Training Camp
"What? 5000 credits! Andy, you might as well be robbing me! It's just a kid, not a war vehicle!"
In a daze, a hoarse but furious voice pierced Asher's ears. He cracked his eyes open to a wilderness on the outskirts. A campfire burned not far away, with a black sedan parked nearby. A man dressed like a gentleman in a fur cloak was shouting at the leader of the Black Widow gang. In the firelight, Asher could even see the man's spittle flying.
Behind the irate man stood two burly bodyguards, each carrying a submachine gun, clearly there for protection.
Asher shifted slightly, pain shooting through several parts of his body. His face was pale, but he made no sound. The boy was in bad shape; after Byfang was killed, he had been knocked unconscious. Since then, his time had been spent mostly in a haze, with brief moments of clarity.
He was now locked in a sturdy iron cage, unable to bend the three-centimeter-thick bars, especially since his dagger, A Devil's Praise, had been taken by Andy.
Currently, the dagger spun effortlessly in the leader's hand. Asher wished he would slip and plunge it into his own throat.
"Calm down, Mr. Hern," Andy said with a smile, pointing at Asher. "Yes, it's just a kid. But he meets your requirements, no records whatsoever. More importantly, he's healthy, and his age and build are similar to your son's. I bet you won't find a more suitable candidate in a week."
"So you see, 5000 credits is not expensive. Or do you think your son's life isn't worth the money?" Andy's smile was unwavering.
Hern snorted, showing his white teeth, "You vampire. Listen, if it weren't for the deadline, you'd never make this deal. Take the boy now, and come to my company for the money in three days, you bastard!"
He shoved Andy aside and approached the cage, holding a handkerchief to his nose before looking back, "Damn, you two idiots, get him in the car. Do I have to do everything myself?"
The guards hurried over, lifting the cage with Asher inside and carrying it to an off-road vehicle. Inside the cage, Asher glared at Andy, who was still smiling and waving goodbye.
"Hey!" Asher called out to him.
Andy shrugged, "What, going to miss me? You're a likable kid, whitey, but now you're Mr. Hern's... property!"
Asher's gaze fell on the dagger in Andy's hand, "Take good care of it. Because I'll come back for it, and when I do, I'll use it to slit your throat."
Andy flinched; Asher's crimson eyes stung him. Then he looked at his companions and laughed, "I'll be waiting, kid. If you can crawl back from that place, from that hell."
Eventually, Asher and the cage were thrown onto the off-road vehicle. After a bumpy ride, he arrived at a manor in the wilderness. The manor was large but sparsely built, with a main house, several outbuildings, a water trough, and a row of shacks. Asher was dumped into one of the shacks, next to piles of coal and firewood.
In the middle of the night, it began to rain. The water spread along the ground, turning the area beneath Asher's cage into a muddy swamp. The cold water seeped into his feet and crawled up his body. The cage was only 70 centimeters high, making it impossible for Asher to stand, forcing him to sit huddled in the mud all night.
By noon the next day, a guard brought a basin of cold leftovers, Asher's food for the day. Even the wolves kept by the Herns ate better. Asher silently devoured everything, ignoring the disdainful looks from the guard. But when the guard returned to find the basin licked clean, his expression soured.
Two days later, a sedan drove into the manor. A boy, about Asher's age, chubby and dressed in a well-tailored suit, jumped out of the car. Ignoring the guards' protests, he ran to the shack and laughed after looking at Asher, "This is the mongrel replacing me? Doesn't look a bit like me."
"Master Bess, appearance doesn't matter as long as the age matches. The rest, Mr. Hern will take care of," a guard fawned.
Bess crouched down, making a face at Asher, "You're going to die, mongrel. But it's an honor for you to replace me in that place."
He turned to the guard, "I heard he's a wolf child?"
"Yes, the leader of the Black Widow, Andy, said he seems to have been raised by snow wolves."
"How interesting. Hey, do you bite?" Bess waved his hand near the cage.
"Please don't do that, young master," the guard warned.
"It's fine, he won't dare..."
Before Bess could finish, Asher lunged forward, grabbing and twisting his arm, breaking it instantly. As Bess screamed like a pig being slaughtered, Asher said coldly, "I don't bite. I only kill!"
"Let go! Let go!"
The guard shoved his gun into the cage, using the butt to knock Asher away, then dragged Bess out. Bess continued to wail, "I'll kill him," but was helplessly carried into the main house.
Moments later, Hern arrived at the shack, fuming and wielding a rubber club.
That day, Asher received no food, only a brutal beating.
A week after being captured, at the hottest part of the day, a transport vehicle arrived at the manor. Hern had been notified and was waiting impatiently at the gate under the scorching sun. The vehicle stopped, and several people emerged. One of them, a chubby man, was invited into the house by Hern, while the other two, dressed in camouflage and tactical helmets, carrying automatic rifles, were clearly soldiers.
The soldiers' camouflage bore an emblem: a musket and longsword crossed over a black owl-wolf insignia. This was the mark of the "Owl-Wolf," the ground defense force of District 13, indicating these men were from a regular army.
Before long, Hern and the chubby man emerged. Hern pointed towards Asher, and the man laughed heartily. He nodded and called out to the soldiers, "That's Bess, take him away. Oh, and don't forget to give him a number."
He assured Hern, "Don't worry, those big shots only look at the numbers. They won't bother to check the background of a little brat."
"Thank you very much," Hern said.
Beside him, Bess, his arm in a cast, gave Asher the middle finger.
The burly soldiers approached Asher, who watched them impassively. One pulled out a strange pistol, warning Asher, "For your own good, stay still."
As he reached for Asher's arm, the boy lunged for the soldier's throat. But before he could move, his body convulsed, and he collapsed. Still conscious, he saw the other soldier holding a stun gun, who laughed, "This kid's really wild."
"Maybe he has a chance to survive," the soldier said, pressing the gun against Asher's arm and firing.
The gun vibrated slightly, and Asher felt a numbness in his arm. When the soldier lifted the gun, a number was imprinted on Asher's arm: 666!
That day, Asher left the manor. The soldiers pulled him from the cage and threw him into the transport vehicle. Under the watch of two burly, fully armed soldiers, Asher didn't dare make any moves that could be misinterpreted. Through the vehicle's window, he saw the manor recede, the vehicle traversing a canyon and a vast primeval forest, arriving at a military camp at the foot of a mountain three days later.
As the soldiers ushered Asher out of the vehicle, the man who had numbered him smiled, "Welcome to hell."
Reluctantly, under the guns of two rifles, Asher walked into the camp, where several transport vehicles were parked at the entrance. Inside, there was a rudimentary but spacious square. The square was an unrefined muddy ground, damp from recent rain, leaving muddy footprints with every step. On the square, dozens of soldiers stood in a line, their rifles at the ready, aimed at boys and girls about Asher's age.
The soldiers escorted Asher into the group of youths and handed a folder to a towering officer. The officer, over two meters tall with sun-bronzed skin shining with oil, wore a beret askew, revealing a face with a sinister smile and an X-shaped scar that was intimidating. This robust officer, as formidable as a gray gorilla, wore the insignia of a lieutenant on his shoulder.
He strode forward, addressing the hundred or so frightened youths below, "Welcome, you little bastards. I am Lieutenant Ronan, and here, I am your god. Whatever I tell you to do, even if it's eating shit, you'll do it without question. You're lucky bastards because you've been randomly selected by the system to have a chance to represent District 13 in the upcoming Death Arena. But you're also unlucky because, in the next six months of training, only one of you will walk out of this camp's gates."
"You little shits might always complain about living on a hellish surface. But now, I can tell you for certain, your previous lives were as sweet as heaven. And now, you've truly arrived in hell!"
As he finished, Ronan's voice boomed like summer thunder, leaving the youths below dizzy and disoriented.