Chapter 18: The Beginning of Destruction
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Chapter 18: The Beginning of Destruction (Part 1)
The following days were an endless grind of physical training.
The first lesson—composed of three nonsensical phrases—had left the***, many of whom had solid foundational skills, inwardly skeptical. But the subsequent****** quickly taught them the origins of Captain Cortez’s infamous reputation.
Cortez tailored each trainee’s workload based on their capabilities. For those with strong willpower, the daily regimen pushed them to the brink of collapse—leaving them with just enough energy to crawl into bed and sleep. Those specializing in Combat Domain abilities faced workloads several times heavier than others. Though every trainee hid some portion of their true capabilities, and the captain never bothered to ask, his prescribed quotas always matched their exact limits—no more, no less.
Su had never enhanced any Combat Domain abilities, yet Cortez assigned him training standards equivalent to a second-tier Combat Domain specialist, with extra emphasis on strength. Su’s stamina was freakishly resilient, honed by years of surviving the wastelands, where conserving every drop of energy was instinct. But his raw power and physical defense lagged, barely matching first-tier enhancements. Whether by coincidence or design, Cortez’s regimen ruthlessly targeted Su’s weaknesses.
By midnight, Su finally finished his last task: 200 weighted pull-ups. When he staggered back to his barracks and collapsed onto his bunk, even eating felt impossible. His muscles burned from overexertion, his body a chaotic mess of spasms and fatigue.
Gasping, he fought the urge to pass out. After what felt like hours, he dragged himself to the iron table by the window.
A tube of specialized nutrient paste and water sat waiting. Su’s trembling hands struggled to unscrew the cap. He squeezed the grayish paste into his mouth, gagging as its sawdust-like texture scraped his throat.
The Black Dragon Guards’ nutrient blend was leagues above the N958 Base’s slop—packed with calories, balanced macros, and fatigue-suppressing drugs. But someone had clearly engineered it to taste like punishment. After brutal training, the chalky bitterness made even the strongest trainees retch. Worse, it demanded immediate hydration, leaving stomachs bloated and uneasy.
Each barracks stored a three-day supply. Most trainees collapsed into sleep immediately. A few choked down a mouthful before passing out. By Day 3, two had already buckled under the workload.
Captain Cortez’s punishment was simple: two strikes from his rubber baton. The first strike left them pale and silent. The second unleashed screams that echoed across the training ground for five full minutes. One crawled upright, trembling. The other lay twitching and giggling—his mind shattered.
“Weakling!” Cortez spat. “Someone, drag him away!” Two soldiers emerged from the shadows to haul the broken man off.
This was the first time anyone besides Su had tasted the captain’s baton. The agonized shrieks revealed its true power, shifting the trainees’ view of Su—who’d endured six strikes without a sound—from suspicion to wary respect.
Su spent half an hour forcing down the nutrient paste. Enhanced compounds flooded his muscles, accelerating repair. By 1 AM, hunger clawed at his gut again. The day’s two evolution points had vanished, replaced by new abilities: Combat Domain Tier-1 Strength and Tier-1 Physical Defense.
His body had self-allocated the points—a first. Had his subconscious sensed danger?
Su sat up, muscles twitching with unfamiliar coordination. Hunger dominated. He stumbled to the intercom.
A honeyed voice answered: “This is Supply Specialist Susan. Dear Su, how may I assist you?”
“I need an extra nutrient tube. Now.”
“We offer 41 targeted nutrient blends, 33 specialty formulas, 15 medical—”
Su’s hunger spiked. Every muscle fiber screamed for fuel. He barely restrained himself from smashing the intercom. “The standard issue. Now.”
Five eternal seconds later: “That’s our free base nutrient paste. But it’s high-calorie, nutritionally unbalanced, and tastes like—”
Su’s voice turned lethally soft: “Now.”
The barracks door slammed open, blocked by Cortez’s hulking silhouette. “Hungry, soldier?”
Su spotted two nutrient tubes in the captain’s hand. “Yes.”
“A soldier who eats is a good soldier.” Cortez tossed the tubes and left.
The fleeting goodwill vanished the next day when Su’s training quota jumped by 20%.
After 15 days, only 21 trainees remained—including all five women. Cortez’s regimens exploited every weakness. For Su, endless strength drills paid off: his raw power surged despite no new ability tiers.
The real test came next: equipment selection. The armory offered over 100 cutting-edge weapons—most priced beyond Su’s 1,000-credit stipend. While others splurged on smart rifles and armor, Su unearthed relics: a vintage Barrett sniper rifle and **.50 Magnum pistol** for under 100 credits total.
Murmurs followed as he walked out clutching the “obsolete” weapons and a combat knife. Pity and disdain filled the air—poverty remained unforgivable, even here.
Su ignored them. To the Black Dragon Guards and their vassal clans, wasteland survivors would always be penniless vermin. Respect was a currency he’d never hold.
After equipping themselves, the trainees were granted one final night of rest—even including the luxury of a hot shower. With only five shower stalls for twenty-one people, timing mattered, but everyone would get their turn.
Su never missed a chance to bathe. Submerging every inch of his skin in water was a rare indulgence. Towel in hand, he headed toward the barracks’ corner shower block. His steps slowed as he spotted two of Cook’s lackeys blocking the entrance.
“Hey, pretty boy!” one sneered. “Come back in two hours. Walk away unless you want trouble.”
Su kept advancing, smiling faintly. “What’s happening inside? Something fun?”
The second man flicked his cigarette to the ground, eyeing Su warily. “Whatever’s happening ain’t for you. But if you’re smart, maybe someday—”
Su’s enhanced hearing pierced the steamy clamor: shower partitions creaking under strain, flesh slapping flesh. A woman’s stifled sobs tangled with Cook’s guttural growls: “Tighten up, b***h! I’m close!” A sharp slap echoed, followed by renewed weeping.
Su reached the doorway, his smile unchanged. “Can’t I join? I’ll take last place.”
The lackeys exchanged smirks. One chuckled, “Dream on, freeloader—”
Crack!
The man’s nose collapsed under Su’s fist. Before his body hit the wall, Su pivoted. The second attacker lunged with a roar, four-tier strength behind his punch. Su sidestepped, hooking his foot under the first unconscious man’s torso to fling him as a human shield.
As the attacker batted his comrade aside, Su blurred left. A misplaced step—crunch!—Su’s heel shattered the man’s ankle. A knee to the skull dropped him screaming.
Ten seconds. Two broken bodies.
Su pushed open the shower door.
Across ten meters of tiled floor, Cook froze mid-thrust, the naked woman pinned beneath him. Her legs—muscular, trembling—twitched in his grip.
“Too late to play hero!” Cook sneered, hips jerking viciously. The woman whimpered.
Su stood motionless, jade-green eyes glacier-cold. Under that gaze, Cook’s arousal withered. Enraged, he shoved the woman aside and turned fully naked, muscles rippling. “Come to get railed, pretty boy?”
Outside, Cook’s reinforcements arrived. One charged Su with a steel pipe—only to collide with Captain Cortez’s sudden bulk. The man bounced off like a ragdoll.
“Entertaining night,” Cortez rumbled, gaze sweeping the scene. He tossed two combat knives. “Want ‘fair’? Get ‘fair’.”
The shower door slammed shut.
Inside, Cook flexed obscenely. “Four-tier strength, defense, agility.” He leered. “Should’ve claimed that b***h sooner. Third time’s the charm—”
Su’s hair lifted like golden flame.
Two steps became a sprint. The knife leapt from the floor into his hand.
Cook barely registered movement before cold steel flashed.
—
The barracks fell silent. Moments later, Su emerged. He flung a bloodied knife into the training yard—impaled flesh glistening under moonlight.
A severed p***s.
Pale-faced trainees scattered as Su marched to his quarters. The assaulted woman—Xie Na—chased after him. “Thank you for killing that bastard!”
“I wanted him dead,” Su said without turning. “Not your savior.”
Captain Cortez watched Xie Na stagger to a halt. He barked orders: “Clean the blood. Dump the trash.”
—
Midnight brought new shadows. Four figures encircled Su’s barracks, automatic rifles ready. Inside, Su lay motionless, breathing like forge bellows. His hand closed on the .50 Magnum.
Meanwhile, deep in the forest:
Two black-clad figures met a grizzled trainee. “Robertson. Codename: Mad Dog.”
“Kill one trainee. 200,000 credits.”
Mad Dog studied the photo—a single jade-green eye burning from monochrome.
- Writer
