The sun had barely risen over the hills when Lucius, Flavio, and Marcus arrived at the quarry entrance. The morning air was cool, but it already carried the promise of the suffocating heat that would come in a few hours. They were pushing the Currus Lucii, whose new, light wood contrasted vividly with the gray dust and raw stone that dominated the landscape.

  Flavio, holding the cart's handles, looked like a child with a new toy, though his muscles were tense with expectation. He stopped and took a deep breath of the air laden with limestone dust.

  "I smell change in the air, my friend," Flavio commented with a wide, optimistic smile. "Today our backs will thank us, and our pockets too."

  Lucius looked out over the expanse of the quarry, where the first workers were already dragging themselves to their positions with the dejected expressions of men facing a daily sentence.

  "We'll see," said Lucius, keeping his voice calm, though his heart was beating fast. "You can start."

  They headed to their usual sector. Without waiting for orders, Flavio positioned the cart near a pile of freshly cut stones. With renewed vigor, he began picking up the limestone blocks. One, two, three large blocks. Normally, that would be enough load for a heavy stretcher shared between two men, but he continued. He placed more smaller stones to fill the gaps.

  At first, only the nearest workers noticed. They stopped their pickaxes and shovels, wiping sweat from their eyes to understand what that giant was doing. Why was he piling so much weight into a wooden box with a single wheel? Had he gone mad?

  But then, Flavio lifted the handles. He didn't grunt with effort. His arms didn't tremble. He simply pushed, and the wheel turned. The vehicle moved smoothly over the uneven terrain, the oak wheel overcoming obstacles that would stall a common cart.

  The sound of work and the striking of metal against stone began to die down. One by one, groups of slaves and free men ceased their activities. Silence spread across the quarry like a wave, until the only thing heard was the deep sound of the wooden wheel turning and Flavio's steady footsteps. In a few moments, the entire quarry stopped. All eyes were fixed on the strange contraption, fascinated by the absurd practicality of the movement.

  Suddenly, a furious shout broke the spell.

  "Why have you stopped? What is going on here?"

  The supervisor marched across the ground, his face red with indignation, the wax tablet brandished like a weapon. He was ready to hand out lashings or fines, but his words died in his throat when his eyes landed on Flavio.

  The big man was maneuvering the cart full of stones with disconcerting ease, making a tight turn to deposit the load. The supervisor froze, his mouth slightly open. Fury gave way to genuine confusion. He observed the mechanics: the balanced weight, the single wheel, the speed.

  "What, by the gods, is this?" asked the supervisor, his voice now tinged with curiosity.

  Flavio stopped the cart, lowered the handles, and wiped his forehead, though he had barely sweated. He turned to the man with a respectful but proud smile.

  "Forgive the inconvenience, sir," said Flavio, his voice echoing in the silence of the quarry. "This is a new tool. A way for one man to do the work of two, and in half the time. We call it the Currus Lucii."

  The supervisor frowned, processing the information.

  "Lucius's Chariot? Why that name?"

  "Because it was Lucius who invented it, sir," Flavio explained, gesturing to the crowd. "He had the vision and gave the design to a carpenter friend to build."

  The supervisor looked around, his eyes narrowing.

  "And who, by the gods, is this Lucius?"

  Flavio signaled with his hand. The crowd of workers, dirty and tired, parted ways. Lucius and Marcus advanced through the human corridor that formed. Lucius held his head high, but upon reaching the supervisor, he made a respectful bow.

  "I am Lucius, sir," he said with calculated humility. "A worker of this field, under your orders."

  "And I am Marcus, the carpenter who gave life to the wood," added the other, bowing his head.

  The supervisor looked from Lucius to the cart and back to Lucius. He walked slowly around the vehicle, inspecting the wheel, the lubricated axle, the cargo box. He lightly kicked the wheel to test its solidity.

  "I have to admit," grumbled the supervisor, rubbing his chin. "This looks useful. Very useful."

  "You may test it, if you wish," Lucius suggested. He signaled to Flavio. "Hand it to him."

  Flavio stepped back, leaving the handles free. The supervisor hesitated for a second, looking at his own soft hands compared to the workers', but curiosity won out. He grabbed the wooden handles.

  "You need to push, not carry," Lucius instructed gently. "Let the wheel take the weight."

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  The supervisor pushed. The surprise on his face was visible. The load, which should have been impossible for one man to move alone in that way, glided forward. He took a few steps, feeling the balance, the physics working in his favor.

  A murmur of awe ran through the crowd of workers. They saw it not merely as a machine, but as a miracle that could save their broken backs.

  "Fascinating," the supervisor admitted, bringing the cart to a halt. "Truly fascinating."

  Marcus saw the opportunity and stepped forward.

  "I can produce more of these, sir. Many more. Imagine how much time and how many men you would save." He then stated the value, the price they had agreed upon, clearly and directly.

  The supervisor let go of the cart's handles and sighed, returning to his rigid posture of authority.

  "The price is fair, carpenter. But I simply cannot buy it," he said, shaking his head. "I have no authority to spend the quarry’s funds on new contraptions or whatever this thing is without approval. I would have to present this to my boss, the patrician owner of these lands."

  Lucius remained undeterred. He knew Roman bureaucracy was as solid as its roads.

  "That is no problem, sir," Lucius replied promptly. "You can speak with him. Show him the invention. I am absolutely certain that a businessman like him will see the immediate value and will like what he sees—and you might even be promoted."

  The supervisor looked at Lucius with newfound respect. That was not the speech of a simple stone carrier.

  "Yes, I will speak with him," the supervisor agreed, with an optimistic tone. "This could, in fact, change the way we work here."

  He looked at the rising sun and then at the crowd of standing men. The enchantment of the moment broke, replaced by the relentless routine.

  "Now, enough of this spectacle!" the supervisor shouted, slapping his tablet against his thigh. "The day waits for no one and the stones don't walk by themselves, except for this one! Everyone back to work! Immediately!"

  Three weeks had dragged by since the first test at the quarry. For Lucius, they were days of grueling work under the relentless sun, lifting stones and proving his invention's worth with every drop of sweat spilled. In the meantime, he met furtively with Marcus on alternate nights. The carpenter's workshop had become a modest production line: ten new wheelbarrows, sturdy and smelling of fresh oak, stood ready, aligned like soldiers awaiting battle.

  The decisive meeting with the patrician, the noble owner of those lands and the quarry, was scheduled for the next day. As he walked back home, Lucius felt a knot in his stomach that had nothing to do with hunger. It was anxiety. Everything depended on that conversation. If the noble accepted the order, his life would change.

  The night was atypically beautiful. The full moon hung over Rome like a polished silver coin, illuminating the cobblestone streets and transforming the city's filth into mysterious shadows and soft contours. Lucius tried to focus on the sky's beauty to calm his nerves, breathing in the night air which, by a miracle, seemed less laden with foul odors.

  However, when he approached the dark entrance of the insula where he lived, the tranquility was shattered.

  From the deep shadows of a side alley, two figures emerged without warning. Before Lucius could raise his hands or utter a word, a heavy, calloused fist sank into his stomach. The air escaped his lungs in an agonizing wheeze. He doubled over, falling to his knees on the packed dirt, eyes wide with sudden, blinding pain.

  There was no time for recovery. Clubs rained down on his back and shoulders with calculated violence. They were not blows to kill, but to cause deep, lasting pain. Lucius curled up on the ground, protecting his head with his arms, feeling the wood crack against his bones.

  After a few minutes that felt like hours, the rain of blows ceased. Lucius groaned, the metallic taste of blood in his mouth. Slow footsteps approached. A third man, who had remained watching in the shadows, revealed himself. He wore a tunic of better quality than the brutes, but his face was cold and cruel.

  "It was hard to find you, Lucius," the man said, his voice soft and dangerous.

  Lucius tried to focus his blurred vision, his mind spinning in a whirlwind of confusion. Who were they? What did they want? He had no enemies here... or did he?

  The man crouched before him, grabbing him by the hair and forcing him to look into his eyes.

  "You need to pay what you owe," the man whispered, every word loaded with poison. "Or next time it won't be just a beating."

  He let go of Lucius's head and looked at the decaying building above them.

  "You have a beautiful family, Lucius," the collector continued with a sadistic smile. "It would be very sad to see them sold as slaves to pay off your debts. My master wants his money. And he is not known for his patience."

  Understanding hit Lucius harder than the clubs.

  They were debt collectors. The real Lucius, whose life he now inhabited, had contracted dangerous debts before disappearing or dying. The bitter irony almost made Lucius laugh, were it not for the pain. In his old life, as an engineer, he also had debts with the bank, student loans, and credit cards. But however predatory 21st-century banks were, they at least didn't send thugs to beat him up at his doorstep. The ancient world was brutal in its simplicity.

  "The message has been delivered," the man said, standing up. "Let's go."

  The three disappeared into the street's darkness, leaving Lucius gasping in the dust.

  With a Herculean effort, he leaned against the building wall and forced his legs to obey. Every muscle screamed in protest. He wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth and entered the dark vestibule, dragging himself up the steep wooden stairs.

  He reached his apartment door and knocked, his arm heavy as lead.

  The door opened almost immediately. Selena was there, her face illuminated by the weak flame of an oil lamp. Seeing her husband's state—clothes soiled with dirt, face swollen, posture bent—she brought a hand to her mouth, stifling a scream.

  "Lucius! By the gods, what happened?"

  He entered, limping to the nearest chair and collapsing into it.

  "Collection..." he muttered, his voice hoarse. "Men came to collect the debt."

  Selena's expression of worry mixed with painful resignation. She lowered her eyes, shaking her head.

  "I knew it..." she said, her voice trembling. "I knew it was a bad idea to take that money from those men. I warned you, Lucius."

  Lucius didn't answer. He looked up and saw his daughter, sitting on the floor, playing with a piece of fabric. The girl looked at him, innocent, not understanding the gravity of the violence surrounding her small world.

  He knew, rationally, that this wasn't his family. It wasn't his blood. But in that moment, seeing the child's vulnerability and the fear in the woman's eyes, something primal awakened within him. It wasn't just pity. It was a fierce desire for protection. He was in that body, in that life. Lucius's debts were now his debts. The threats to those two were threats to him.

  "I will find a way," Lucius said, his voice firm despite the pain. "I promise."

  Selena looked at him, eyes watery, seeing a determination that didn't usually exist in her husband.

  "Please, don't do anything stupid," she asked softly. "Stay still. I'll get water and clean cloths to tend to those wounds."