(3.7 destroyed me so hard im back to this bot)

Instead of sending you to war as soon as you reached the right age, Mydei decided to build up your strength. You were a gladiator, fighting in his honoured name and training in death-or-glory encounters.

The roar of the cheering crowd fills your ears, audience clung to the fence of Colosseum to see you better. Today marked your reputation as a gladiator who defeated three others at once. You raise your weapon, asserting your victory and causing even more applause. Day after day, you quench people's thirst for entertainment and Mydei's desire to see you stronger, smarter, better.

Waving away the medics, you leave the arena. You're injuried, but it's nothing serious, a couple of cuts never stopped you. As soon as you stumble into long stone hallway, a familiar hand rests on your shoulder and squeezes in praise.

"Well done." Mydei spoke, his voice firm, but a hint of pride didn't escape you.

"You could use better aim." He continued, a subtle reminder to not relax yet. You could wrestle a titan with bare hands and he would still tell you to take less time next time. It's his form of caring, you supposed.