Trapped in the Arms of the Billionaire

1322 AD-Three Hundred years into the Long War

A lone figure stands in the middle of the podium; he wears the bright red cloak of an official, and a medallion bearing the crest of the old war god, Mars. He takes deep breath and bellows to the crowd

“CAPUA!!! ARE YOU READY!!!!!”

The crowd’s cheer is so powerful that the dust in the arena is shaken by it. As the smells of sweat and saliva begin to fill the air, to Gladiators enter the arena from opposite corners, both with their swords raised in salute to the crowd. I was 7 years old at that time and it was my first glimpse of a Gladiator match. One wore a red chest plate and a red steel helmet with a wolf insignia carved into it, I called him Red. The other wore only blue arm guards, shin guards, a horned helmet and a blue shawl wrapped around his armor, I called him Blue. Both carried two swords. The Red one spun his swords constantly while the Blue one just stood steadily. They both were focused on each other, caring nothing for the world but only victory over the other.

I look at the sun for a moment and then I realize, I am no longer at the Arena in Capua. No, not today, not for some time at least

My mind snaps me back to the dullness of reality as I am greeted by the sounds of boots digging into mud and grass. I look up into the sky and it seemed as if it had grown eyeballs and was staring at me. The rain pours down on my face, stinging my eyes and unhealed wounds in the process; I guess I had just woken up.

An officer stands in the middle of the resting cohort and begins banging his shield ordering us to get off our backs. As I get up I survey the landscape and take it all in, light fog, pine trees, freezing winds, the traits of the Northern Border. But then across the wide open field the vast armies of the Persian Empire could easily be seen marching towards us, with their machines belowing smoke and their warrior’s blades glinting in the Sun. On our side of things, the myriad of Remanian soldiers scurry about carrying guns, arrows, spears and all sorts of life taking trinkets that would keep all of us from getting slaughtered by the mighty Persians. What a stark contrast these sights brought, compared to the serenity of the forest.

“You there!” The officer screams as he points at me with his sword. “Still acting like a loose drunk are ya? What’s your name and why are you here!?” I immediately stand in attention and recite my unforgettable credentials “ Molag Broner. Remanian Legionnaire under the 46^th Cohort, 3^rd Company fighting for the 17^th Legion, Lupus Infernos; The Bright Tigers.

In a few minutes time we begin to march, I look behind me and see Gunner cohorts positioning themselves on top of some hills as they ready themselves to cover our advance. At the front lines, the unfortunate shock troops from both sides exchange gunfire as artillery shakes the battlefield.

The sounds of war cries, gunfire and explosions start to become louder as we near the enemy. I feel the shock of a cannonball detonating to my left, I hear the screams of dying men and I begin to smell the distinct aroma of blood and fire. But I keep my vision fixed, ignoring it as I go and keeping my ears listening for our overzealous Centurion’s mad ranting. Five years of war has taught me well.

The smell of smoke and blood start to become thicker as we near the enemy. In a short moment’s time the signal men blow their horns thus issuing the charge. A rush of excitement flows through my body as blood flows up my head, I grip my sword and shield tighter as the adrenaline all begin to turn my weapons weightless.

The mud digs into my boots while the freezing wind bites into my skin. The Persians had also issued their charge shortening our run. So I immediately steel myself in anticipation of the charging Persian in front of me. Now this one, he carries a spear which gives him range, his shield is steel plated, his armor is chain mail, his face is covered by a mask not unlike mine.

His first strike is to lung at me with the spear; which I block with my shield, and immediately stab him in the mouth. As I pull out my sword his mask falls off; he’s only a boy, and it’s pretty obvious this is his first battle. But the time to relax is none existent as I face another charging Persian and cut him down quickly with a slash to the head. I don’t look at his face this time; best to avoid reminding myself that there is a man under that faceless mask.

I quickly turn to face another Persian, his helmet is marked with purple lines and he wears a steel plate over his chain mail. It signifies that he’s an officer. His speed is blinding but the size of my shield gives me proper defence. I parry his blows with relative ease but his speed keeps me from striking back. After a few strikes he slashes my shoulder. Despite my heavy armor, I still feel the sting of his weapon but it isn’t enough to defeat me. The attack tires the officer a bit and I strike back. I go for his shoulder too but he blocks it and gives my shield a strong kick. I tumble back and see him steadying his sword as he prepares to stab me, he’s fast and he’s experienced, he knows this is his moment and so do I. My thoughts are empty right now so I close my eyes and readily accept my death…

Within a moment I hear the familiar sound of metal piercing through flesh; I open my eyes and see a pilum –or javelin as Northern Remanians call it-- poking through the Persian’s neck; he kneels down as his eyes turn white, then he dies. It was a fool’s luck, purely an act of fate. I force my mind to spring back to reality as I ready myself to face another charging Persian. His sword and helmet is stained with blood, his shield has dozens of scratches on it and his eyes glitter like a starving lion on the hunt. In short, he resembles a true warrior. Maybe this time I won’t make it, or if I’m lucky he cuts off my arm and I go home to Capua.

But I’m not a coward so I fight back. I immediately strike at his head and once he blocks my attack I immediately pull back my sword and stab his chest. His eyes are blank, like an aging dog he kneels down, but as soon as his knees touch the ground I swing my blade and slash at his neck and kick him to the ground. Once again I have survived.