Tianshan Chapter War slaves He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the sand and dust. I looked up and around. From the high wall, I could see the distant, silvery snow-capped peaks. The air was clean, but even through my heavily pounded nostrils, there was a lingering, fishy smell. Bef
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Chapter 1
Tianshan Chapter
War slaves
He spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the sand and dust.
I looked up and around. From the high wall, I could see the distant, silvery snow-capped peaks. The air was clean, but even through my heavily pounded nostrils, there was a lingering, fishy smell.
Before them stood a brutal slave trainer, brandishing a leather whip and beating every slave who couldn't get up in time. After several days of brutal training, their strength was barely enough to support even simple standing.
Those captured from the Central Plains are the lowest of the low here. Their wounds have barely healed when they are driven to the training ground, where their internal energy is somehow suppressed. Apart from relying on experience to dodge, they have only willpower and physical strength to endure. People die every day, and no one knows if they will be next.
The tyrannical and capricious slave trainer could arbitrarily take the life of anyone here, allowing no resistance whatsoever. The slightest hesitation would be met with a storm of whipping, striking the most vulnerable parts of the body, leaving the exterior intact but the inside festering and ulcerated, causing pain for more than ten days.
This is a secret garden deep in the Tianshan Mountains, and also the headquarters of the Demonic Cult.
It would be a joke to die here.
I originally thought the family's training was quite rigorous, but now it seems it was still too lenient.
Is it possible for anyone to make it out alive?
A man was thrown from a filthy, stinking carriage and died in less than three days. He was dragged away face down like the other dead, his tattered clothes whipped to shreds. Who could recognize that this beggar-like corpse was once a powerful master in the Central Plains, now reduced to nothingness like an ant?
Several days of training gave everyone the realization that there was only one person to revere here, the supreme Pope who looked down on all living beings like a god, as if he were a celestial being.
The training ground was enormous, divided into different areas. Apart from the worst sandy field, there were countless people training behind partitioned fences. They were no more than fifteen years old, and many of them had entered the hellish slave camps since childhood, enduring brutal fighting and beatings day after day. Each of them had experienced countless life-and-death situations, and their eyes were so cold that they had no human emotions. They were numb and mechanical, with only the instinct to attack on command remaining.
The assassins of the Demonic Cult, who intimidated the Western Regions and made the thirty-six kingdoms tremble with fear, were trained in this way.
There's no escaping it. If you don't want to die, you have to hold on.
He tightened the bandage on his arm, which was binding his wound, and stepped into the arena as the whistle blew, ready to face the next challenge.
After a full year of training, only three people from the Central Plains who entered the slave camp with them survived.
He joined the 297 war slaves trained from childhood in the Tempering Camp, where an even more brutal battle awaited him.
During breaks in training, these teenagers would also discuss privately, curiously speculating about their future fate.
It is said that only those who emerge from the Quefeng Camp are qualified to become assassins who officially carry out missions. The more outstanding ones will be among the Seven Killers, the most elite assassins in the sect, of which there are only seven, directly under the Right Envoy, and even the Three Elders dare not underestimate them.
As long as one can leave here, one can enjoy fine wine and cheese, luxurious clothes and mansions, be served by beautiful and understanding maidens, possess everything that truly belongs to oneself, and enjoy the glory of being revered by the congregation.
Within the Demonic Sect, true assassins hold extremely high status. They are the ones who have secured the submission and tribute of the Western Regions through their bloodshed, and the overflowing treasuries of pearls and jade all originate from this. They can enjoy wealth and pleasure without having to cultivate the land, surrounded by jade trees and brocade, with fine horses and beautiful women from various countries filling their surroundings—a paradise of unparalleled splendor and magnificence.
This is the topic that teenagers love to talk about most. Illusory dreams are their only support, their only hope amidst the trials of blood and pain, a yearning for the joy that will follow when that sliver of light appears. The cold, hard bed, the coarse food, the animalistic drive of reality seem to be forgotten in these fantasies.
Compared to the paradise outside the killing field, the cruelty here can only be described as hell.
Listening to the hopes for the future he heard, he closed his eyes and breathed silently, hoping to regain his strength as quickly as possible.
The sudden shout interrupted the hushed conversation. The boys who had been sitting idly on the ground quickly stood in neat rows, hands clasped, staring at the instructor.
The burly man from the Western Regions, his face slick with hair, slowly paced around, scrutinizing his carefully trained subordinates as if they were a newly sharpened scimitar.
"Listen carefully, I will only say this once." The air was still as if it were an iceberg that had never melted. "The Holy Decree of the Pope: Starting tomorrow, a six-day duel will be held. The three who emerge victorious will have the opportunity to meet the Pope, leave the Tempering Edge Camp, and become official assassins of the Pope. You should be grateful that you don't have this kind of luck every year."
His words trailed off. "But this also means... from now on, you are enemies." His cold, sharp gaze swept across the silent crowd. "Whoever survives to the end will be the one to walk out."
The sixth day.
It's both short and long.
No one could sleep; fear spread silently, everyone afraid of having their throats slit in their sleep. Having trained together for quite some time, they were all well aware of each other's methods.
Only three will be selected from three hundred applicants.
This reminded him of the Miao people's method of raising Gu poison, which he had heard about in his childhood. They would lock various poisonous insects in a sealed box and let them bite and kill each other. The one that survived would become the Gu King.
Same methods, same trials.
Watch as these boys, whose lives were as fragile as grass, used the techniques the
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Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Chapter 85
Chapter 86
Chapter 87
Chapter 88
Chapter 89
Chapter 90
Chapter 91
Chapter 92
Chapter 93
Chapter 94
Chapter 95
Chapter 96
Chapter 97
Chapter 98
Chapter 99
Chapter 100
Chapter 101
Chapter 102
Chapter 103
Chapter 104
Chapter 105
Chapter 106
Chapter 107
Chapter 108
Chapter 109
Chapter 110
Chapter 111
Chapter 112
Chapter 113
Chapter 114
Chapter 115
