Chapter 6: Lessons

Allen's expression also turned grim, not because of the brawny lieutenant's voice, but due to the radiance emanating from his body during his thunderous shout. This was the glow of source energy, distinct from Bai Fang's cold silver sheen. The lieutenant's light was a pale red, exuding a fierce and domineering aura.

Apart from the lieutenant, Allen noticed a few other instructors emitting a similar faint glow. Although their radiance paled in comparison, it was still enough to signal their superiority—these were not individuals Allen could afford to provoke, at least not for now.

He resolved to strictly follow the lieutenant's orders, understanding that defying such a person was as futile as an ant challenging a giant. He still had a life to preserve, and only by staying alive could he eventually seek vengeance against Andy. This was also his mother's wish.

Upon the lieutenant's signal, a few soldiers scattered yellow powder around the gathered youths. Andy continued, "Next is a simple test. Believe me, it's really simple." He grinned maliciously, "You only need to stand still and silent within this yellow circle for ten minutes. The most crucial rule is not to step outside the circle. Anyone who disobeys will face... consequences."

Drawing a hefty revolver from his waist, Lieutenant Ron made a show of waving it around, making his intentions unmistakably clear.

Soon, a crude circle of yellow powder was drawn on the ground, enclosing around a hundred youths. Many appeared fearful. Allen sniffed the air and detected a pungent, acrid smell from the powder that nearly made his eyes water. The strong odor seemed to serve a purpose beyond marking a boundary—perhaps it was meant to contain something.

Allen's suspicions were soon confirmed as more soldiers brought in sealed alloy barrels. Entering the correct codes, they unlocked the barrels, revealing dark interiors filled with countless tiny, glowing red specks.

The youths couldn't hide their fear, some even stumbled backward in fright. Suddenly, a small creature leapt from one of the barrels. It was an ant, but significantly larger, about the size of a cicada, with a dark red body and sharp, glistening mandibles.

"These are volcano ants, known for their sensitivity to vibrations," Lieutenant Ron explained with a sinister smile. "If I were you, I'd stand perfectly still."

The soldiers began banging on the barrels, prompting a swarm of volcano ants to emerge, spreading out like a dark red tide. Initially disoriented, the ants quickly locked onto their targets as some youths screamed in panic, swarming toward them like a crimson flood.

Allen took a deep breath, slowing his heartbeat—a technique taught by the snow wolves to mask his presence and approach prey unnoticed. In a few breaths, the ants had reached the youths' feet. Dozens of ants started climbing up Allen's legs, but he maintained his calm, breathing softly and slowly to minimize any reaction.

However, not all the youths were as composed. Many screamed, stomped, and swatted, their frantic movements quickly inciting the ants to attack. The ants' sharp mandibles easily pierced their delicate skin, burrowing into their ears, nostrils, and even more sensitive areas.

Within a minute, over ten youths had collapsed, vomiting blood as the ants ravaged their insides. A boy around twelve or thirteen couldn't endure it anymore and ran out of the circle. Lieutenant Ron didn't intervene. When about a dozen youths had fled the circle, he nodded to his soldiers, who then opened fire, gunning down the escapees. Ron personally used his revolver to blow away half of a girl's head, her body soon becoming a feast for the ants.

Allen closed his eyes and held his breath, standing still as a statue. He was soon covered in ants, yet remained motionless. Noticing this, Ron signaled to a nearby instructor, "Note his number. This one has potential; he knows how to slow his heartbeat and suppress his presence. Those damn ants think he's a rock."

The instructor nodded in acknowledgment.

After ten minutes, Ron snapped his fingers, and soldiers armed with water hoses sprayed the youths. A torrent of cold water washed over Allen, dislodging the ants from his body. The ants struggled in the water but soon became lifeless. Allen tasted the water dripping from his mouth, finding it strongly acidic—whatever was in the water, it was deadly to the volcano ants.

The spraying continued for a minute before stopping. Less than a third of the youths remained standing. Nearly fifty had died from the ants' bites, and another dozen were shot by Ron and his soldiers.

In just ten minutes, the camp's numbers dwindled to thirty-five. Allen began to grasp the true meaning of Ron's earlier words about "hell."

"Congratulations, you've survived the first test, the hardest one," Ron said, eyeing the drenched youths. Some girls' soaked clothes clung to their bodies, exposing their budding forms. Ron ogled them briefly before continuing, "This is your first lesson from me: absolute obedience. Follow my orders, and you might survive. Defy me, and you will die."

"I think those deserters made that clear enough."

Ron clapped his hands, "Alright, that's it for this morning's lesson. Here are some manuals on the Death Arena. I know some of you don't even understand why you're here, so use this time to learn. In a while, the instructors will take you to the barracks. When the whistle blows, I expect you all in front of me within fifteen seconds. If not, you can imagine the consequences."

"Dismissed!"

Allen and the others were then led to a simple barrack.

The barrack was made of iron sheets, supported by thick steel bars. Inside, there were only two rows of iron beds. Allen chose a bed in a corner, farthest from the window, a habit from his years of living in the wild, instinctively picking a spot less exposed to attacks.

His clothes soaked through, Allen took off his shirt. Soon, the instructors brought in uniforms: a grass-green vest, camouflage pants, and black boots. These were the best clothes Allen had worn in five years. The instructors supervised the youths as they changed into the uniforms. The barrack was co-ed, so the girls had to undress under the watchful eyes of everyone. Some of the girls had already started developing, exposing their budding forms.

This naturally drew heated stares from the instructors and the boys, including Allen. Though living with snow wolves had left him naive about such matters, the older boys, some with experience, gazed even more fervently.

While they changed, a dozen instructors burst into the barrack, each wielding a whip. Without warning, they began lashing the naked youths.

The barrack erupted with screams.

Allen's chosen position gave him an extra second to react. When a whip came his way, he rolled on the bed, letting it strike the iron frame instead. The instructor, surprised, flicked his wrist for another strike. Allen dodged, falling to the floor to avoid the second lash.

"Damn it!" the instructor cursed, swinging again.

The whip aimed for Allen's head, but he protected himself with his arms, curling up to minimize the impact. He angled himself so that the whip struck his left arm instead of his head, leaving a red, swollen welt.

More lashes followed.

Screams filled the barrack, but the assault was brief, lasting only five seconds. Every child was struck at least twice. Allen took six lashes, double the others.

Lieutenant Ron then entered, his signature smile on his face, "How did that feel, brats? Remember, you're here for the toughest training, to survive the harshest games. Don't think you're still at home. Here, attacks can come at any time. Your job is to stay alert and learn to endure."

"This is your second lesson from me!"