"They're both new, so I haven't seen them fight before. Means you've got even odds, much to the Empire's dismay.”

  The colosseum laid bare in front of them, skill-shaped stone acting as a skeleton for dried blood and jubilant cheers. It all cost a fortune, something Ludere had only seen in the hands of gamblers like the one beside him:

  The purple stitching on his tunic marked the man as a noble of a minor house—that or a senator in disguise, but those were rare.

  The man regarded Ludere with purple eyes to match the stitchings, filled with the contempt of someone assured of their superiority. “I assume you're using a skill for this, Ludo?”

  It barely took him any effort to hold back a sigh, the benefit of experience.

  "My skill gives me insight on a person the more I've seen them fight. Unless I get their skill combinations and levels, I can't gauge where a newcomer stands."

  The man had come to Ludere's posting, a small nook inside the arena where people from all walks of life could come and wager on the various gladiators of the day. Below them were hundreds of men and women alike, watching in delight as two gladiators played a game of cat and mouse.

  A man clad in a toga that ended at the knees chased another who had the privilege of donating his blood to the sand from plenty of wounds—only a loincloth to his name as he scampered to find a weapon.

  This time Ludere did sigh when the man snatched a net.

  The crowd roared, shaking the ground ever so slightly.

  There were likely those among the noise that knew how poor a choice a net was. Unless the loincloth contestant was formerly part of the legion, or rich enough to toss their Dinarii to train with the weapon, then they were better off grabbing a walking stick.

  The man tossed the net at his pursuer with the grace of a toddler, which answered that curiosity.

  His opponent kicked up a cloud of dust and the net fell to his side on the sand, giving the spectators some amount of comedy to make up for the anti-climactic attack.

  "Very well. I'll place five Dinarii on the one with the loincloth."

  Ludere hesitated before marking the bet, extending a hand to palm the man's coin and put it away. Both of them stood in silence as they watched the proceedings.

  The man in the loincloth wasn't doing well, at all.

  He had an official title somewhere. Ludere knew just enough to pretend to forget it and avoid ever having to say it. If the noble or senator felt like spending a week's worth of Ludere's pay on the dark horse, then who was he to question it?

  Ludere adjusted his brown toga so he could find some measure of comfort. He had to wear clothes that adhered to the codes because he worked in the damned place, which meant he spent most of his day suffering the sweltering heat in attire that was anything but agreeable.

  It was meant to show who he belonged to.

  For him, all that mattered was that he was witnessing the tenth fight of the day. They were halfway through, and he could only manage so many bets. The colosseum would close for a day and a half, where he'd be free to spend his time however he pleased.

  So many men his age would've jumped at the chance to fight in the arena, and although Ludere had spent some time with the spear, going into the arena willingly? That was insane.

  Plenty of people died here, people who thought they'd mark their legends, or at least make a few coins.

  To Ludere's surprise, the fool in the loincloth wasn't one of those people.

  In a move that was either luck or skill, he managed to slip past his opponent's guard and throw sand in his face. The crowd's gasp almost seemed synchronized.

  It wasn't an uncommon tactic, but neither did it happen in every battle. Though, seeing as how he either wasn't using his skills, or didn't have any, it made for a good show.

  Everyone wanted to root for the underdog—yet none of them desired the task of disposing their corpse off the sand. They still had to do it; it was why twenty battles took most of the day. When skills were put in the mix? The walls weren't crusted in dried blood for aesthetics.

  It would've been a lot easier if they didn't clean up. While they were diligent, their attempts felt like an insult to the Empire, at best. Well, at least that's what the most prolific customers would tell him.

  Sometimes they complained to Ludere like he could actually do anything about it.

  The hierarchy of older nobles sneering down at the populace was as obvious as the sun in the sky. But Fiddle forbid that he ever shared that while a cousin who shared a fraction of noble blood was present, or someone who thought the taste of sandals was rather enjoyable.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  Ludere couldn't win them all. Plebe issues were baked into his life.

  The noble with the purple-stitched trim on his toga returned for his winnings. Ludere counted out each of the eleven pieces as he placed them in his palm and handed them to the man.

  "Six additional, on top of your wager, due to the even odds. Pleasure doing business with you."

  The man took it without comment and disappeared. Either he was done betting for the day, or he was just done with Ludere.

  Even odds on either.

  "It's not like I don't care about my job," Ludere complained to the bookie next to him. "I just like making money."

  Erebus's toga was the more-workman-type that had been given to him by the company. Ludere would never subject himself with such textiles if he could help it.

  "You could always just leave here and become one of the contestants. I've seen you."

  "I don't have the strength for that. I know you think I'm strong, but I'm nowhere near that strong."

  "Excuse me," a man in a purple-lined toga said.

  Ludere snapped his head to the man and wore a pleasant smile. Not unfriendly, but never too friendly.

  Ludere snapped to attention.

  "Sir! Welcome to the Pug's Betting Hole. On which contestant would you like to wager today?"

  The elderly figure looked at him with kind eyes.

  "I'd like to place fifteen Dinarii on the gentleman with the green tunic."

  Ludere turned his gaze to the arena and activated his Scan skill. The man in question looked ready and confident, which made sense because he was carrying a spear.

  He was the safe bet; spears outperformed most weapons because of their length. Perhaps the only thing Ludere could think of that bested it reliably was the bow, but those were only allowed in special matches.

  Contestants that chose to abstain from the death stick were foolish, in his opinion, or arrogant to the point where it was basically the same thing.

  He turned his attention to the spear-wielder's opponent, and perhaps Ludere had awakened some talent as an oracle, because he was certain of the outcome immediately.

  Ludere gulped. There were ethical concerns with enticing prisoners or slaves to fight in the arena with the promise of freedom, concerns that those with power tended to ignore. Perhaps they had one good skill to aid them, but the youth in the green tunic appeared to be exercising a skill in flair.

  "Understood. Fifteen it is."

  The elderly man rustled about in his robes in search of the Dinarii, counting them one by one with the care of a physician. Then the image was shattered when he spilled a few on the counter.

  The sound reminded Ludere of several gongs hitting at once.

  Ludere winced.

  He had no intention of being blamed for whatever fallout this would bring.

  "Oh, dear," the man mumbled as he re-counted the change.

  He handed them over. The weight was immediately correct. Ludere didn't bother to double-check. The coins always had the same weight, crafted with meticulous care by the Empire's best mint.

  He'd been working in the colosseum for long enough that he could accurately guess how many were in his palm. Ludere made a show of making sure that nothing had been dropped or forgotten, and wrote out the chit.

  The elder looked puzzled for a moment, as though he expected Ludere to just hand him the winning immediately. Not entirely surprising; senators often knew who was preferred to win in advance… and this match in particular didn't look favourable for the gladiator he bet against.

  The upper class knew things, though, as was their privilege as the Prefereti, either through fixing matches or some combination of rare skills. It was why their gambling rates were capped.

  The man nodded, patted his coin pouch, and tucked it into one of his many pockets.

  Once Ludere finished copying the information to his ledger, the man was off. Ludere looked around, and seeing that no one else seemed interested in betting, he picked up an old tome to inspect it. Two men had yet to return for their winnings, but that wouldn't last. They always came back.

  Sighing, he looked at the schedule. There was a planned break between the morning and afternoon crowd coming up next. He’d be safe to put the ledger away and step out.

  The security drawer under his desk came standard. As he went to place the ledger inside, a glint caught his eye. Ludere looked and found a tiny purple gem below. He blinked. It was still there. He blinked again. There it was.

  He Scanned it just to be sure.

  *Skill Spear*

  His brows were testing the border beyond his forehead, and he took a glance to see if Erebus was watching. He wasn't, being too absorbed in the match to worry about Ludere. Ludere quickly snatched the crystal and hid it in his tunic pocket.

  It had to have been the Prefeteri's; who else would be so careless as to lose a skill crystal?

  Wouldn't he miss it?

  Ludere had only heard rumours of skill crystals before, but this? This was his ticket out.

  "I'm off to the latrine," Ludere grunted as he got up. He kept up the pretense of having any interest in the match with a longing look while Erebus waved him off. Every fiber in his being screamed at him to use the crystal immediately.

  He could sell it and get… maybe twenty Dinarii? More?

  Prices weren't entirely clear, but to be fair, he hadn't exactly been researching market rates for skill crystals. The thought of asking a grammarian made him reconsider selling it. If the man came back looking for it, as it surely hadn't been there before, he wouldn't have… he wouldn't have what?

  He found himself drawn to the item as though he were cursed by a demon.

  Would it be so bad to just… try? Who knows? Maybe it had multiple charges. He stood over the little trench in the stone where men relieved themselves, and found he was faced with a rather easy choice.

  "I'm going to go relieve myself," Ludere grunted, getting up. He kept up the pretense of watching the match as his partner waved him off. Every fiber of his being told him to use the crystal immediately.

  *Absorb Skill?*

  *Skill Acquired: Skill Swap*

  *Effect: You're able to swap individual skills for a day with a willing partner. Skills that have increased in level during this time are retained, if there are available slots.*

  "What just happened…?" Ludere muttered. He opened his Skill List to check.

  The amethyst dimmed in his palm; no extra charges, it seemed. He looked for the drainage pipe—it should be wide enough that the crystal would fit.

  Ludere unceremoniously tossed the crystal down the pipe, cementing it as someone else's problem. Perhaps he'd check later, but he couldn't be searched and found with that on him.

  The skill begged to be used.

  Somehow, he could tell, pushing him to start experimenting.

  None of his other skills had ever felt like this.

  He racked his brain, trying to make sense of what he was supposed to do. How many skills did the average person have? It was nearly too much.

  But a bigger question loomed like the boatman; who would pay him to learn a new skill?