Huh? Are they all real?...

The businessman wanted to say that they couldn't possibly not be able to eat, but just as he was about to speak, he found himself unable to smile.

Because his intuition told him that what the other person was saying was true.

Moen took out a slightly worn piece of parchment from his pocket:

"Do you think it's worth it to have Augustus's autograph?"

The merchant asked tentatively:

"That Augustus?"

Moen turned to look at the other person and said:

"The one you're thinking of."

-

On the way to Capua, the man following behind Moen couldn't help but say:

"Master, I am not worthy."

"That's worthless."

“That was written by Augustus Julius himself, my master.”

Even the men were somewhat surprised.

Moen simply smiled and said:

"The dead are worthless, especially the dead who left nothing behind."

After saying that, Moen turned around to remove the man's collar.

But the man gripped his collar and shook his head, saying:

"I know what you want to ask me, and I know you're a kind person, but first, let me show you a place!"

Moen withdrew his hand and asked curiously:

What do you think I should ask?

The man said earnestly to Moen:

“Augustus is already dead, and you are not him either, master.”

Moen continued to ask:

What are you going to show me?

“Capua and the slaves and their masters.”

It took me a long time to realize that the chapter that wasn't uploaded had been blocked by the review committee. I've only just edited and uploaded it now. Yeah, this is troublesome.

Chapter 236 I am Augustus Julius (6k)

The man did not let Moen remove his collar, but instead led Moen through every part of Capua.

They went to the wealthy area first, because the man following Moen was clearly a high-ranking slave, so the guards didn't even check him and let Moen lead the man in.

Looking at the white marble buildings on both sides, Moen asked the man behind him:

"I haven't asked your name yet."

“Names are unimportant to slaves, master.”

“But I don’t consider you a slave.”

"But Rome considered me a slave."

Moen couldn't help but glance at the man, who immediately stopped.

Did Rome consider you a slave?

After nodding and saying that, Moen led him forward:

What do you want me to see?

"Everything here, master."

Moen turned around and looked in the direction he was pointing.

What one sees is a large, glamorous crowd, clearly the upper class of Capua, and behind each of them are a few slaves.

There were strong male slaves who served as porters, and female slaves who served as maids.

"Rome did not have maids or servants; these jobs were given to more capable slaves."

"Among these slaves, a fairly complete promotion mechanism has been established. Inferior slaves who can only do odd jobs can become lower-ranking slaves who can do some fine work and live in houses."

"There are also these mid-level slaves who can follow behind their masters and serve them. They can eat better and be closer to their masters."

"And if they go a step further, they become superior slaves like me, who all have very unique skills, and their food, clothing, and daily necessities even surpass those of many good merchants."

"However, it is also impossible for us superior slaves to regain our freedom and become legal Roman citizens. Unless we are female slaves who are only there for sex."

"However, I have rarely heard of sex slaves becoming free citizens or even going further to become noble ladies."

"Or rather, I have rarely heard of slaves becoming Roman citizens."

As Moen listened in silence, the man pointed to the well-dressed people and said:

"The nobles regarded slaves as only part of their many properties."

Moen looked away from the man because he heard something else.

On the street to his left, large numbers of slaves silently lined up under the watchful eyes of guards.

On the second floor above them was a slave owner holding a wine glass.

With each name he called out, a slave stepped forward in response.

When he finished calling the roll, one-third of the slaves had been selected.

Moen couldn't discern any emotion on the faces of these slaves, for they all wore the same expression of utter despair.

Then, the guards threw several short swords in front of the slaves.

The slave owner glanced with satisfaction at the people who had been drawn there because of him.

Immediately, he threw the wine glass in his hand out the window.

As the sound of the valuable Florence glass shattering rang out, the slaves swarmed toward the short sword on the ground.

There's no need to announce the rules anymore, because this has clearly been going on for a long time, as evidenced by the blood-soaked ground.

Then, the slaves who had grabbed the short swords rushed to stab their companions.

The slaves who failed to seize the short sword did not intend to wait for death; they began to fight back, biting, ramming, and punching.

But they were ultimately a group of slaves who didn't know how to fight, so soon, of the dozen or so slaves, only the few who had initially managed to grab the short sword remained.

Looking at the few sword-wielding slaves who, despite their numbness, finally revealed a hint of fear.

The crowd, including the slave owners upstairs, applauded in admiration.

They enjoyed another wonderful drama, as for the death of the slaves?

What kind of loss is that? These slaves aren't even worth as much as that broken cup!

The man's voice rang out again:

"Wealth that can be freely disposed of and squandered."

"Alright, Master, please come with me to the next place."

The man was a little worried that his new master might do something, but fortunately, he only stood there for a while before following him out of the wealthy area.

Leaving with them were corpse carts dripping with blood and even chunks of flesh. Those carts were filled with recently deceased slaves.

The only reaction from passersby was to cover their noses.

The smell of blood mixed with the body odor of slaves was simply too unpleasant.

As for other reactions, there were none.

In Rome, no one cared about the lives of slaves.

The man led Moen to the slums.

The number of slaves here has actually increased compared to the wealthy areas!

According to Moen's rough estimate, only about one in three people is a free man who is not wearing a collar.

"Do you think there are too many slaves? But that's normal. Slaves are the most indispensable cornerstone of the vast Roman Empire."

"They are not only assets for trade, but also versatile resources that can be used in all aspects."

"Women who wash clothes, laborers who carry heavy loads, farmers who harvest rice, etc., are all slaves' jobs."

"Moreover, slaves are not only useful for this purpose. Think about it, master, wouldn't you want someone who is hardworking, dutiful, and knows what's important to do to take care of your newborn child day and night?"

"Would you prefer a flesh-and-blood machine that would do anything for you just by being fed?"

"Do you wish you could be like those upper-class people, with someone to wait on you when you're tired or thirsty?"

"Then you must need a slave, a cheap and useful slave!"

The man standing next to Moen said quietly:

"The common people of Rome also needed slaves, because they were their hands and feet."

The noise rang in Moen's ears again.

As Moen's gaze swept over.

A very young slave, or rather, a child who was still quite immature.

He was tossed out of the house by the tall, burly man, who twisted his head like a chick.

As it rolled and rolled, and as people dodged it, it rolled all the way to the middle of the street.

But the burly man clearly had no intention of stopping there; he strode forward, cursing and swearing.

He grabbed the child's hair.

Only then did people notice that the young slave's forehead was covered in blood.

He had clearly been badly beaten before he was thrown out.

"How dare you fall asleep while working! A whole vat of flour has gone bad!"

"That's enough for my shop's daily or even two-day supply!"

"I can't believe I actually let you live in a house, and gave you thick walls to keep out the wind and rain!"

In his rage, the burly man unleashed a fist almost half the size of the slave's face, pounding it relentlessly into his own.

Unlike the slaves he had seen before, the boy did not silently endure everything; he still wanted to speak:

"No, Master, I was just cleaning the stove for you last night."

But the man grew even angrier.

"Shut up! No matter what, that's no excuse for you to be asleep! Do you know how many of you that vat of flour could buy?"

How could the owner be wrong?

How could a slave be innocent?

The boy was beaten black and blue, and his speech was slurred.

It wasn't until he was on the verge of death, his head tilting to one side in the strong man's hands, that he remained silent.

The burly man, feeling utterly disgusted, threw it on the ground.

He disgustedly wiped the blood from his hands, then tore off his apron to bandage his bleeding fist, shouting to those around him:

"Who wants this unlucky thing? Not much, just two, no, one copper coin will do!"

Some people were tempted and stepped forward, first prying open the child's teeth to check his exact age.

Then he reached directly into his pants to see if the other person had been castrated.

But soon, the person who stepped forward shook his head as he looked at the barely alive boy and said:

"Even though he's been castrated, I can't afford to spend money on his medical treatment. Oh well, he's a money-loser."