The Epic of Victor: Reborn as a Slave of a War Goddess.

- Urgh, ahh! Please, can't you be more gentle? No, no, ahh…

Belisarius's cries of pain and moans echoed through the shipyard, their intensity turning heads on the street outside. Passersby slowed, casting curious—and occasionally judgmental—glances toward the commotion. To the untrained ear, it might have sounded like a torture chamber hidden among the shipwright's tools and planks.

Inside, Belisarius winced as his sister, Amalia, dabbed vinegar on the gash across his arm.

- Dear brother, I wouldn't have to treat your wounds this harshly if you weren't such an idiot!

Amalia scolded, her voice sharp enough to cut through iron.

Belisarius flinched, not just from the sting of the vinegar but from her words.

- Sister, I couldn't help it! They knew I didn't have any clients yet. If I'd known they'd demand the money back in advance, I would've borrowed just the interest from someone else—

Bonk!

Amalia smacked him squarely on the head with her knuckles, the sound echoing as much as his earlier wails.

- You absolute fool!

she spat.

- I swear, those thugs didn't beat you hard enough. Maybe if I hit you half-dead, I could knock some sense into that thick skull of yours! Then I'll drag your sorry self home before you get yourself sold into slavery over your debts!

Bonk!

Another sharp smack landed, and Belisarius ducked, raising his hands to shield his head.

- I get it, I get it already! Please, stop!

Few things in life scared Belisarius more than his sister's fiery wrath. Thugs and debt collectors? He could handle them. But Amalia? She was a force of nature, a whirlwind of anger and sarcasm when provoked.

It wasn't entirely his fault, though. Or so he told himself. Starting a shipyard had always been risky, but he'd taken the leap, confident he could turn a profit within the year. Everything had seemed fine—until those filthy merchants sold him subpar wood at double the market price.

Belisarius had fallen for their claims of a timber shortage caused by the Dominatus Fleet's expansion. Desperate to secure materials, he'd bought the overpriced, low-quality wood and used it to build his first ship. When the ship failed inspections, his reputation crumbled before it could even form.

Now, here he was: broke, beaten, and barely able to hold onto the shipyard he'd dreamed of running. Pride kept him from returning to their father for help. How could he face the old man, knowing he'd failed so miserably?

Amalia sighed, her anger softening as she set down the vinegar.

- Just sell the shipyard and come home, brother. Work with Father until we can pay off these debts. We miss you, you know?

Her words hung in the air like a weight, and for a moment, Belisarius considered them. Before he could respond, the sound of creaking hinges shattered the silence.

The siblings froze, their hearts pounding in unison.

The memory of Amalia's attack by thugs lingered in her mind, as vivid as the bruises that had taken weeks to heal. Belisarius's own recent beating was still fresh, the aches in his ribs serving as a constant reminder.

They turned toward the sound, dreading what—or who—they might see.

A figure stepped through the doorway, and their tension turned into confusion.

The young man who entered didn't look like a thug or a debt collector. He was striking, with noble features and an aura that commanded attention. His black eyes were as deep as the night, and his short violet hair shimmered like silk. His tailored clothes spoke of wealth, but it was his presence—confident and assured—that set him apart.

Amalia's breath caught in her throat. Only one person in the entire city could exude such an aura.

- The Sword of Mariana…

she whispered, her voice trembling.

Victor, as he was called, had earned the title less than a year ago. In the Republic, every four years, the noble houses sent their children to the Pantheon after their early warrior training. It was there that legends were forged.

Each child faced trials in sanctuaries dedicated to the gods, their skills tested against grueling challenges. Victor's performance in Mars's sanctuary had been nothing short of extraordinary.

He had dominated his peers in combat, wielding every weapon with deadly precision. When single opponents fell too quickly, the trials escalated to two-on-one battles. Then three-on-one. Four-on-one.

Victor's mastery of water and wind magic allowed him to move like a phantom—swift, unpredictable, untouchable. Yet his strikes were devastating, each blow heavy and precise.

Fire spells? Parried with gusts of wind and torrents of water.

Earth magic? Evaded with blinding speed.

Lightning? The only true threat, but even that was countered when Victor blanketed the battlefield in fog, attacking from the shadows like a ghost.

By the end of the trials, his reputation was cemented. The Republic hailed him as a prodigy, though they were relieved he hadn't yet developed a talent for aura—a skill reserved for the rarest of geniuses.

Now, this prodigy stood in their humble shipyard.

- Th-this is him!

Amalia stammered, pointing at the young man.

- Who is he?

Belisarius asked, his confusion matching hers.

Victor pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling in frustration. He turned to the man standing behind him—a quiet figure dressed in slightly less ostentatious clothing.

- Vesperus, I thought you said we were meeting a navicularii, not two screaming harpies.

Amalia ignored the insult, her excitement overtaking her anger.

- Look, brother! Violet hair, black eyes, dressed like a noble—it's him! The Sword of Mariana! The champion of the Mars sanctuary!

Victor raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk.

- Ah, you've heard of me? Well, that makes things easier.

Belisarius blinked, still struggling to piece everything together. "Wait—why is he here? What could someone like him want with us?"

Victor stepped forward, his movements as smooth as the ripples of a calm lake.

- I have business here.

he said, his voice as steady as his posture.

Amalia and Belisarius exchanged nervous glances. Business? With them?

- What… kind of business? Belisarius asked, his voice wavering.

Victor tilted his head, studying the siblings with an intensity that made them squirm.

- Let's just say I've been hearing things. About a struggling shipwright full of debt's. And about an opportunity that might benefit us all.

Amalia's eyes narrowed.

- What kind of opportunity?

Victor's smirk widened.

- Let's discuss it over a drink, shall we? I'm sure we'll have much to talk about.