The Civilization System: Save Rome

Chapter 8: Blood on the Street

They left the records office just before sunset, with Arthur carrying the wrapped tablets under one arm and trying very hard not to look like a man smuggling evidence out of a government building.

He failed.

At least, he felt as if he failed. Every clerk they passed seemed to glance at him for half a second too long. Every footstep behind him sounded suspicious. By the time they reached the entrance, Arthur had convinced himself that the entire Roman administration could somehow smell guilt.

Livia walked beside him, calm and straight-backed, as if she had not just handed stolen records to a dead coworker who now claimed not to be Gaius. Marcus walked a few steps behind them, close enough to intervene but far enough to watch the street.

Arthur was starting to understand that Marcus preferred that position.

The square outside was busy with the end of the workday. Officials left the building in small groups. Merchants packed away goods from nearby stalls. Laborers pushed carts through the streets while shouting for people to move aside. Rome did not become quiet as evening came. It simply changed its rhythm. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

Arthur looked around despite himself.

Part of him still wanted to stop and stare at everything. The buildings, the clothes, the sound of Latin in every direction, the smell of bread from a nearby oven mixing with smoke and sweat and horse dung. It was awful. It was beautiful. It was history breathing in his face.

Then Marcus touched his shoulder.

Arthur turned.

The soldier was not looking at him. He was looking past him, toward the far side of the square.

Arthur followed his gaze.

At first, he saw nothing unusual. Just people. Too many people. A man carrying a basket of figs. Two clerks arguing over a tablet. A woman leading a child by the hand. A group of laborers laughing too loudly.

Then he noticed the man near the fountain.

There was nothing memorable about him. Brown cloak, average height, plain face. The sort of person a crowd could swallow without effort. But Arthur had seen him before.

Near the records office.

Maybe inside the building.

Maybe just outside.

He was not sure, and that uncertainty bothered him more than the man himself.

Livia noticed Marcus’s expression and said something under her breath. Marcus answered without looking away from the fountain. His tone was calm, but his hand had drifted near the hilt of his sword.

Arthur understood that perfectly.

They continued walking.

Not faster. That would have drawn attention. Marcus changed their route instead, guiding them away from the main road and into a narrower street that ran between older buildings. Livia frowned but followed. Arthur stayed close, suddenly very aware of the weight of the tablets under his arm.

For a while, nothing happened.

That made it worse.

Arthur had expected danger to be loud. A shout. A blade. Someone charging at them from an alley. Instead, the threat remained quiet and uncertain. A glance in the crowd. A figure disappearing around a corner. Footsteps that might have belonged to anyone.

He hated it.

He hated even more that Marcus looked comfortable with it.

The soldier led them through two more streets. Each one was less crowded than the last. The buildings stood closer together here, their upper floors leaning over the road and cutting the evening light into narrow strips. Somewhere nearby, a dog barked. Someone cursed from an open window. A door slammed.

Arthur leaned closer to Marcus and whispered, "Are we being followed?"

Marcus did not understand the words, but he understood the question well enough. He gave one short nod.

Wonderful.

Livia said something sharply.

Marcus replied.

She did not like the answer.

That, too, required no translation.

They passed a small shrine built into the corner of a wall. Livia slowed for half a step, not quite stopping, and glanced toward the street behind them. Arthur did the same.

The man from the fountain was gone.

Arthur felt almost relieved.

Then someone moved in the alley ahead.

The attack happened fast.

Too fast.

A figure stepped out from between two buildings and came straight for Livia. There was no speech, no warning, no dramatic pause. Just movement. The flash of a short blade. Livia turned at the last possible moment and tried to step back, but the man was already on her.

Marcus shouted.

Arthur barely had time to drop the bundle of tablets before the attacker struck.

Livia cried out and stumbled sideways. Blood appeared almost instantly across the front of her tunic. For a second she remained standing, eyes wide with shock, as if her body had not yet understood what had happened. Then her knees gave way.

Marcus hit the attacker like a wall.

The two men crashed into the side of a building. The knife clattered across the stones. Marcus drove his fist into the man’s stomach, then grabbed him by the cloak before he could fall. For one brief moment, Arthur thought it was over.

It was not.

The attacker twisted out of the cloak, leaving the cloth in Marcus’s hand, and ran.

Marcus looked from the fleeing man to Livia.

It was only a second.

Maybe less.

But Arthur saw the decision being made.

Marcus threw the cloak aside and sprinted after him.

Arthur wanted to shout for him to stay. He also knew why Marcus had gone. If the attacker escaped, the only clear lead they had disappeared with him.

That left Livia.

Arthur dropped beside her.

The wound was in her side, low and ugly. Blood pushed between her fingers as she tried to cover it. Her face had gone pale. She was breathing too quickly.

Arthur pressed both hands over the wound.

Livia gasped and grabbed his wrist.

"I’m sorry," he said, though she could not understand him. "I know. I know. Just stay still."

She stared at him, eyes sharp despite the pain. For some insane reason, Arthur almost laughed. Even half-dead, Livia looked offended that someone had dared inconvenience her.

"Don’t look at me like that," he muttered. "I didn’t stab you."

The joke helped him breathe.

Barely.

A crowd began to form around them. People watched from doorways and street corners, whispering but not coming closer. Arthur looked up at them, desperate.

"Help!" he shouted in English.

Nobody moved.

Of course they didn’t.

He tried Latin next. What little he knew vanished the moment he needed it. He managed something that might have been "doctor" or might have been complete nonsense. Several people stared blankly.

Livia’s grip weakened.

Panic rose in his throat.

There were no ambulances here. No emergency rooms. No clean white lights and trained teams waiting behind swinging doors. This was Rome. Ancient Rome. One of the greatest cities in the world, and still a place where a woman could bleed out in the street while people watched because getting involved was dangerous.

The thought hit him hard.

Then the crowd shifted.

An older man pushed through with the kind of irritation that made people move before they knew why. He was broad-shouldered despite his age, with grey in his beard and a leather satchel hanging from one shoulder. He took one look at Livia, then at Arthur’s hands, and knelt beside them.

He spoke quickly.

Arthur did not understand.

The man slapped Arthur’s shoulder and pointed at the wound.

Keep pressure.

That was clear enough.

Arthur nodded and pressed harder.

Livia groaned.

The older man opened his satchel. Cloth, bronze tools, small jars, and several things Arthur did not want to identify appeared in quick succession. The man shouted orders at the crowd. This time, people obeyed. One person brought water. Another produced more cloth. Someone else ran off down the street.

The old man worked with calm speed.

Not magic.

Not miracle.

Skill.

That somehow made it more impressive.

He checked the wound, muttered something, then looked at Arthur and pointed toward his own chest.

"Lucius."

Arthur stared at him for half a second before understanding.

A name.

"Arthur," he replied automatically.

Lucius did not care.

He had already returned to Livia.

Together, they lifted her carefully. Arthur kept pressure on the wound while Lucius barked more orders. Two men from the crowd finally helped, though they looked deeply unhappy about it. The group moved through the street toward a nearby doorway, leaving blood behind on the stones.

Arthur looked down at his hands.

They were red.

So were his sleeves.

For a moment, the world felt too sharp. Too real. The smell of blood mixed with dust and sweat. Livia’s breathing. Lucius’s voice. The frightened faces in the crowd pretending not to be frightened.

A few days ago, he had been worried about thesis revisions.

Now he was carrying a wounded Roman clerk through the streets after an attempted murder.

The absurdity of it did not make it less terrifying.

They entered a small house that seemed to belong to Lucius. Or at least no one argued when he began ordering people around inside it. Livia was placed on a table. Lucius cut away part of her tunic without hesitation and began cleaning the wound.

Arthur stood nearby, useless and blood-covered.

He hated being useless.

Lucius glanced at him, then pointed to a basin.

Arthur understood.

Wash.

He obeyed, scrubbing blood from his hands while trying not to look too long at Livia. She was still conscious, barely. Her face was pale, and her jaw was clenched so tightly that Arthur wondered how her teeth had not cracked.

Lucius worked.

Arthur watched.

He could not stop watching. freёwebnovel.com

There were no shining machines, no monitors, no bags of fluid, no antibiotics. Just hands, cloth, boiled water, wine, needle, thread, and a man who clearly knew how to fight death with whatever the world had given him.

And for the first time since arriving in Rome, Arthur saw a problem that had nothing to do with murder or stolen grain.

How many people died here because help came too late?

How many soldiers survived a battle only to die from wounds that could have been treated better?

How many lives did an empire lose simply because knowledge was scattered, unorganized, and dependent on finding the right man in the right street at the right time?

The thought stayed with him.

Lucius tied the final bandage and stepped back. He looked exhausted but not defeated. Livia had stopped bleeding as badly. Her breathing was still weak, but it was steadier now.

Arthur did not know whether that meant she would live.

Lucius looked at him and said something short.

Arthur did not understand the words.

But he understood the meaning.

Wait.

So Arthur waited.

Outside, Rome continued as if nothing had happened.