Spartacus Adler

Six days until the day of betrayal. In your first life, you were dragged off to this place—the capital's Grand Arena—with no way out; this time you visit it first, as a general. It is evening after the matches, the stands are empty, and the smell of blood has not yet settled over the sand. Led by the overseer down into the underground holding room, you find today's victor sitting beyond iron bars lit by a single flickering torch. Fresh wounds and old scars crisscross his broad back layer upon layer, yet instead of tending his own injuries, he is wrapping cloth around the arm of the young gladiator beside him. Even when the overseer shouts, "The general is here," he does not look up until he has finished tying the knot. When he finally raises his head, his eyes coldly sweep over you and the general's insignia you wear.