Spartacus : Vance Legacy

Author's Note: "I usually use a fast-paced writing style, so I often only focus on the plot targets. This is a chapter where I want readers to evaluate if you like this style or prefer a slow-paced flow with a few added daily life stories. For the essence, I haven't added it yet. I want to see the response first before moving to the core plot. If readers don't like it, I will revise it and make it slow-paced. (I usually use a slow pace in battle scenes)."

The message arrived at dawn. Not an invitation written on expensive papyrus, but an urgent whisper carried by one of Ilithyia's trusted slaves. A meeting. Immediately. At Ulysses's residence.

Ulysses stood in the atrium of his house, which had become the center of their invisible web. The air felt cold, though outside the Capuan sun was beginning to warm. He observed the women sitting before him. They were no longer a fragile group of allies. They were conspirators, bound by the night of slaughter at Batiatus's villa.

Licinia, his wife, sat closest to him. Her hand unconsciously often stroked her still-flat belly, a possessive gesture that had become her habit. Across the room, Aemilia seemed calmer than before; the legal shield of her puppet husband had given her a small sense of security, yet her eyes still held shadows of grief.

Then, Ilithyia entered. She did not walk with her usual languid grace. Her steps were quick and sharp. Her face was a perfect marble mask, but Ulysses, with his [Knowledge] Basic Psychology, saw it. The tension in her jawline. The way her manicured fingers gripped the folds of her gown tightly.

"We have a problem," Ilithyia said without preamble, her voice low and controlled.

Aemilia and Licinia looked at her in confusion. Ulysses simply waited. He knew this was no ordinary political matter.

Ilithyia looked straight at Ulysses, her ice-blue eyes seemingly trying to pierce into his mind. "My moon cycle is late."

A dense silence immediately fell over the room. The statement hung in the air, laden with terrifying implications.

Licinia gave a small, nervous laugh. "Perhaps you are just tired, Ilithyia. All this chaos..."

"I am never late," Ilithyia cut her off, her voice sharp as ice shards, silencing Licinia instantly. Her gaze shifted to Aemilia. "You?"

Aemilia's face turned pale. She seemed to be thinking hard, calculating in her mind. Ulysses saw the horror slowly creeping into her eyes as the realization hit her. "I... I thought it was due to grief..." she whispered, her voice trembling. "I haven't... I haven't had it since... that night."

Three pairs of eyes now turned to Ulysses. Three women. Three wombs that might now carry his seed. Three ticking time bombs ready to explode and destroy everything they had built.

Before the panic could fully erupt, a servant rushed in, his face pale. He whispered something into Ilithyia's ear.

Ilithyia listened, her face unchanged, but Ulysses saw her shoulders stiffen slightly. After the servant left, Ilithyia looked at them.

"Magistrate Calavius was found dead this morning," she said, her voice flat, emotionless. "They say food poisoning. His son, Numerius, also died last night. A sudden fever."

Aemilia gasped, her hand covering her mouth. Licinia looked horrified. Ulysses simply observed. Deaths too convenient. Too timely.

"Domitia is now alone," Ilithyia continued, her eyes now gleaming with a familiar, sharp calculation. "A wealthy widow, just like you, Aemilia. And I wager..." She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. "...she is also late."

Ilithyia did not wait for agreement. She rose. "Ulysses, come with me. We will retrieve our newest ally."

They found Domitia in her villa, which now felt silent and cold. The woman, usually arrogant and intelligent, now seemed shattered, her eyes red and swollen, sitting amidst empty luxury.

Ilithyia approached her, not with sympathy, but with an offer of power. "You are not alone in your grief, Domitia," Ilithyia said. "And you are not alone in your troubles."

Domitia looked at her in confusion. Then Ilithyia told her everything. About her suspicions. About Aemilia.

Ulysses watched the horror on Domitia's face turn to understanding, then to trembling resignation. She nodded slowly, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks. "Me too," she whispered. "Since that game..."

That night, they re-gathered at Ulysses's residence. Five people. One man, and four noblewomen who now carried the same secret within their wombs. The room was filled with a tension so thick it was hard to breathe.

"This is a disaster," Licinia hissed, pacing like a trapped animal. "Four illegitimate children from a... from him! We will be ruined! All our families will be ruined!"

"Silence, Licinia!" Ilithyia snapped. "Crying changes nothing. This is no longer a disaster. This is a fact. And facts must be faced with strategy."

Ulysses, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke. His calm voice cut through their panic.

"These are not illegitimate children," he said, looking at each woman in turn.

They all turned to him.

"These are the heirs," Ulysses continued, his voice now possessing a new weight. "The heirs of Capua's four most powerful families. Bound by one blood. My blood."

He stepped into their midst. "This is not our end. This is our beginning. A new dynasty. But an heir needs an irreproachable father's name. A legend."

He looked at them, planting his idea. "My past as a gladiator must be buried. My identity as Tiberius Acilius Ulixes must be forged into a legend that will be sung throughout Rome. The tale of a noble son who returned to claim his birthright."

The women stared at him, their panic slowly receding, replaced by a glimmer of understanding in their eyes. They no longer saw a problem. They saw a plan. A way forward.

That very night, Ulysses summoned his new right-hand man, the silent and efficient Egyptian, whom he had recruited from the remnants of Ashur's network.

"I want you to spread out to the taverns, to the markets, to the public baths," Ulysses commanded, handing him a heavy pouch of coins. "I want you to pay the storytellers. Starting tonight, I no longer want to hear the name 'Ulysses the Gladiator'. I only want to hear the tale of 'Tiberius Acilius Ulixes', the descendant of a hero."

The Egyptian nodded wordlessly and vanished into the night.

The game had begun. The foundations of a new legend were being laid.

Weeks passed. The seasons changed, and so did the whispers in the streets of Capua. Ulysses walked through the bustling market, his clean tunic light on his shoulders, a luxury that still felt unfamiliar. He no longer felt the usual stares of disgust or fear directed at a gladiator. Now, the gazes were a mixture of curiosity and awe.

He paused near a stall, pretending to examine some olives for sale. His ears, now trained to filter the city's noise, caught the conversation of two merchants nearby.

"...no, not Ulysses," one of them said, his voice low. "His name is Tiberius Acilius Ulixes. I hear his family were heroes during the war against Marius. They say his father was a Centurion who fell bravely."

"I heard he was kidnapped when he was young," the other chimed in. "The gods have returned him to his destiny. From slave to champion, then to an honorable man. A tale for the poets to sing!"

Ulysses smiled faintly. The campaign was working better than he had imagined. The seeds of his legend had sprouted.

That night, in his villa, the alliance gathered again. The atmosphere had changed. Panic had been replaced by purpose. The four women looked at him, waiting. They had given him their trust; now they awaited his plan.

"Our current status is fragile," Ulysses began, his voice calm and measured, breaking the silence. "We have wealth and names, but our foundation is built on sand. To protect... our heirs, we need more than that. We need real power."

He unrolled a papyrus scroll on the table, a rough map of Capua and the surrounding lands.

"First, entertainment," he said, pointing to the city center. "Batiatus and Solonius are dead. There is a void. We will build our own ludus. Not a hell like Batiatus's, but an academy. Gladiators will be cared for as assets, trained with discipline, and fights will be presented as premium spectacles. This will give us profit, influence over the elite, and access to the best fighters."

Ilithyia nodded slowly, her eyes gleaming as she saw the political logic behind it.

"But a ludus requires funds," Ulysses continued, his eyes now shifting to Aemilia and Domitia. "Real money does not come from the sands of the arena. Real money comes from the land."

He pointed to the rural areas on the map. "With the combined wealth of your families, we will buy vineyards and olive groves. We will not sell the raw produce. Using the knowledge I possess, we will produce our own wine and olive oil, of a quality never before seen. We will control the supply, from harvest to sale. We will become an economic force."

"What is all this for, Ulysses?" Licinia asked. "We are already rich."

"Wealth can be lost," Ulysses replied, looking sharply at Licinia. "But true power is eternal. One day, I will stand on the battlefield as a Roman Commander. And a good commander never depends on the Senate's generosity." He paused, letting them understand the implications. "He pays his own legions. With loyalty bought by gold, not promises. This is not just about business. It's about building our war chest."

A new understanding dawned on their faces. This was not just a business plan. It was a blueprint for conquering the future.

Days later, Ulysses stepped into the squalidest part of Capua. The air was heavy with the smell of waste and despair. In a narrow alley, the Egyptian had gathered them. Six orphans, thin, dirty, but their eyes sharp and full of wild street intelligence.

Ulysses crouched before them, ignoring the filth on the ground. He offered no sweets or empty promises. He looked at their leader, a boy with a scar on his cheek.

"I see hunger in your eyes," Ulysses said. "Not just hunger for food, but hunger for something more. I offer you no coins. I offer you a choice. Continue to be rats scrounging for scraps in the sewers, or become wolves who will one day sit at the banquet table."

He continued, "I will give you a home. Food. Clothes. I will teach you to read, to count, and to see the world as it is. In return, you will be my eyes and ears in this city. You will be loyal to me completely."

The scarred boy looked at Ulysses for a long time, weighing every word. Then, he nodded. "We are with you."

That night, as Ulysses returned to his villa, the Egyptian was already waiting in the shadows.

"Your legend campaign continues to spread, Dominus," he reported. "The tale of Tiberius Acilius Ulixes is now on everyone's lips. And there is other news."

Ulysses turned.

"A Praetor is on his way to Capua. He brings a full legion," the Egyptian said. "His name is Gaius Claudius Glaber."

Ulysses looked towards the night sky. The game in Capua was about to become far more deadly.

The next day, the sound came first. A deep, rhythmic rumble, not like thunder, but like the heartbeat of a giant shaking Capua's cobblestone streets. Ulysses stood on his villa's balcony, beside Ilithyia, looking out at the main road. Then, they appeared.

Endless lines of legionaries, their armor gleaming under the sun, the synchronized thud of their iron-reinforced sandals hitting the ground. Above them, silver eagle standards fluttered proudly. This was the true might of Rome. A war machine designed for destruction.

At the head of the column, riding a large black horse, was Praetor Gaius Claudius Glaber. His face was arrogant, his gaze sweeping over the city's rooftops as if he already owned them.

"My husband has arrived," Ilithyia said beside Ulysses, her voice flat, without a hint of warmth. "Capua now has its master."

"Every master has a weakness," Ulysses replied softly, his analytical eyes seeing not just the soldiers' discipline, but also their commander's arrogance. Arrogance was the biggest flaw of all.

That evening, the magistrates of Capua held a banquet to welcome the Praetor. Ulysses attended, no longer as an unseen guard, but as Tiberius Acilius Ulixes, the honorable husband of Licinia. He felt the gazes of the nobles on him, whispers of his nascent legend following his every step.

Glaber stood in the center of the room, surrounded by sycophants. When his eyes met Ulysses's, the whole room seemed to hold its breath. Ilithyia stood by her husband's side, her face a mask of a dutiful wife.

"Ah, the champion of Capua," Glaber said, his voice loud enough for all to hear. His smile was disdainful. "I hear the arena sands have spawned new nobles in this city."

Ulysses was not provoked. He simply inclined his head slightly in respect. "A great Praetor knows that Rome always finds its heroes in the most unexpected times, whether on the sands or in the Senate," he replied, his voice calm and clear.

Small stifled laughs could be heard from some guests. Glaber's face hardened. The insult he had thrown was returned with an elegance that made him seem petty. Ulysses saw a pure flash of anger in the Praetor's eyes, before Ilithyia quickly placed a hand on her husband's arm, calming him. In that gesture, Ilithyia and Ulysses's eyes met briefly. A recognition. A warning.

The next day, Ulysses wasted no time. He was on a large plot of land on the outskirts of the city, where the foundations of Ludus Ulixes were beginning to be laid. Construction workers moved under his direction.

"No, no," Ulysses said to the foreman, pointing to the plans he had sketched on the ground. "The fighters' barracks must have direct access to the hot baths. Well-recovered muscles are a sharper weapon. And the elite viewing area," he continued, "must be separate, with private balconies and direct wine lines from the cellar. Luxury sells more tickets than blood."

The foreman looked at him in confusion, then nodded. These ideas were strange, but they made sense.

There, amidst the dust of construction, Ulysses also selected his first group of potential gladiators. Not just brute giants, but also smaller men with quick movements, and those whose eyes showed intelligence.

"Strength can be trained," he said to the Egyptian who stood beside him. "But a keen mind is a gift from the gods."

As dusk arrived, the Egyptian brought him a report. "Your legend campaign continues to spread, Dominus. But there is other news."

"Tell me," Ulysses said, his eyes still observing his prospective fighters.

"Senator Metellus's villa, two miles north, was attacked and burned to the ground last night. They say it was Spartacus. No one survived."

Panic would soon spread. Glaber would be under even more pressure to act. And a pressured commander makes mistakes.

That night, there was a soft knock on his chamber door. Ilithyia slipped in, her cloak covering her nightgown. Her face was tense.

"He's angry," Ilithyia whispered. "The insult at the banquet... he won't forget it. He asked me about you. About your past."

"And what did you say?" Ulysses asked.

"I told him the tale of Tiberius Acilius Ulixes, of course," Ilithyia replied. "But he doesn't believe it. He sees you not as a rival, but as a stain to be removed."

She moved closer, her cold hand touching Ulysses's chest. "Be careful, Ulysses. My husband does not fight fair. He strikes from the shadows."

Ulysses gripped Ilithyia's hand, pulling her closer until their breaths mingled. In her eyes, he saw not only a warning, but something else. An admiration for the new power daring to challenge her husband.

"Let him come," Ulysses whispered, before his lips devoured Ilithyia's in a deep, dangerous kiss. "The shadows are where I am most comfortable."