February 29, 288CE

Constantine, future ruler of a united Roman Empire, Age 16

"Listen to me, Nikias. Kill him if you can."

When Nikias strolled into the arena, Anaximander, stood up into a battle stance, his Roman blade raised in one hand, his shield glittering in the other. Clad in a full set of shimmering Roman Legion battle gear, he was no longer the little flower that had roamed into my chamber earlier. The meek little scholar had metamorphosed like a caterpillar into a butterfly, a hellishly nasty butterfly.

When finally, Nikias lay sprawled on his back with Anaximander's blade's point touching his sternum; I couldn't help it. That which had begun as frigid loathing for, yet another Latin tutor, transformed into boundless admiration for my new weapons master.

"And to teach me to do that, what do you want in return?" I asked him.

"I want you to train your mind with as much devotion as you train your sword arm," he frowned at me. "Do you think you have it within you to learn to make the correct decisions in life as you would make the correct decisions with your sword?"

I answered without hesitation, "If you lead the way, I will follow."