Nobody knows how to be a villain better than me.

"Boom!"

Moments later, the golems surrounding Spartacus exploded in unison, sending plumes of smoke and dust billowing into the air.

As the dust settled and visibility gradually improved, Avisbro gazed at the blurry figure in the crater, now missing its lower half, and breathed a sigh of relief.

It's finally over. The red team's Berserker was unexpectedly tough.

Just as the magician turned to report the battle situation to Vlad III, the flesh and bone fragments at the broken part of Spartacus's lower body began to wriggle and multiply.

Almost in the blink of an eye, the damaged body miraculously grew hands and feet again.

However, the swollen limbs and bulging muscles clearly exhibited some deformed and distorted characteristics.

This is the effect of the Noble Phantasm [Roar of the Wounded Beast], which can be combined with the talent [Glory of the Masochist] to convert and absorb the damage and magical energy that strikes oneself.

As Spartacus's magical energy accumulates, his body will inevitably begin to grow larger, with injured parts protruding like tumors. At its maximum size, he may even transform into a completely alien form.

This is a path destined for certain death, a path of utter annihilation for both sides.

As a gladiator who had won countless battles in the arena, Spartacus gradually came to understand a principle.

The more you fear death, the easier it is to die; the closer courage and determination are to you, the further away death is from you.

Oh, you oppressor high above, do you know that the wounded beast is the most terrifying!

"Hahahaha! My turn!"

The gladiator, whose body swelled to three meters and whose limbs underwent many mutations, laughed excitedly. With his inhuman thighs, he stomped his feet and jumped up, soaring dozens of meters into the air before flying forward like a cannonball.

Thirty steps... twenty steps... ten steps!

The clarion call of resistance is about to sound, and rebellion against oppression is imminent!

"Puff puff puff!"

However, just as he was about to reach his target, rows of iron stakes several meters high rose from the ground, densely packed like a forest, instantly turning the airborne Spartacus into a pincushion once again.

Moreover, the iron stakes that pierced through flesh and blood spread sharp thorns throughout the gladiator's body, inflicting excruciating pain that brought his body and soul to the brink of collapse.

Spartacus's excited eyes gradually turned into a lifeless gray, and his right arm, which had been thrusting forward with his sword, fell limply to the side, a foot away.

Vlad III, standing high above, gazed coldly at the sword blade riddled with nicks and the rebel whose movements and senses were completely sealed off by iron stakes. A slight softening appeared on his solemn face.

Any tenacious opponent deserves respect.

Unfortunately, his attitude towards his enemies has always been one of ruthless extermination! He never shows mercy!

Vlad III suppressed the slight turmoil in his heart, lowered his outstretched right hand, and turned his head to remind him.

"Danick, the rest is up to you. Don't take too long."

"I obey your orders."

Danic patted his chest and nodded, then turned to look at Avisbro beside him.

"Caster, I'm going to sever this Servant's magic circuits and forcibly form a contract to help me."

Avisbro nodded calmly, stood up, and stepped forward.

If a mere Servant is this troublesome, the Holy Grail War is far more brutal than imagined.

Meanwhile, the Saber Master, the portly old man Gorde, who was in charge of guarding the outside, looked at the deformed monster strung up like a hedgehog and almost pouncing on him. He couldn't help but feel a little scared. He muttered to himself as he took out a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the cold sweat from his forehead.

"Serene, Roger, you two come and help too."

Upon hearing the call from the head of the family, Danic, a woman with gray hair and green eyes, wearing glasses and with a hot figure, and a sunny boy with orange hair and blue eyes, both above nodded in response.

A moment later, realizing he had been ignored, Gold's lips twitched. Finally, he turned his angry gaze to the hideous and grotesque monster in the iron stake and vented his anger with a low curse.

"Damn it, that mere wild beast made me look bad!"

As soon as he finished speaking, Darnick and the others, who were busy controlling the enemy Servants, suddenly changed their expressions when they saw the creaking and trembling iron stakes all around them.

The giant beast's grayish-white pupils seemed to reflect wisps of light and shadow.

In 73 BC, at the Corisam amphitheater in Rome.

The Roman-style building was surrounded by high iron railings, and the iron gates were locked. The grounds were empty. Outside the railings were rows of seats, each higher than the last, filled with elegantly dressed Roman noblemen and women.

As the curtain was slowly drawn back, the noble audience members in their high seats began to whisper among themselves.

"With so many people here today, there must be some new kind of fun going on?"

"I heard that a group of gladiators from the Campania Training Institute were recently sent here. The most outstanding one has already won a hundred matches and become this year's gladiator king. His performance is sure to be spectacular!"

"I'm tired of watching gladiatorial combat all the time. What's so special about it?"

"It's different. This guy is a tough nut to crack. I heard that when they were capturing him, a fully equipped hundred-man squad lost half of its members. They only managed to subdue him after he was completely exhausted!"

"Wow! That's amazing. No wonder he became this year's Gladiator King. But with him being so strong, isn't this competition pretty much a foregone conclusion? What's the point of watching it?"

"Don't worry, I heard the organizers recently captured a magical beast. They'll let the two of them fight it out. Wouldn't that make it more interesting?"

As inside information spread, the wealthy and luxurious nobles turned their expectant gazes toward the Colosseum, now marked with slashes and tears.

As the gate opened, a burly man with a bare upper body, bronze skin, and muscles bulging like a dragon stepped into the arena.

"Oh, I see. Well, this was definitely worth the price of admission."

The female spectator who asked the question looked at the man holding the short sword on the field, nodded knowingly, and a hint of condescending mockery and cruelty flashed in her brown eyes.

According to the tradition of the gladiatorial arena, gladiators and beastmen are two different professions.

Sending a gladiator to fight beasts is against the rules, and ordering him to fight wild beasts with short weapons is basically a death sentence.

Moreover, he was going to deal with a rare magical beast.

The woman gazed at the gladiator's chest covered in hideous wounds and his sharply defined face, and was quite intrigued. She casually asked a question.

"By the way, what's his name?"

"Spartacus."

The male companion beside him glanced at the slaves on the field and answered casually.

"Dangdang!"

Just as the spectators in their seats were whispering among themselves, the gate on the other side of the Colosseum was smashed down with a loud crash, and a huge, powerful shadow rushed into the arena, its brown claws slamming into the ground, sending up shards of stone that scratched Spartacus's body.

"Roar roar roar roar roar roar——————"

when----

The clanging of claws against metal assaulted Spartacus's eardrums. His iron sword barely blocked the blow, and before the next attack could arrive, Spartacus swiftly created distance. The giant lion crouched low, emitting a low growl. Welcome to the [Night Raid] group: 4:9.,"3:""6!，1:3";5."

The cheers from the audience grew increasingly frenzied. The duel between the tall man who had defeated numerous death row inmates and fighters and the brown-yellow behemoth with souls stained with countless blood had aroused their most primal lusts. The frenzied cheers concealed an endless thirst for blood.

However, this arrogant beast scoffed at this, disdaining and unwilling to fulfill their inferior desires. So it would not tear the rats in front of it apart; it would gnaw on them, gnaw off chunks of flesh, gnaw off the blood, gnaw off the bones, leaving them not a single drop.

The giant lion's figure gradually became blurred and indistinct, until not even a trace of its outline remained, completely disappearing from people's sight.

Spartacus, disregarding his surprise, immediately activated all his senses, becoming alert to everything around him, even the movement of the air.

Completely invisible, Spartacus once killed an assassin who could completely conceal his presence—an assassin of the Assassins.

Since they could neither sense the enemy's presence nor discern their form, the best approach was to focus all their senses on the surrounding environment. This way, Spartacus would be able to detect any of the enemy's movements, and then launch a counterattack.

Spartacus suddenly leaped up, his short sword thrusting downwards. A roar of pain, mingled with the blood, filled everyone's senses. The giant lion, writhing in agony, revealed its form. Spartacus plunged his sword deep into its back, then leaped down.

Spartacus stood facing the giant lion, defiant, unwilling, and bewildered. The giant lion refused to believe the extent of its suffering, could not believe that the man before it could see its form, and could not understand why the man had not drawn his short sword and severed its head.

"Unbelievable, isn't it?"

"Woo!"

"It must hurt a lot."

"Woo~~~"

"Then what are you waiting for? Unleash your fury (tear me apart), unleash your true power (use your magic)!"

"Waaaaaah!!!! (Are you) waaaaaahh ...

The lion's bristling mane began to ignite, and a surge of magical power gathered within its body, rapidly enveloping it in azure flames. Within the lion-shaped flames, only two points of red light flickered. Spartacus had also already assumed his stance, the flames burning in his eyes no less intense than his opponent's.

The flames began to run, each step leaving no trace. These burning flames existed solely to kill the man before them; this self-consuming, vengeful blue flame was—

[Revenge in Flames]!

The lion-shaped blue flames transformed into blades the instant they approached Spartacus, slashing towards his head. The blades gradually emitted a light signifying shattering, and finally, in the very end, they exploded.

The lion also reverted to its original form, and its massive jaws, which should have severed the throat, were now trapped in Spartacus's arm.

Bang!! Bang!! Bang—the sound of violent collisions between chunks of meat;

Bang bang bang bang bang bang bang!! The tearing sound of fists slicing through the air;

Crack! Bang! Bang! The sound of bones breaking and the roar of beasts trampling the earth;

Without any technique, tactics, or thought, Spartacus simply charged forward and destroyed everything in his path, each of his punches carrying several times the magic power previously unleashed by the giant lion.

Therefore, there was no room for retaliation.

The giant lion's consciousness had long been destroyed by the previous blows, and all its senses had been ravaged. Now, it was merely a punching bag, subjected to relentless beatings. Because it felt no pain, it didn't care if its bones shattered. Because it felt no pain, it didn't care if its head was slammed to the ground. Because it felt no pain, it didn't care if its body was smashed to pieces by a barrage of punches. The giant lion was no longer facing Spartacus, but simply a creature reveling in the pleasure of being ravaged—

【CryingWarmonger】!

boom!

Finally, the giant lion, with its claws broken, bones shattered, and internal organs damaged, extinguished the flames burning on its body and collapsed to the ground with a thud. Its blood-stained fur lost its original luster, and its pair of beastly eyes gradually dimmed and closed.

Without the glow of the flames and the cover of its fur, Spartacus discovered that the lion's abdomen had long since shriveled up.

It had been starving for a long time, and had become ferocious due to its empty stomach.

But if it isn't killed, both it and the user will be killed.

Neither the talking tools (slaves) nor the non-talking monsters were in a much better situation than the other.

Their lives and deaths were determined solely by the decadent noblemen and women seated in their seats.

"Pooh!"

Spartacus, with his back to the lion's corpse, glanced at the reveling men and women on the stage, spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, his gaze icy.

There was neither the joy of victory nor the relief of surviving.

Because perhaps in the next round, he might be the one to die.

It doesn't matter anymore. I'll live one more day as long as I can.

Spartacus dropped his dagger, turned and walked toward the gate, preparing to leave and enjoy his brief rest.

Creak!

However, the moment the gladiator turned around, another tightly closed gate was raised by a winch.

It's not over yet?!

Upon hearing the commotion, Spartacus instinctively grabbed the short sword from the ground, assumed a defensive posture, and looked on warily.

But after a short while, the sound of unsteady footsteps came from the dark passageway.

Ten ragged slaves, carrying weapons, were chained together and pushed onto the stage by military officers.

They stared at the bloodstains scattered all around them, and at the bloodied gladiator king on the field, their lips turning blue with fear.

Spartacus looked at his new opponents and the way they held their weapons, and fell silent.

Most of them had not undergone proper gladiator training or brutal combat; they were basically just a group of low-level slaves.

For a gladiator king, dealing with such a group of opponents would be incredibly easy.

A group of "cannon fodder" used to make the gladiators' performances last longer, "consumables" used to please the audience with blood and death.

Killing them would be a piece of cake for any well-trained gladiator; it would only require a flick of the finger or a simple punch.

but……

"Where did you come from?"

Spartacus glanced at the military officer walking toward the passageway and asked in a low voice.

“I am a Carthaginian, captured during a war. I used to be a gladiator, but now I’m old…” a middle-aged man, who seemed to be quite respected among the slaves, replied with a wry smile.

“I am a slave born and raised here. Because I committed a crime, my master sold me to the gladiatorial arena to do hard labor.”

"We are too..."