Warlord Conquering (The Great Insurrection Book 3) by David Beers (best historical fiction books of all time txt) 📗

the ground holding his kneecap. The father understood the knee was fractured. He only wondered if his progeny would rise again.

Romulus found his way to his feet, though he wobbled on one leg. The round ended.

The boy didn't look at his father, only stared across the yard at his opponent. The fear was gone. Now there was hate. Disgust.

The third round started. There was no flurry from Romulus; rather, he was careful this time, practiced and showing the fundamentals that had made him stand out among his peers. He was damaged, though, and everyone watching knew it.

A devastating blow midway through the round broke Romulus' collarbone, leaving him with only his left leg and right arm still working.

The people in the audience looked at Adrian, wondering if he would call the match and save his son from further damage.

Romulus’ father didn't glance at them, nor did he stand up. He would not stop this, not even if it meant his son died on the field below. The red blood dotting the brown grass did not bother him, nor did the shattered bones. Adrian kept his eyes on his son.

His son's face bore resignation, the knowledge that he was going to face his first loss, and he most likely would be dealt more pain over the next few minutes. However, Romulus never looked at the audience. He did not shrink from his duty. He hobbled to the middle of the yard and used his skills as best he could. He made the newcomer circle this time, lashing out whenever his opponent tried to close the gap.

The blow that felled him wasn't fancy, but it was brutal.

One of the newcomer's smaller sticks smashed against the back of his head, and Romulus collapsed to the ground. The eight-year-old boy was broken, bruised, and unconscious. Adrian got up from the stands and left the arena.

Adrian didn't let the boy's mother see him in the infirmary. He went alone, denying the trainer access as well. The boy’s collarbone had already been repaired, and preparations were being made for his face. It was a delicate procedure, and to retain his facial structure as he aged, it would most likely need to be repeated.

Adrian walked into the room, and the droid docs looked at him. Something passed between them, and the three moved out of the room, leaving the father alone with his son.

Adrian walked over to the room's only window and placed his hands behind his back.

The boy was in pain. Adrian had made sure the medicine they gave him wasn’t strong enough to dull his wits.

Minutes passed in silence. Neither said anything. It wasn't the boy's place, and Adrian knew this lesson had to remain with him for the rest of his life.

His voice broke through the silence. "Why did you lose?"

"He was..."

His father interrupted him ruthlessly. "Think before you answer me, boy."

The child shut his mouth and said nothing for a long time. Adrian didn't bother him or interrupt his thinking. He just stared out the window, waiting.

"I was lazy."

At eight years old, it was a very honest and intelligent answer. It was also not stated as a question but a fact.

Adrian nodded. "That's right. You've been lazy for the past six months. Your trainer came to me and told me, boy. I said to let you do as you chose." He turned, and his eyes fell on the child. There were tears in Romulus' eyes. "Wipe them away. Your eyes and face give away your thoughts every time I look at them. Perhaps an eight-year-old child won't use it to his advantage, but a man? They will eat you alive, skin you as you watch, rip your flesh from your bones, and roast it as you cry."

The boy said nothing, only wiped his face as his father commanded.

"Hear me now, and remember my words. Your bloodline is pristine, boy. Perhaps I'm arrogant, but I'd put it against the Ascendant's. You are above the rest of the planet by your birthright." He paused to take a deep breath and calm himself. "Runts like that child today will destroy you if you try to rest on your genetics. They will outwork you. Out-practice you. They will kill you."

He placed his hands behind his back and took a measure of the boy. Romulus’ eyes were dry, and his face was devoid of emotion.

Adrian continued, "I watched you get beaten badly this morning. I watched your body be broken, and I showed no emotion. From this day forth, let me never hear that you are not outworking everyone on this planet. Do not let me see a single emotion cross your face. Do you understand, boy?"

Romulus nodded, and for the first time, Adrian felt proud, although there was no emotion on his face. "Yes, Father."

Many years later, Ares remembered his father's words. His Whip had been taken from him, and perhaps his honor as well. That was yet to be determined.

Adrian’s words had guided him for so long, and now he went back to them for their wisdom.

Show no emotion.

Outwork everyone.

All of his men had been Clipped; virtually everyone still alive on the ship who wasn't needed to operate it had been Clipped. Alistair had not Clipped Ares, though, nor Veena or Hel. The three of them sat in different cells, but on the same level, in the brig. They could see each other.

However, their voices couldn't travel to each other. Hel had tried signing to them. Veena deciphered it for a bit, but Ares had simply laid down in the cell and stared at the ceiling. He knew he wasn't a perfect student of his father's lessons. There was always room for improvement. He had let his emotions slip with that woman before, and he would not do it again.

His true feelings about her were simple: he'd like to fuck her, then kill her. It was the cruelest thought to ever go through his head, but there it was. Her masterful plans had failed disastrously, and they