my scream – oh Dust, I got everyone's attention on me now. I used to have a problem like this as a kid, where I kind of just do things and talk really impulsively. I feel those green eyes on me and it makes my insides shudder.
My eyes scan the marble stands, and then the general public filling in the rest of the stands. I lift my bloodied gladius at the marble stands and then I flourish it once more towards the rest of the Coliseum with such gusto.
I let out the loudest battle cry I can.
"Are you not entertained?!"
The Arena erupts both in laughter and applause at my antics.
I turn towards my Master in stands, "Master Torchwick!" I call out, "Are you not entertained?" I repeat my question.
Torchwick stands, that smirk still evident as he stand up straight to answer not only to me, but for the crowds as well.
"I am, Reaper!"
Good. Now get me the fuck out of here because I can barely stand.
A/N:
Long time no see guys, I know I'm a little late on deliver chapter 10, but some times you just hit a writer's block every now and then. What also helped is the fact that the new RWBY is up too, so that definitely helped in getting myself going again.
So if I were to break this out into arcs, I would say that this is the start of a new arc in this adventure. I will say that I did spend some time being productive and part of that was re-organizing my notes and outline for the rest of the story. The intended chapter count for Gladiator will be at 24 chapters after all is said and done.
I know this chapter's a little lighter in comparison to the previous ones, but like I said it's kind of the start of a new arc to help set the stage for what else is to come.
So that about covers everything.
I will leave a little teaser about the next two chapter - Winter is coming. Literally, it's getting pretty cold. Might need to fan some embers to get a warmed up.
Horrible attempt at puns, but I think I'd get a high-five from Yang for the effort.
Hope to see some of you in Chapter 11 - I'm optimistic about the timeline for it's release... so let's say about a week from today?
Til next time.
Cheers,
DevilRed