Chapter 7: Despicable Acts
Five hundred recruits stood in perfect formation beneath the burning morning sun.
Breakfast had been eaten in silence. At the sharp sound of the whistle, every man rushed to the training ground, assembling into five neat formations. No one dared to whisper. No one was late.
Just yesterday, they had been a ragtag bunch of refugees and wanderers.
Now, they were beginning—just barely—to look like soldiers.
The towering Chief Instructor, known only as Butcher, stood before them again. His broad shoulders cast a long shadow across the line of recruits as his icy eyes swept over each face.
“Survival of the fittest,” he said, his voice low and cold. “Yesterday’s purge eliminated the trash among you. What remains might look like soldiers—but looks mean nothing. To rise from the Azurebird Training Camp and earn a place in the Phoenix Legion, you still have a very long way to go.”
He paused, letting his words sink in, then continued,
“In the next three months, each of your five groups will train under one of the instructors— Hawk, Wolf, Raptor, Stone, and Fang. You’ll be drilled in strength, endurance, and courage. When the three months are over, the top ten of each group will receive rewards—and more importantly, be selected into the Elite Squad, trained by me personally.”
A ripple of tension spread through the ranks. Everyone has witnessed this man’s cruelty, and knew what “training under Butcher” meant.
It wasn’t honor—it was torment.
But the man’s next words made every heart in the field pound with excitement.
“Since the founding of the Phoenix Legion, every soldier who’s graduated from my Elite Squad,” he said slowly, “has entered the Legion directly… with the rank of Captain.”
The crowd erupted inside, though no one dared to speak.
A Captain—a dream far beyond reach for any regular soldier.
From the lowest rank of Corporal to Sergeant, then to Lieutenant, and finally Captain—five whole ranks apart. Many fought their entire lives without crossing that line. Butcher’s graduates, however, soared past it in a single leap.
Chen Ning’s heart burned.
If he could enter that Elite Squad… if he could endure whatever hell awaited… he could rise from nothing.
When Butcher finished, the recruits were divided among the five instructors.
Chen Ning’s group fell under Hawk, a lean man with a scar across one eye. He wasn’t as cruel as Butcher—but he was no less strict.
Their first day began with three brutal drills:
Two hours of running around a 1000-meter track.
Climbing the 100-story staircase—up and down.
And, finally, completing 300 squats with 100 pounds of weight in under two hours.
Half the recruits failed the last one.
Ordinarily, Chen Ning would’ve been among them. But something had changed.
The night before, he had fought and killed that straved dog in the isolation cell—and somehow, after consuming its blood, his body felt… different. Stronger. Tougher.
By the final minute of training, every muscle in his body screamed in agony, yet he pushed through the pain and finished the final squat before collapsing to the ground, gasping. His legs shook violently, numb beyond feeling.
Those who failed weren’t so lucky.
Hawk cracked his whip across their backs without hesitation—five lashes each. The sound echoed over the training ground, followed by screams that made every survivor grit their teeth harder.
That night, those who completed the full set of drills were each rewarded with a vial of crimson fluid—bright as fresh blood. Its name: Angel’s Kiss.
Chen Ning and the other exhausted men drank it down, and the effect was instant. Strength surged through them. Fatigue vanished like mist before the sun.
By dawn the next day, they awoke reborn—no pain, no exhaustion, only raw, surging energy.
The unlucky ones—the half who had failed—weren’t given the serum.
Beaten, bleeding, and without the restorative drug, they weakened further each day. The next day they failed again. The day after that, some never rose from the ground. In the Bluebird Camp, failure meant death.
By the end of the week, bodies were being carried away daily.
Chen Ning barely scraped through each session, surviving only by the thinnest margin. Each time he thought he was about to die, Angel’s Kiss brought him back from the brink.
Meanwhile, Liu Xi, descendants of an aristocratic family, dominated every test. He had grown up with genetic enhancements that can improve body strength and private trainers. For him, these drills were mere warm-ups.
That evening, after another grueling day, Chen Ning received his vial of Angel’s Kiss and headed to the washroom, his bladder bursting from the large amount of water he had consumed during training.
But as soon as he entered, he noticed footsteps behind him.
He turned—and saw Liu Xi, flanked by his two cronies, Xu Qiang and Gao Feng.
Their smirks said it all.
From the first day in camp, Liu Xi had marked Chen Ning as an enemy. The noble-born young master never forgot a grudge—and he had been waiting for the right chance.
Now he had it.
Chen Ning was alone, exhausted, and holding the one thing that kept him alive.
“I told you I’d settle the score,” Liu Xi sneered. “Didn’t expect it to come this soon, did you?”
Chen Ning’s eyes flicked toward the vial in his hand. His instincts screamed. He tried to twist it open—to drink it before they could stop him.
“Don’t let him drink it!” Liu Xi barked.
Xu Qiang and Gao Feng lunged from both sides.
Chen Ning fought back with what little strength he had left, but they’d already taken their Angel’s Kiss. Their stamina was restored—he wasn’t. From the very start of the fight, Chen Ning was at a huge disadvantage. Blow after blow rained down, forcing him into a desperate defense.
Just as Chen Ning was struggling to fend off the blows from Xu Qiang and Gao Feng, Liu Xi, seeing that his two subordinates still hadn’t managed to bring Chen Ning down, grew slightly displeased. With a sudden burst of speed, he lunged forward. His left foot stomped hard against the ground, and using the momentum of his charge, he leapt high into the air—his right leg whipping out in a fierce kick that slammed into Chen Ning’s chest.
Bang!
Chen Ning flew backward, crashing into the wall. The vial slipped from his grasp and rolled across the floor.
“No—!” He tried to crawl toward it, but Xu Qiang and Gao Feng pinned his arms to the ground.
Liu Xi picked up the vial, examining it in the dim light. The blood-red liquid glimmered between his fingers. He crouched beside Chen Ning, his tone mockingly gentle.
“You’ve surprised me,” he said with a smirk. “I thought you’d have been eliminated long ago. But you just keep crawling back—like a cockroach.”
Chen Ning glared at him, eyes blazing with hatred.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Liu Xi chuckled. “Relax. I’m not going to kill you myself.”
He raised the vial, letting the red fluid swirl.
“This is what keeps you alive, isn’t it? Every day you barely scrape by, then this little miracle brings you back. A perfect cycle. Strength, exhaustion, recovery, repeat.”
He leaned closer, eyes gleaming cruelly.
“So tell me… what happens if I break the cycle?”
Liu Xi’s grin widened, cold and sadistic.
“What happens when there’s no Angel’s Kiss to save you tomorrow?”
He stood, holding the vial loosely between his fingers—then let it dangle above the cold, filthy floor.
“I can’t wait to find out.”
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