Небо над реками и озерами очень чистое

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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 they learned from the same instructor to ambush, poison, lure, and fight, falling one after another, their blood flowing like a spring across the training ground and dormitory.

He desperately wanted to chop off the instructor's head.

I'd rather kill that pope who controls everything with the indifference of an outsider and the arrogance of a ruler.

First and foremost, all I can do is try my best to survive.

The number of people had decreased by more than half. Years of training had taught the boys to control themselves and conserve energy from unnecessary attacks. He huddled in the shadows of the trees to conceal himself as much as possible. Heavy sleepiness made his eyelids droop. He gritted his teeth and dragged the sharp blade back, adding another bloody gash to his arm. The intense pain dispelled some of the drowsiness. He hadn't slept for four days, and his consciousness was beginning to fade, and his reactions had become much slower.

A figure quietly approached. He remained silent, and the other person's gesture indicated no hostility. He tilted his longsword to the side, waiting for the young man to speak first.

"This can't go on, we'll all die here." Clearly exhausted, the boy's low voice betrayed his fatigue. "Someone has to cooperate, otherwise, once you fall asleep..."

What happens when they're asleep is something they both understand without needing to say it. He looked at the other person coldly, "What do you want?"

"Judging from my current physical condition, I can probably last another three hours. I think your situation is probably similar."

Surprised by the other party's frankness, he nodded silently; this timing was also his own assessment of himself.

“I can protect you and let you rest. We’ll take turns after an hour. You can’t last six days on your own, and we’re the same in that respect.”

"Why should I believe you?"

You have no choice.

"Why should you believe me?"

"I had no other choice."

Meeting his gaze, the boy finally gave a wry smile. "Alright, I've been observing who I could cooperate with, and you're the only one who hasn't actively targeted anyone, whether it's to conserve energy or something else..."

……

After staring for a while, the boy urged, "Alright, I've said everything I needed to say. What's your decision?"

"make a deal."

He uttered two words crisply, lowered his eyelids, and quickly fell into a deep sleep.

A rain of blood fell.

The sword lightly grazed the neck of the opponent in front of him, and he felt the slight tremor as the blade cut into his blood vessels. His tense body suddenly relaxed, replaced by the fatigue after strenuous exercise.

He coughed softly, each cough carrying a metallic taste from his wounded lungs. He looked up at the distance; after two days of guarding and resting, and their joint counterattack, they had developed a certain understanding. The boy had indeed defeated his opponent and was tearing his clothes to bandage his wounds, his steps slightly unsteady—he too was seriously injured.

His movements were swift and ruthless, and he was adept at seizing opportunities; no wonder he lasted until the end. It seems I've found a good partner.

It has been six days.

There are four people left in the game.

The other two also attacked together, cooperating seamlessly in both offense and defense, a stark contrast to their hasty collaboration.

The sunset was like blood.

The wind blows across the battlefield, where the stench of death lingers, like a gentle hand caressing the face of the dead.

The instructor stood with his hands behind his back, his expression unchanged.

"Kill one more, and you can leave."

The iron-clad words pierced my ears, proclaiming an inescapable reality.

Who to kill?

Four pairs of hawk-like eyes met.

Those two are clearly in better shape than them, so it's not hard to guess who will win.

If his internal energy had not been restrained... A fleeting thought suddenly crossed his mind, but he quickly dismissed it. In the face of life and death, there was no time for lamentation or sighing.

"You have no chance." His cold gaze was fixed on them. "Your injuries are far more severe than ours."

The boy pursed his lips, did not answer, and slowly raised his sword.

“The only possibility is that you two will fight each other. The survivors can stay, and we won’t interfere.” Understanding his companion’s thoughts, another added, “There’s no point in you attacking us first; you’ll both die anyway.”

"Anyway, you guys just teamed up by chance."

"A smart person should understand which side has a higher chance of winning."

"If you fight your companions, you still have a 50% chance of survival."

"Don't worry, we will not interfere."

What is said is true and makes perfect sense.

People who are strangers to begin with will not entrust their lives to each other simply because of a temporary reliance due to circumstances.

After a rational analysis of the situation, it became clear what to do.

It must be fate playing tricks on them, forcing these people who had no grudges against each other to meet here as strangers.

What kind of power allows those people to stand by indifferently, waiting for a bloody outcome?

He looked at the boy who had fought alongside him for the past two days, and the boy looked back at him. It was as if the same emotions were churning within them, and a sense of pride gradually rose in the boy's young and sharp eyes.

In an instant, the sword light pierced the twilight.

bestowed name

The door opened.

Corpses were carried out of the cemetery and dragged away on carts. Graves had already been dug in the distant burial ground; these prematurely deceased lives would be buried together, leaving no trace of their names.

Only the strong survive.

There is no sorrow, no tears; the end of life is still darkness. Before one can touch the long-awaited paradise, one has already fallen into the yellow earth and become nourishment for wild trees and weeds.

They too were carried out, their heads turned to watch their companions, with whom they had shared day and night, depart. Life and death, so easily separated. Unwilling to look any longer, he withdrew his gaze and lay down. The boy beside him seemed to know what he was thinking, flashing a smile, but wincing in pain as it aggravated his wounds.

His heart suddenly felt a little warmer.

In their final moments, instead of killing each other, they chose to challenge a more powerful enemy, sacrificing their lives for a chance to survive.

Even in the purgatory where all emotions are cast aside, something will still prevail over the instinct for survival.