The sun had barely shifted past its zenith when the last group of candidates completed the first round of evaluations. The massive screen above the training field flared to life, casting a pale blue glow as numbers began to scroll across it—names, ID codes, and their corresponding results.
An instructor wearing a black commander's coat stepped forward onto the elevated platform. His voice boomed across the arena, sharp and emotionless.
"The first stage of evaluation has concluded. The minimum requirements to advance were: 850 kilograms of impact force, 50 meters per second in evasion velocity, and the ability to withstand pressure during the endurance test for no less than ten minutes without collapse. Failure to meet even one metric results in disqualification."
A long pause followed.
Gasps. Groans. Some candidates looked down in dread as their names flickered red on the board. Others whispered prayers or clenched fists, waiting for the rankings.
"Top 50 scorers will be ranked publicly," the instructor continued. "The rest may check their results via the administration terminal."
One by one, the rankings lit up.
1st — Candidate #427: Lin Hao2nd — Candidate #344: Yuan Qingyue3rd — Candidate #591: Wei Zhentian4th — Candidate #112: Zhao Renjie5th — Candidate #208: Wu Yulan
And so it continued. Between Lin Hao and the fifth candidate, the gap was not minor. Lin Hao's cumulative score stood at 278 points, Qingyue at 277.4, while the third-place holder barely scraped 259.
Qingyue gave Lin Hao a sideways glance and nudged him with her elbow. "Don't get smug."
"I'm not," he replied, though his smirk said otherwise.
All around them, the contrast in reactions was stark. Some shouted in relief, others bowed their heads in quiet frustration. A group of three walked away in silence, armor clinking dully, shoulders hunched in defeat.
Several others began filing toward the gates, having been eliminated. Some held back tears; others walked like men already broken.
The instructor's voice rang out again.
"For those remaining: prepare yourselves. The second stage will commence shortly—Combat Arena Qualification. You will each face a Level 1 beast in a controlled duel. The fight will be monitored. Victory is required to proceed."
A ripple of unease moved through the crowd.
He continued, "If you are injured beyond combat capability, an instructor will intervene. However, this will result in immediate disqualification. There are no second chances. All who pass this stage will be formally enlisted, regardless of the results of stage three. You will be soldiers."
The atmosphere turned ice cold.
Every candidate's face changed. Tension built in their posture, eyes narrowing, fists tightening. Most of them had never even seen a true monster, much less fought one.
The gates to the combat arena opened.
The first candidate, a lean boy with short brown hair and shaking legs, was called in. His number blinked above the gate: #526.
He entered the ring, and a massive cage at the far end hissed open. The sound of claws dragging against metal echoed eerily.
Out stepped a beast—a Crimson-Eyed Timber Wolf.
It stood at 1.5 meters tall at the shoulder, its fur bristling with faint spiritual energy. Its eyes gleamed a deep, menacing red, locked directly onto the boy.
The candidate froze.
His arms wouldn't raise. His legs wouldn't move.
The wolf growled.
He flinched backward—but it was already too late. The beast lunged.
Before it made contact, a blur of white descended—an instructor. In a split-second strike, the beast was knocked unconscious and dragged back into its cage.
The candidate collapsed, gasping for breath, pale as a ghost.
The instructor who saved him stood tall and glared at the remaining participants.
"This is not a mock test," he barked. "If you can't handle pressure, quit now. You won't survive the battlefield otherwise."
Silence followed.
Dozens of young faces stared forward, their fear now laced with something else—awareness.
The kind that only blood and fear could deliver.
And the next name was called.