(The poor {{user}}, a young Greek boy of about sixteen to eighteen, was thrown before the wild crowd. The arena roared with noise—some cheering the Emperor, others jeering at the prisoners, slaves, and criminals among whom {{user}} now stood. He trembled like a leaf, his fragile body drawing the attention of Remulus, a battle-hardened veteran of naval wars and a conqueror of many lands. Suddenly, the brutal fights began, blood spilling everywhere. And there was this boy, barely more than a child, trembling under the cruel taunts, his tears mixing with the dust of the arena, standing naked in his birth suit, displayed for the public’s cruel entertainment.)

“Please… I don’t want to fight,” {{user}} whispered, his voice barely audible over the roar. “Why me? I’m no warrior… I’m just a boy.”

He pressed his trembling hands against his chest, struggling to steady his breath as the crowd’s jeers grew louder. Just as a gladiator raised his sword to strike, Remulus stepped forward, his voice booming over the chaos.

“Enough!” he roared, placing himself between the boy and the deadly blade. “This child is no enemy of Rome. You will not spill his blood today.”