Chapter 8

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"Lieutenant, what is the art of taking a beating?"

A black teenager asked timidly.

Lieutenant Ron nodded and said, "Good question. Taking a beating is also a science. In battle, getting injured and hit is inevitable. How to minimize your injuries requires a thorough understanding of the situation and your own body. Once you grasp this, you will understand what it means to avoid the worst. Let me give you a simple example..."

He walked to an iron bed, which was stained with blood. A naked girl lay motionless on it, with fresh red whip marks on her left ear and cheek. This girl had been whipped to death by the instructor. Ron, without a hint of pity, dragged the corpse to the ground, turned the girl's head to one side, and pointed to her ear, saying, "You see, this is the consequence of not protecting yourself. Compared to the head and ears, her arms can withstand more and greater injuries. If she had known to protect her head with her hands, the worst outcome would have been an injured arm, not losing her life!"

"Let's take the arm as another example. If you stab it with a knife..." Ron beckoned to an instructor behind him, and a dagger was immediately handed to him. He raised the knife and slashed the shoulder of the corpse's arm, "See, the muscles and fat here are relatively thicker. A cut here would just break the skin and let some blood. But if you cut here, it's different..."

A flash of the knife, and this time he cut the artery in the wrist. The blood of the recently deceased corpse had not yet coagulated, so a jet of blood spurted out, splashing Ron's face and head. He wiped his face without concern and sneered, "Do you see clearly now? You little brats, to survive, you must first understand yourself. This way, you will know which parts to hit to survive and which are more likely to be fatal!"

Then Ron used the girl's corpse as a teaching aid, giving the teenagers a vivid anatomy lesson with the dagger. By the end of the lesson, the girl's body was mutilated, and even her internal organs were removed. The barracks were filled with a strong smell of blood, and the instructors were expressionless, but most of the older children vomited until they brought up bile.

Allen did not vomit; he had seen more gruesome things. His face was pale, and Ron's indifference to the girl's corpse made him uncomfortable. After all, just a few minutes ago, she was still a living person.

Ron looked at the children with satisfaction and had the instructors note down the numbers of those who did not vomit. He saw Allen and walked over, saying, "You're good, kid. I noticed you. You're more agile and alert than the others. Tell me, what's your name?"

"Allen."

"Alright, Allen. Let me guess, your father is a hunter?"

"No, I don't have a father. My mother died when I was five," Allen replied.

This surprised even Ron. If the white-haired boy's skills were not taught by his parents, it was likely he had learned them on his own. To develop survival skills, he must have lived in the wild for a long time. Thinking of this, Ron became even more interested in him.

"I like you, Allen. So, try to survive as long as possible," he patted Allen's shoulder hard, almost breaking his arm.

When Lieutenant Ron left the barracks, he returned to his office and had an instructor bring him Allen's file. Comparing the number in the file, Ron chuckled, "It seems someone is trying to play tricks under my nose."

In the file, the boy with number 666 should have been named Bass, not Allen. Moreover, this Bass had a father who ran a mine, which was very different from Allen's situation. Ron called an instructor and threw the file in front of him, "Who brought this kid here?"

The instructor quickly replied, "It was Levin, Lieutenant."

"Good, bring Levin to me."

In the barracks, two soldiers brought some medicine for the children to apply to their injuries. After applying the ointment, Allen took out the manual he had been given and started reading. Before he was five, Lanie had taught him many things, the most important of which was reading. In the barracks, most of the children could not understand what was written in the manual, but Allen could grasp the general idea.

The Survival Game was a product of the Dawn War. The federal government, established on the ruins, organized this competition to remind future generations of the war and to emphasize the importance of survival. Initially, the Survival Game was only held on the floating islands. Later, due to the population surge, countless people were forced to the surface.

With the passage of time and the increasing conflict between the floating islands and the surface, the eligibility for the Survival Game was extended to the surface. Every two years, the system automatically selects federal citizens from 22 administrative regions on the surface. Most of them are ten to fifteen-year-old teenagers, who undergo training and elimination. Ultimately, only one person from each region can participate, making a total of 22 participants who will fight for their lives in a designated area of the Babylon floating island.

The winner will receive multiple rewards, including weapons, equipment, startup funds, and official residency on the floating island. Some lucky winners are even chosen by noble families and absorbed as collateral descendants, gaining more resources and promotion opportunities.

More importantly, the winner has the privilege of designating 5 to 10 direct family members to move to the floating island. This is a huge temptation for surface residents.

In short, the Survival Game is a crucial opportunity for surface citizens to change their fate. The premise is that you must survive and survive to the end!

Just as he finished reading the manual, he heard a pig-like scream outside. Allen and the other children crowded around the windows. In the square outside, a fat man was tied up, and Lieutenant Ron was whipping him fiercely. Allen "hmm"ed; he recognized the fat man. He was the military official who had colluded with Hearn to have Allen replace Hearn's son in the Survival Game.

At this moment, an instructor walked into the barracks and shouted, "Number 666, step out!"

Allen stepped out and was led to the square by the instructor. After the last whip, the fat man was covered in blood, his head hanging low, unconscious or dead. Ron, with a fierce look, released his killing aura. Standing in front of Allen, the boy's face became even paler, but he stood straight and silent.

Ron slightly reined in his killing aura and said, "I've already checked. This number should not have been you. Levin, the pig, has admitted to taking a bribe. I hate it when someone challenges my intelligence. This fat pig and the Hearn family will all die!"

"As for you..." Ron said, "You can choose to stay and continue the training or leave. I'm being unusually lenient, so you'd better take this opportunity."

Allen bit his lip and raised the manual, shaking it, "I want to know, is what's written here true? I mean the rewards."

"It's true," Ron took a towel from the instructor, wiped his hands, and looked at the sky, "Although the Survival Game has changed under the manipulation of the nobles, one thing remains the same: the rewards are still generous, generous enough to change people's lives."

"I choose to stay," Allen said through gritted teeth.

Ron looked down and narrowed his eyes, "Why? If it were the other kids in the barracks, they would be eager to leave this hell. Believe me, I've been unusually lenient today. From now on, your days will only get harder."

Allen shook his head and looked at the lieutenant, his crimson eyes calm and cold, "Because I need to change my fate. Only then will I have the strength to settle some scores with certain people!"

Ron stared at Allen, who did not look away. After a moment, the lieutenant nodded, "Alright, since you've chosen to stay in hell, I hope you're prepared to turn yourself into a devil. Otherwise, you won't survive."

After sending Allen back, Ron said to the instructor beside him, "I'm starting to like this kid. He has a goal in his eyes, like a wolf preparing to hunt. If he can survive to the end, I really feel sorry for his prey."

The instructor chuckled, his face somewhat uneasy. After all, those familiar with Ron knew that being liked by him was not a good thing.

At four in the morning, just as everyone was in a deep sleep, a sharp whistle sounded outside the barracks. Allen immediately opened his eyes and jumped off the iron bed. He dashed to the nearest window and flipped out. He had slept in his clothes, not even taking off his shoes. Many of the other boys, for comfort, had taken off their clothes. When they heard the whistle, the more alert ones ran out of the barracks without any clothes, while the slower ones were still debating whether to put on clothes.

Within 10 seconds, Allen was the first to reach the parade ground. Then, another dozen or so boys arrived in quick succession, all wearing neat camp uniforms, clearly having slept in their clothes. The third group to arrive was seven or eight boys in just their pants, and only five of the slower ones managed to reach the parade ground in time.

As soon as the 15 seconds were up, the instructors, like wolves, rushed into the barracks. The sound of whips and the screams of the boys followed. The four boys who hadn't managed to run out of the barracks each received five lashes. The instructors were merciless, whipping them until they bled, then driving them out.

Seeing the four bleeding boys, the others shuddered. Ron said calmly, "This is the first mistake. I gave each of them five lashes as a reminder. Their numbers will be noted by the instructors. If they make the same mistake again, the punishment will double. This will continue until they no longer make mistakes or until they die."

"Alright, all of you, start running. Run around the parade ground until I tell you to stop. Understand?"

"Understood!"

The boys responded in unison.