4 Relentless

Sweat dripped down Maximus's arms. His neck was slick with sweat. His hair clung in clumps on his head. His chest heaved and his loose shirt clung to his body. Sweat stung his eyes and he frantically attempted to blink it away, unsuccessfully.

Maximus slowly looked up, raising his head to see the general's stern expression and the sword that was crossed against the one he himself had frantically raised to attempt to stop the thrust. To his surprise, it had worked.

It had been only two days since Maximus had been accepted into the legion. Already the general had taken a liking to him and already Maximus was catching attention. Whether that was good or not...well, that Maximus had yet to determine.

Currently, Maximus was going through rigorous and painful training. It was a little better than yesterday, however, when he'd been forced to clean out stables that hadn't been cared for properly in months.

The general's eyes were hard and unyielding, but far from cold. They calculated Maximus's strength, questioned if he should continue to press him.

Maximus stared back, unrelenting. The general gave the briefest of nods and Maximus pushed the sword up, jumping up as he did. He met the general's strikes with defensive parries, easily anticipating and blocking each move.

Maximus had spent many a day watching the legion train from his workbench window.

But Maximus was not yet a match for the cohort's general. For suddenly the general succeeded in disarming the new legionnaire and throwing him down onto the sandy arena floor.

"Not bad, Maximus," the general said. "But prepare yourself for an opponent with more experience who is larger than you in height and weight. Perhaps I'll move you to real armor rather than leather."

Maximus nodded, taking in the general's words, but the effect not really taking over. He hurried off the arena and passed the sword to the next legionnaire.

He seated himself next to another new legionnaire by the name of Titus. The two of them had quickly bonded together after the first day they had spent scrubbing and mucking out nasty stalls.

"Not too bad," Titus said appraisingly.

Maximus just barely nodded, feeling dead on his feet. He stripped off his soaked shirt, using it to wipe the sweat from his body. Not that it worked—the shirt itself was already far too saturated to be much of a help. It merely smeared the sweat all over Maximus's chest, neck, back, and face.

Titus snorted.

Maximus shrugged. "Worth a shot," he said tiredly.

"Isn't anything when you're in the Roman legions?"