Chapter 3

Rick tightly gripped the only weapon he had, a short sword wrapped in purple thorns, his palms sweating from nervousness, making the handle slippery.

In his ears was the other man's labored breathing, like a broken windbox, and his abdomen was stained red with blood. Even with his gut torn open, this well-built guard still maintained a fierce fighting spirit.

Slightly avoiding the other man's intimidating, wide-open eyes, Rick pushed off with both feet and, to the other man's surprise, charged forward.

Rick knew that if he waited for the other man to attack, he wouldn't have a chance of survival. He could only take a gamble.

The tall man admired the young man in front of him. At his age, he wouldn't have dared to face an injured Level 2 Warrior Apprentice.

But this admiration was fleeting. Seeing the clumsy movements of the young man, the tall man twisted his wrist, and with a combination of strength and skill, deflected the short sword. At the same time, the blade, like a venomous snake, stabbed toward the young man's chest.

Even with severe injuries, a Level 2 Warrior Apprentice was not someone an ordinary person could contend with.

But he was already severely injured. Rick used his physical advantage, slightly sidestepping, and suddenly threw a handful of yellow sand with his left hand. With the momentum of his body, he thrust the short sword into the wound the other man was covering with his right hand.

"Ah!! Despicable!!" The tall man only saw a flash of yellow sand, then felt intense pain in his eyes, instinctively closing them. Next, his injured abdomen experienced an even more severe spasm and a chill.

Rick felt his right hand, holding the short sword, suddenly enter a slippery, warm place. Without time to think, he grabbed the hardest thing he could feel and pulled it out with all his might, staggering to the side.

The tall man's agonized scream did not last long. In the time it took for Rick to block him, at least three masked bandits on horseback had already arrived behind him. Three sharp short axes almost simultaneously pierced his body.

The tall man died with his eyes wide open, and the praise from the border army captain slowly brought Rick back to his senses.

A wave of fatigue and pain hit Rick almost simultaneously.

Exhausting his strength to kill a guard, and then almost finishing off a severely injured Level 2 Warrior Apprentice, the moment his tense spirit relaxed, Rick felt the abnormality in his body.

His body had not completely avoided the Level 2 Warrior Apprentice's attack. A piece of flesh was missing from his left shoulder, and blood was flowing. The hot wind made Rick shiver with pain.

The exhilaration had faded, leaving only an overwhelming thirst and hunger.

...

The low black sandstone buildings dotted the endless desert like a stain.

A few dead old poplar trees stood dry and bare in the wind and sand.

The heavy sound of shackles grew louder, gradually revealing a group of dirty, oil-stained reserve soldiers.

Rick trudged through the sand, his body exhausted, his legs heavy as lead. But his mood was unusually cheerful.

Compared to his fellow soldiers, who were still shackled and closely monitored, Rick was relatively relaxed.

The shackles were heavy and covered in dark red, dried blood. Due to the poor craftsmanship, the wrists of those who wore them would swell and become inflamed for a long time.

Though called reserves, Rick and his group were treated like slaves as long as they hadn't killed anyone.

But once they had killed, everything changed.

The shackles disappeared, and now Rick held not a heavy bundle of loot but a small bag of clear, precious water in the desert!

Carefully sipping the clear water, the refreshing liquid slid down his throat, nourishing Rick's parched and exhausted body.

Several regular border soldiers closely monitored these "reserves," but their eyes showed a hint of approval when they looked at Rick.

Of course, this was only because Rick's hands were stained with irremovable human blood, a sign of his commitment.

Besides Rick, two others were also unshackled. One was a monkey-faced man who was very hostile to Rick and had not killed anyone for special reasons.

The other was a thick-faced, stuttering monkey-faced man named Lick.

Lick was the first reserve to kill someone. When he quietly brought a human head to the captain, even the monkey-faced man was very surprised.

Killing was a very simple yet very challenging way to join the group.

Some had the courage but dared not kill. Some were very despicable but also dared not kill.

Rick had also been afraid to kill before. Even in battle, he, like the other reserves, would only wound people but not kill them.

But when that mysterious voice began to appear, Rick found himself changing unconsciously.

The voice was vague and hard to hear clearly, but Rick had a strange intuition that following it was right.

For a month, the voice had been instilling in Rick the idea that killing was not a sin and that only by killing could one survive.

Just a few months ago, Rick was a naive young man, counting the pocket money his parents gave him to see if it was enough for his expenses.

Being able to become a murderer in just a month was largely due to the incitement and guidance of that mysterious voice.

At the front of the group, the monkey-faced man was boasting about his "brave performance" in the battle, his broken arm now immobilized with a wooden splint, which looked quite convincing.

Lick still had a loyal and honest appearance, and his stuttering, short voice was always mocked and teased by the monkey-faced man. But Lick always laughed "hehe," scratching the back of his head, his face smiling even more honestly.

Taking advantage of the act of drinking water, Rick quickly felt for a strange object in his pocket.

In the scorching sunlight, he could feel the object, which resembled a quail egg, was slippery and slightly soft. It was pure white and felt like the candles used at home.

After carefully kneading it for a while, Rick put the strange object back in his pocket.

This was something he had taken from the tall guard's intestines. Rick had thought it was an organ, but it turned out to be this strange object.

Originally, Rick wanted to hand this strange object to the captain, but the mysterious voice suddenly sent a strong suggestion: "This is a good thing, keep it for yourself!"

Rick hesitated for a moment and then put the strange object away.

...

A warm bonfire was a good thing in the cold desert night, at least that's what Rick thought, as he didn't have to eat cold rations.

Besides the monkey-faced man, Lick, and Rick, who had officially joined the border army today, the other reserves were locked in a narrow, well-sealed black sandstone building.

On the flickering bonfire, a small amount of meat and dry rations were being roasted.