Chapter 6: Night of the Hatchling Eagle
The Butcher’s first lesson was one no one would ever forget.
More than a hundred new recruits—those who refused to obey orders, those who still dared to resist—were executed on the spot. The rest—over five hundred who confessed and submitted—were each whipped ten times as punishment.
The whip was made of braided steel cord, its head weighing three kilograms. Every strike tore through flesh and nerves. The weak collapsed after three lashes; even the strongest trained soldier could only endure twenty before losing consciousness.
Out of the five hundred, several dozen died before the punishment ended, their bodies shredded and lifeless. The survivors stood trembling, backs and hips laid open in a lattice of blood and bruises, every breath a hiss of pain.
By the time the punishment ended, the sun had vanished behind the mountains. Night fell heavy and silent.
The Butcher gathered the survivors—all eight hundred and fifty of them—his voice cutting through the dark like a blade.
“Next, Instructor Hawk will arrange your accommodations for the first night in Azurebird Camp, and will be your most important and unforgettable night. ” he said with a smile that wasn’t a smile, “hope you enjoy yourselves.”
He exchanged a glance with Hawk, who nodded and motioned to the other instructors. Under the watchful eyes of the armed soldiers, the recruits were divided into groups and led to their “quarters.”
Chen Ning and the others were taken to the far end of the base, where an old, dimly lit building loomed. The flickering corridor lights revealed narrow hallways and rows of rusted iron doors. The stench inside was overwhelming—filth, rot….
As they approached, the sound of barking erupted from within—dozens of snarling, ravenous dogs.
A chill crept up Chen Ning’s spine. Don’t tell me we’re spending the night in kennels…
But the thought was all too plausible. Knowing the Butcher, this was just another twisted “lesson.”
The building had a thousand rooms—each barely two meters square, little more than a cage. The eight hundred and fifty recruits were shoved in one by one.
Chen Ning was thrown into Room 999. The iron door slammed shut with a deafening clang.
He stood still, trying to adjust to the darkness. Through the faint light from the barred window, he saw it—a pair of green, gleaming eyes staring at him from the corner. Then came the low, guttural growl of something alive.
A stray dog!
When his eyes adjusted, Chen Ning saw the beast clearly: ribs jutting from its sides, patches of fur missing, but eyes bright with feral hunger. It looked like it hadn’t eaten for days.
A chill ran through him. He’d expected a dirty room, not a fight for his life.
From next door came a burst of snarling and a scream—a human one. Someone else had already been attacked.
Chen Ning crouched slightly, raising his hands defensively. His voice was calm but low.
“I know you’re hungry… but if we fight, only one of us will walk out alive. Let’s not do this, alright?”
The dog’s response was a bark that turned into a roar. In a flash, it lunged—fangs bared, jaws wide, aiming straight for his throat.
Chen Ning twisted aside just in time. The dog’s teeth snapped shut on air, just a few centimeters away from his neck. If he had reacted half a second slower, things would have turned out really bad for him.
In that instant, he seized the creature by the neck, both crashing to the floor in a violent struggle. The dog did not predict that his attack would miss, immediately start thrashing wildly, claws raking his chest and arms, shredding his shirt and leaving streaks of blood.
Pain tore through him. His grip loosened due to the immense pain—and the dog did not let go of this opportunity, spinning around and once again aiming for the throat.
Chen Ning jerked aside, but not fast enough — the teeth still found his shoulder.
The pain was intense. The beast shook its head viciously, tearing flesh, wanting to maximize the injury as much as possible.
“AHHH—”
Chen Ning screamed, fury surging through him. Something snapped inside.
Driven by pure instinct, he opened his mouth and bit down hard on the dog’s throat.
Although human teeth aren’t particularly sharp, their bite can still be terrifying—especially when driven by desperation. To Chen Ning, it’s do or die.
Blood flooded his mouth—hot, metallic, wild.
The dog panicked. It had fought and killed plenty of humans, but never once had a human bitten back. Desperately struggling, whimpers echoed in the empty room.
But Chen Ning held on with everything he had, biting harder and harder, his jaws on the verge of dislocation.
The thrashing weakens, its claws scraping against the floor before going limp.
Then—silence.
Chen Ning lay there gasping, his body aflame with pain, his mouth full of fur and blood. He had no strength left. As the adrenaline drained away, he collapsed onto the dead animal and slipped into unconsciousness.
Outside, across the building, the night echoed with barks, screams, and the sounds of men dying.
When dawn broke, the first chirp of a bird woke Chen Ning.
He stirred, pushing himself up—then froze. The dog’s corpse beside him had withered, its skin clinging to bone, as if every drop of blood had been drained away.
What… happened?
A sick thought crossed his mind. Did I… drink its blood?
He felt bile rise but swallowed it down. His shoulder throbbed where the dog had bitten him—but the wound, astonishingly, had already begun to scab. His body felt light, powerful. The fatigue from last night was gone, replaced by an uncanny vitality.
Could it be… the zombie virus in his blood? Had it fused with him somehow?
He didn’t have time to wonder. The iron door clicked and swung open. Two Azurebird soldiers stood outside, black uniforms crisp, firebird insignias on their sleeves.
They were slightly surprised when they saw Chen Ning and the dried out carcass of the dog at his feet.
The one on the left saluted.
“Recruit 999, Chen Ning. Congratulations. You’ve survived the Hatchling’s Night. From now on, you are an official Azurebird trainee.”
The Hatchling’s Night—the first true trial of the Azurebird Corps.
A few days after the eaglets hatch, their mother leads them to the edge of a towering cliff. Without hesitation, she pushes them down the cliff. The tiny creatures tumble, flailing helplessly against the howling wind — many never rise again.
Those who survive the first trial soon face an even crueler one. The mother eagle deliberately snaps the fragile bones within their growing wings, then pushes them off the cliff once more. The sky becomes both cradle and graveyard — countless eaglets vanish into it.
Yet the mother’s cruelty hides a savage wisdom. Only through pain can the young eagles be reborn. The bones in an eagle’s wings have a remarkable regeneration. As long as the fledgling endures the pain, beating its mangled wings again and again against the wind, blood will surge, flesh will mend — and the wings will grow stronger than ever before.
When they finally heal, those wings are no longer fragile limbs of youth, but the blazing symbols of rebirth — wings of the phoenix. From that moment on, the once-broken eaglets rise into the boundless heavens, true kings of the sky, destined to soar for a thousand miles.
Just as mother eagles push their fledglings off cliffs to teach them to fly, The Hatchling’s Night test separated the strong from the dead. Half of the recruits never made it through.
When Chen Ning emerged, only around five hundred stood in the training yard.
He spotted familiar faces—Liu Xi, Gao Feng, and Xu Qiang—all of them scarred, exhausted, but alive. Liu Xi’s face bore a new mark: a long scar cutting across his left cheek, giving his handsome features a cold, vicious edge. When their eyes met, his gaze burned with venom.
He still hasn’t forgiven me.
The instructors, led by Hawk, regrouped the survivors into five units of a hundred each.
Chen Ning, fatefully, was assigned to the same unit as Liu Xi. As they lined up, Liu Xi leaned close and whispered, his tone like ice:
“Same group, huh? You’re dead, kid.”
That morning, the new recruits were assigned bunks, ordered to wash, and marched to breakfast.
No one dared to disobey, unlike the chaos of yesterday. Every man stood straight, silent, eating from metal trays. The Butcher’s cruelty had burned discipline into their bones.
While they ate, Azurebird soldiers cleared the kennels.
Outside Room 999, two soldiers stood guard, saluting sharply as a tall woman approached—Major Jiang Qing, her black uniform immaculate, her phoenix eyes sharp and cold.
“Report, Major,” one of them said. “The dog corpse in this cell appears… abnormal. We request you to inspect it personally.”
Jian Qing entered, closing the door behind her.
Inside, she studied the body. The dog was nothing but a husk—drained dry. The bite wound on its neck was unmistakably human.
She drew a vial of blue serum, sprinkled a few drops over the corpse—and watched as the impossible happened.
The carcass began to twitch. Within seconds, it rose—its flesh rotting, its eyes glowing dead green. It lunged.
Her blade flashed once.
Thunk!
The zombie dog collapsed with a hole in its skull.
Calmly, Jian Qing wiped her blade, sheathed it, and poured a second vial—black this time—over the remains. The corpse hissed, melted, and dissolved into a puddle of foul black liquid.
She opened the door and stepped out. The two soldiers straightened instantly.
“No abnormalities,” she said coolly. “Continue your work.”
They saluted and moved on.
Jian Qing lingered for a moment, her gaze sliding back to the door marked 999. Her lips curved faintly.
“A human… carrying the zombie virus, yet perfectly stable. The infection coexisting with his cells…” she murmured. “Interesting. It’s been too long since I’ve had something worth studying.”
And with that, she turned and walked away—her boots echoing softly down the corridor.
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