Chapter 5: The Training Camp

"What? Five thousand bucks! Andy, you might as well go rob a bank! That's just a kid, not a tank!"

Amidst the dizziness, a hoarse yet furious voice pierced Alan's ears. He slowly opened his eyes, revealing a desolate wilderness. Nearby, a campfire flickered, and a black sedan was parked beside it. A man draped in a fur cloak, attempting to look like a gentleman, was roaring at the leader of the Black Widow gang. In the firelight, Alan could even see the man's spittle flying.

Behind the man stood two burly men dressed in black, each carrying a submachine gun, clearly acting as bodyguards.

Alan moved slightly, pain shooting through multiple parts of his body. His face pale, he remained silent. The boy was in poor condition; after White Fang was killed, he had been knocked unconscious. Since then, he had drifted in and out of consciousness, with the latter being far shorter.

Now, he was confined in a sturdy iron cage. It was solidly built, and no mere boy could bend the thick iron bars, especially since his demon blade had been taken by Andy.

At present, the dagger was twirling deftly in the leader's hand. Alan fervently wished for a misstep, for the blade to plunge into the leader's own throat.

"Calm down, Mr. Hern," Andy said with a smile, pointing at Alan. "Yes, he's just a kid. But he meets your criteria with no record whatsoever. Most importantly, he's healthy, and his age and build match your son's perfectly. I bet you won't find a better candidate in a week."

"So you see, five thousand isn't expensive. Or do you think your son's life isn't worth that much?" Andy grinned.

Hern snorted, baring his teeth. "You bloodsucker. If the deadline weren't so close, you'd never get this deal. Now, I'm taking him. In three days, come to my office for the money, you bastard!"

He shoved Andy aside and approached the iron cage. Covering his nose with a handkerchief, he turned back and barked, "You two idiots, get him into the car. Do I have to do everything myself?"

The two bodyguards rushed over, lifting the cage and Alan together, heading towards a four-wheel drive. Inside the cage, Alan glanced at Andy, who waved him goodbye with a smile.

"Hey!" Alan called out to him.

Andy shrugged. "What, can't bear to part with me? White-haired brat, though I do like you, you're now Mr. Hern's... property."

Alan's gaze fixed on the dagger in Andy's hand. "Keep it safe for me. Because I'll be back to retrieve it, and I'll use it to slit your throat."

Andy flinched, Alan's fiery red eyes stinging him slightly. Then, looking at his companions, he burst into laughter. "I'll be waiting, kid. If you can crawl back from that place, from that hell."

Eventually, Alan and the cage were tossed into the SUV. After a bumpy ride, he arrived at a remote estate. The estate was large but sparsely built: a main house, a few outbuildings, a water bucket, and a row of shacks made up the entire estate. Alan was thrown into a shack, next to piles of coal and firewood.

At midnight, it started raining. The rainwater seeped in, turning the ground under Alan's cage into a muddy swamp. The cold water crept up his legs, chilling his body. The cage was only seventy centimeters high, forcing Alan to curl up in the muddy water all night.

The next day at noon, a guard brought a basin of cold leftovers, Alan's meal for the day. Even Hern's dogs ate better. Alan silently ate everything, ignoring the guard's disdainful looks. When the guard returned and saw the empty basin, his expression grew uneasy.

Two days later, a sedan entered the estate. A boy, about Alan's age, jumped out, chubby and well-dressed in a tailored suit. Ignoring the guards' protests, he ran to the shack, laughed after a moment of staring at Alan, and said, "So this is the mongrel replacing me? He doesn't look like me at all."

"Young Master Bess, looks don't matter. As long as the age matches, Mr. Hern will handle the rest," a guard fawned.

Bess squatted, making a face at the cage. "You're going to die, mongrel. But at least you get to go in my place, that's an honor."

Turning to the guard, he asked, "I heard he's a wolf boy?"

"Yes, Andy of the Black Widow gang said he was raised by snow wolves."

"How interesting. Hey, do you bite?" Bess waved his hand near the cage.

The guard hurriedly cautioned, "Don't do that, young master."

"It's fine, he won't dare…"

Before he finished, Alan lunged, snapping Bess's arm with a swift twist. As Bess screamed in agony, Alan coldly said, "I don't bite. I kill."

"Let go! Let go!"

A guard smashed Alan with a rifle butt, dragging Bess out. Bess kept shrieking, "I'll kill him," but was helpless as the guards carried him to the main house.

Soon after, Hern stormed to the shack with a rubber baton.

That day, Alan received no food, only a severe beating.

A week after being captured, at noon, a convoy arrived at the estate. Hern, informed in advance, was waiting in the scorching sun. The car stopped, and several people emerged. One obese man was invited inside by Hern, while two soldiers in camouflage, wearing tactical helmets and carrying automatic rifles, stood by.

The soldiers bore the insignia of crossed muskets and swords, with a black wolf in the center – the emblem of the 13th District Ground Forces "Night Wolves," indicating they were from a regular army.

Shortly, Hern and the fat man came out. Hern pointed towards Alan, and the fat man laughed heartily. "That's Bess, take him away. And remember, give him a number."

To Hern, he said, "Don't worry, those big shots only check numbers, they won't investigate a kid's background."

"Thank you," Hern replied.

Nearby, Bess, his arm in a cast, gave Alan the finger.

The two burly soldiers approached, Alan watched them coldly. One drew a strange gun, saying, "For your own good, stay still."

As he reached for Alan's arm, Alan lunged at his throat. Instantly, his body convulsed and he collapsed. Before losing consciousness, he saw the other soldier holding a stun gun, saying, "This kid's wild."

"Maybe he'll survive," the soldier said, pressing the gun to Alan's arm and firing again.

The barrel trembled slightly, causing a mild numbness in Allen's arm. When the soldier finally removed the muzzle, his arm bore a fresh number: 666.

That day, Allen departed the manor. He was dragged out of the cage by the soldiers and tossed onto the transport truck. Under the vigilant watch of two heavily armed soldiers, he dared not make any move that could be misconstrued. Through the truck's window, he saw the vehicle leave the manor, traverse a gorge, cross an expansive primeval forest, and after three days, arrive at a military camp nestled at the foot of a mountain.

As he was forced off the truck, the man who had branded him with the number smiled and said, "Welcome to hell."

Reluctantly, Allen walked towards the camp, prodded by the muzzles of two rifles. At the camp entrance, he noticed several other transport trucks. Inside, there was a spacious but rudimentary square. The ground, seemingly recently drenched by rain, was muddy, leaving footprints with each step. In the square, dozens of soldiers stood in a line, their rifles pointed at boys and girls of similar age to Allen.

Two soldiers escorted Allen to join this group of youths, then handed a folder to a leading officer. This officer, standing at an imposing two meters, had bronzed skin glistening with a sheen of oil. Under his crooked beret was a face with a menacing grin, marked by an X-shaped scar that evoked fear. This formidable officer, as robust as a gray-furred ape, bore the insignia of a lieutenant on his shoulder.

Striding forward, he gazed at the frightened youths before him and declared, "Welcome, you little wretches. I am Lieutenant Ron, and here, I am your god. Whatever I command, even if it's eating excrement, you will obey without question. You are both fortunate and cursed; fortunate because you've been randomly selected to represent District 13 in the new Death Arena. Cursed because in the next six months of training, only one of you will walk out of this camp."

"You miserable brats, you may have thought your lives on the surface were hellish. But now, I assure you, your previous existence was paradise compared to the true hell you've entered!"

As he finished, Lieutenant Ron's voice thundered like a summer storm, leaving the youths below dazed and disoriented.