Chapter 32: Breaker of chains

Riven couldn’t hurt the book, but he could shake it. He gripped it and began to shake it. “Wait! Wait! I didn’t ask you to search for a mission! I’m not looking to do anything! I’m simply a rank two that doesn’t even know his technique!”

But the book didn’t seem to hear him because it kept writing “searching.” It kept at it for a long time while Riven glared at it before finally stopping, and a new word appeared.

“Congratulations for accepting the mission of assassinating Spartacus. You will be re… thank you for your servitude!”

Riven stared at the book, stunned. “You’re just doing as you wish! And who is Spartacus? Kivara, do you know him?”

She shook her head. “The history of the world is too much, too long. So many eras have passed, we can only keep close to what’s near.”

Riven didn’t know how to respond to that, so he focused on the book and read the new words. “Timeline and dimension confirmed. Transferring history… Transferring history… Transferring history…”

His eyes widened as a memory he didn’t know began to surface in his head. Who didn’t know Spartacus? The mighty breaker of chains? More and more crawled into his head, and he swayed as his mind gained weight.

And even without looking, he could read what the book was writing. “Integrating Dimensional Necromancer, Riven, into history… Integrating Dimensional Necromancer, Riven, into history… Integrating Dimensional Necromancer, Riven, into history… Integrating Dimensional Necromancer, Riven, into history… done!”

“Mission: Kill Spartacus or get assassinated. Again, congratulations for accepting. Mission starts in two minutes.”

Riven cursed. “No way! You can’t just tell me it’s starting in two minutes and expect me to go along with it! I need time to get ready.”

Kivara rolled her eyes and began to move away from him. “I think you should just accept by now that you can’t reason with that thing. I don’t think I can get out of this catacomb by myself, so don’t die.”

Riven opened his mouth to tell her that he had no plan to die, but he didn’t get the chance. The air around him turned biting cold, and he shivered.

The book dissolved into darkness and streaked into his right hand. Then something opened behind him. It was a black portal that immediately yanked him in, collapsing on itself.

Coldness surrounded him, pressing tight on all sides, and he whirled, his eyes a burst of different colors as he was shot inside the portal. Then broken pieces of images and events began to flash in his eyes, too fast to catch and make meaning.

And then everything became slow, and he was spat out of the portal.

When he opened his eyes, Riven realized it was mid-morning, and the sun was just shining. He glanced around him, and he sucked in a sharp breath at what he saw. Surrounding him were men dressed in chain armor, each holding large shields and short stabbing swords.

He felt the weight in his hand, and his grip tightened on his shield and sword. If Riven had not already become a practitioner, the armor he was holding would have sent him crashing down.

“…This… Am I going to war? Am I not here to assassinate?”

Immediately, he thought that more information seeped into his mind.

“Spartacus was a gladiator who led a massive slave uprising against the Roman Republic. Initially forced into slavery and trained as a gladiator, he escaped with about seventy fellow gladiators and quickly gathered a large army of disgruntled slaves and peasants.

His rebellion, known as the Third Servile War, caused chaos across Italy as his forces defeated several Roman legions. And right now, I am with Roman General Marcus Licinius Crassus for the final battle.”

The Roman army had over forty thousand strong, preparing to crush Spartacus’s thirty thousand remaining forces. Crassus had trapped the rebels against the Siler River with trenches and fortifications. Victory seemed inevitable, but Riven sensed something darker stirring beneath the bloodshed.

More context entered his mind as he learned about “Rome,” “Italy,” and everything he shouldn’t.

His eyes narrowed. “…Honestly, I admire Spartacus… He’s a man brave enough to break the chains that shackled him… Can I break my chains like that?”

Suddenly, a horn cut through the air, and the ground came alive as thousands of metal-covered men began to march. Shields clanged as they pushed forward, and Riven couldn’t hide his excitement. It felt as if he was in the middle of something bigger than himself.

As if the army was a single entity moving them all in a wave. His blood tingled, and he couldn’t blame the men who began to shout all around him.

And since Riven was directly in the frontlines, he saw them. The rebels. They weren’t like Crassus’s army with their glistening metals. No, those former slaves held whatever they could get their hands on. Their desperate faces were shaped in acceptance and anger as they surged forward to meet the incoming soldiers.

Riven smelled death, heavy in the air as it covered the whole battlefield.

A roar came from the front, and he saw him—his target. Spartacus.

The man himself stood in a war chariot, a crimson cloak whipping behind him, his blade raised high. No hesitation. No fear showed in his eyes.

Riven didn’t know when they began jogging, but the pounding on the ground had increased. The shields around him were locking in place, and he raised his own.

“Here they come! Hold the line! For the glory of Rome!”

The two forces clashed, and the world tilted.

Riven’s shield jolted as the first wave hit, the rebels crashing against them with bone-shifting force. The man beside him staggered. A curved sword tore into the gap of his helmet.

Warm blood splattered on him, and the man went down, others stepping over him as they took his place. Riven didn’t blink as he thrust his sword forward, punching through a rebel’s stomach.

A spear came out of nowhere for his shoulder, and Riven saw it too late. But he was a rank two, and he tilted his shield to the side faster than most humans, slapping the spear away.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep