The Cruel Commission

After such a long delay, I finally returned to Demon Island, only to find that both the Wolf King and Bajing Zhenfu had already undergone their trials and progressed to the next round of training. Instructor Virel did not disclose their whereabouts to me. 

The once bustling training camp was now deserted, leaving only the bald instructor and his mounted guards, creating an atmosphere of stark desolation. 

Surprisingly, the instructor was not as harsh as he had been before. After leading me out of the basement, he headed straight for his office. The accommodations for the trainees were either temporary tents or makeshift metal shelters, but that did not imply a lack of more comfortable structures within the camp. The bald instructor resided in the only five-story building on the premises, the first floor of which served as our dining hall.

Instructor Virel's office was remarkably bright and spacious, rivaling the decor of top-tier office buildings found in metropolitan commercial districts. He gestured toward a chair and said, "To possess the heart of a warrior is to earn the right to sit before me. Now, I shall introduce your next training project, which offers you multiple choices." Multiple choices? 

Options of similar difficulty rendered the distinction between having choices and not having them negligible; I only hoped this trial would not consume too much time. 

With a disdainful snort, the bald instructor activated the enormous plasma screen mounted on the wall, which occupied a third of the southern wall of his office. The display was astonishing, far surpassing the most expensive high-definition televisions found in electronic showrooms, showcasing a dazzling video reminiscent of an American blockbuster film.

A vast ancient army, complete with chariots and horses, marched resolutely forward, their soldiers adorned with bows and arrows at their waists. They were crossing a long bridge spanning a great river. The warriors bore determined and merciless expressions, their towering figures clad in armor that covered only their vital areas, leaving most of their bodies exposed, adorned with blue tattoos that shimmered like rippling water. It was evident that their combat prowess was extraordinary. 

Among them, smaller, green-skinned beings of peculiar half-human, half-beast descent were forcibly clad in military garb, armed with crude weapons, and integrated into the ranks. The families of these conscripted soldiers, filled with despair, frantically searched for their loved ones amidst the throng, calling out their names, tugging at their garments, and lamenting their fates.

Dust kicked up by the horses and chariots obscured the sun, enveloping the scene in a cloud of haze, rendering even the massive army crossing the long bridge nearly invisible. The sheer number of soldiers was incalculable; even the portion displayed on the screen suggested a force of thirty to fifty thousand.

The Demon-Banishing Mercenary Corps often received commissions, some of which did not originate from humans but rather from enigmatic clients. 

Was he referring to someone like Mostima? 

I had encountered such clients before; they were indeed mysterious and unpredictable. It would be wise to refuse such requests. 

As for the pentagram bracelet, I had no idea where to procure it for him... My internal musings were invisible to Virel, who continued to switch screens with the remote control. The colossal plasma display shifted through various images, ultimately dividing into sixteen sections, each showcasing different scenes. The other fifteen videos presented spectacles that rivaled the first in grandeur—some depicted colossal battles, while others displayed bizarre and resplendent landscapes, and a few resembled the depths of the abyss or the Asura realm, cruel and vivid, revealing an unknown world.

"This is a long-term commission from an old client of our mercenary corps. He requires a group of warriors to serve as guides at his amusement park established on Demon Island." 

This commission was of low rank and rather tedious, making it undesirable for the corps' formal members. Only second- or third-rate mercenary teams, or trainees from esteemed groups like ours, would consider taking it on. 

"You have returned too late; I have decided to assign this commission as your fifth training project." 

He elaborated on the task's origins. 

The bald instructor pointed to the screen and coldly stated, "There are more than ten options here. After reviewing the materials, you may make your decision." 

What exactly does a guide entail? Surely this commission must come with compensation; even informal members should not be expected to work for free. 

Virel lowered his gaze to pick up a printed document, casually tossing it to me as he continued, "Before you accept the commission, I cannot disclose the employer's identity; that is the rule. I will, of course, explain the job's content; that is also a rule." 

"Take a look at the list on the back of this document!" I briefly scanned it and felt a chill run down my spine. The list contained over two hundred names, including civil servants, businessmen, financiers, actors, and students, encompassing individuals of all ethnicities—Black, White, Asian, and European. 

Each entry featured a concise yet detailed profile, but what sent shivers down my spine was the common line in each introduction: "So-and-so died in [specific month and year] due to [specific cause]." Most of these individuals had perished in the last five days of the previous month. 

With an unchanging expression, Instructor Virel continued, "Your task is to guide these individuals to become qualified warriors so that they can accompany the players at the amusement park on Demon Island in hunting within the themed world and achieve victory. Your compensation will be directly related to your performance; successfully guiding ten qualified warriors will earn you a card or treasure. The value of the card or treasure will correspond to the average level of the warriors you train." 

The instructor's explanation filled me with indignation, and I shouted, "Who is the one behind the establishment of the amusement park on Demon Island? What right do they have to treat people like livestock, crushing their lives at will?" 

"This client possesses that right and power, and these individuals are fated to die, not at his hands. We cannot interfere with his actions; that is the rule." 

"Power is the rule." 

My gaze turned icy as I locked eyes with Instructor Virel, who remained unyielding. In his gaze, I saw a resolute and merciless determination akin to rock. 

Indeed, on Demon Island, power dictates the rules. 

If you refuse to act, their fate remains unchanged. If you feel your kindness cannot be expressed, then strive to train them. 

Becoming warriors may grant them a glimmer of hope for revival; your efforts could save them. 

Understood. 

I lowered my head, not out of defeat, but because I realized that continuing to meet his gaze was futile.