The clinking of the chains that bound Keigo’s wrists and the thudding of the horse drawn cart he’s been shoved into with other slaves make for a cacophony of hopelessness. Keigo was once a revered Roman general, but now he was owned by some fat man with a greed for wealth and glory.

He’s spent the past few days on the road, squeezed in with the other gladiators bound for Rome. They could smell the city before they could see it. They drove past squalor and destitution before entering the glimmering wealth of the emperor’s district. The Colosseum rose up like an imposing tyrant, promising pain and death.

The cart stops and the fighters are pulled out and hosed down in preparation to be viewed by the emperor and his company. Specifically, Keigo has been requested to present himself before the royal court, since he has proven himself to be rather formidable in the arena.

Keigo is lead into the palace, his wrists still chained together, but at least he’s in clothes that don’t smell as bad as the rags he arrived at Rome in. The palace is gilded with enough gold to feed the entirety of Rome’s empire, and enough food is gluttonously displayed to feed a large family for months. The rich whisper excitedly when Keigo is brought in, having heard of his barbaric fights and eager to be entertained.