The Purge

Returning to the barracks, Asher realized he was covered in a sticky sweat. This was different from the perspiration of regular training. After igniting the spark and forming the first Source Energy vortex, the body naturally expelled some accumulated toxins—a beneficial side effect of Source Energy. According to the manual provided by the instructors, as one's Source Energy grew stronger and their level advanced, the energy would continuously cleanse and evolve their body.

The manual detailed that with every ten-level advancement, one would reach an evolutionary node. Crossing this threshold would make the body's evolution increasingly apparent. Now, igniting the spark was merely purging toxins, but when Asher formed his first genetic circuit, it would be an opportunity for a comprehensive physical enhancement.

The manual didn't elaborate on what would happen after forming the second or third genetic circuits; everything beyond was for Asher to discover on his own.

This was a whole new world.

After a shower, Asher returned to the barracks and sensed a shift in the atmosphere. A group of thirteen and fourteen-year-old boys seemed to have been waiting for him. As he entered, they rose and surrounded him with ill intent.

"Step aside," Asher said coolly.

One of the Caucasian boys smirked, "I heard you were raised by snow wolves."

Having interacted for over two months, the boys knew a bit about each other's backgrounds, so Asher's history was no secret. What was strange was their timing in bringing it up.

"That's none of your business," Asher pushed past him, trying to move forward.

Two larger boys blocked his path.

Behind them, a black boy watched with a half-smile. Asher wasn't foolish; he could tell these boys were acting under the black boy's command. Asher remembered his name was Mauro, the bulkiest in the barracks. Hence, a portion of the boys looked up to him, forming a small clique. They had kept to themselves during the training, but today, after Asher became the first to ignite his spark, he stood out—conspicuously and provocatively. Clearly, Mauro had sent them to cause trouble.

Realizing this, Asher took a step back, his gaze sweeping over the boys' faces, "I know what you're trying to do. But if you have any strength left, save it for trying to ignite your spark during the second injection."

"Is that a threat?" the earlier Caucasian boy laughed.

Asher shook his head, "No, just a reminder. It's in your best interest not to provoke me."

Their expressions darkened. The Caucasian boy looked to Mauro, who had already clenched his fists. The boy signaled to two others at the door who looked outside before closing the barracks. One by one, the windows shut, and a tense silence filled the room.

The other boys retreated to their beds, not daring to interfere.

When the last window closed, the Caucasian boy's smile faded. He shoved Asher, saying, "What are you so proud of? You just got lucky and ignited your spark. You're nothing but trash, the kind that follows wolves around picking up scraps!"

Asher replied with a smirk, "Is that so? Then what does that make you, who wasted an opportunity? Even less than trash?"

The boys' breathing grew heavy, the Caucasian boy's face reddening with anger, "You bastard! You're just a mongrel spawned by a snow wolf and your mother..."

Before he could finish, a fist swung out, striking the Caucasian boy's face. Teeth and blood flew from his mouth as Asher's crimson eyes flared with lethal intent. He seemed to revert to the wild beast that roamed the wilderness, his natural ferocity, suppressed by Ronan's training, now resurfacing. Without a roar or shout, he simply asked in a low voice, "Do not insult my mother! Are you looking for death?"

A chill settled in the hearts of all the boys as they turned to Mauro. With a gesture from him, they charged at Asher with their youthful cries. Their physiques, enhanced by two months of intense training, were no match for an experienced mercenary. Asher had killed more than one before joining the camp.

To him, these boys were full of openings, their movements laughably inept. Though he lacked formal combat training, he had learned a lethal set of movements from the snow wolves during his five years of wandering.

Asher suddenly ducked, his hands and feet touching the ground in a bizarre sidestep, then pounced on one of the boys, pinning him down. With a slight lift of his head, he struck down, dazing the boy beneath him. Darting among the others, Asher's agility, honed over the past two months, made short work of them.

In a few swift moves, he laid them all out. If they had been anywhere else, they might have already been slaughtered by Asher.

The wolves' dictionary did not contain the word 'mercy.'

Mauro watched, dumbfounded, as Asher retreated to the window and punched through the glass, shattering it with a crisp sound. Mauro's face paled, thinking Asher was alerting the instructors outside. He roared and lunged at Asher, but a white flash and a slight sting on his neck stopped him.

The black boy instinctively halted, sparing his life. Otherwise, the sharp piece of glass in Asher's hand would have pierced his neck. Though shorter than Mauro, Asher's presence now towered over the black boy. Holding the glass shard, which cut into his own hand, Asher's grip remained steady, the edge aimed at Mauro's neck, where a major artery lay. A mere push forward, and Mauro would meet his maker—if such a being still existed in their world.

"I warned you not to provoke me. You chose the wrong person," Asher stated.

Suddenly, the door burst open as several towering instructors rushed in. One drew a whip from his belt and lashed at Asher, striking his hand and sending the glass shard flying. Lieutenant Ronan then entered, surveying the scene with a whistle, "Someone tell me, what the hell happened here?"

Mauro cried out, "Lieutenant, it was Asher, he..."

A whip cracked across Mauro's face, cutting off his words and splattering blood as he stumbled backward. Ronan, whip in hand, sneered, "Do you think I'm a fool? Using such a moronic tactic to insult my intelligence! I've told you before, you're all useless. Seven or eight of you couldn't even handle one person. Beat them, ten lashes each!"

He turned to Asher with a grin, "You're no exception, kid! Private fighting is forbidden in the barracks."

Asher and the other brawlers were taken to the parade ground and tied to stakes under the scorching sun, each receiving ten lashes across the chest. The whipping elicited screams akin to those of slaughtered pigs. Asher clenched his teeth, his muscles trembling with each strike.

After the ten lashes, Mauro and the others were carried back to the barracks. Eight boys were taken out, but only seven returned—the Caucasian boy who had provoked Asher was whipped to death, spared from even attempting to ignite his spark a second time.

Asher walked back on his own, leaving bloody footprints with each step. The remaining boys shuddered at the sight of the slender white-haired youth's return. That day, they learned that size didn't equate to ferocity.

The next day, Ronan showed no mercy to the injured boys, who were forced to participate in all the usual training. Lagging behind due to their injuries, they received several more beatings. Asher could only grit his teeth and keep up with the group, unable to outpace the others as usual.

It took three days for the injuries to show signs of healing, and after half a month, the youths faced another opportunity to use the Awakening Elixir. This time, Asher didn't need to participate and enjoyed a rare moment of rest.

When the doors of the air-raid shelter opened, Mauro strutted out, having successfully ignited his spark.

Another month passed, and a third Source Energy wielder emerged among the youths—a Caucasian girl named Melly. Thus, before the two-month deadline, only Asher, Mauro, and Melly had successfully passed.

On the last evening of the fourth month, the barracks door opened, and Ronan walked in, calling out, "Numbers 666, 548, and 273, step forward."

Asher, Mauro, and Melly stood up. Ronan nodded, "Follow me."

As they stepped out of the barracks, several instructors and a squad of fully armed soldiers entered. The door closed behind them, and then gunshots and screams erupted from within. Witnessing the flashes of gunfire and blood splatter through the windows, the three youths turned pale, realizing Ronan was "eliminating" the unqualified in his own way.

With the break of dawn, Asher faced his fifth month in the camp. Having just completed a physical training session, he sat down for breakfast. Today, the dining area was unusually quiet. The other two youths, Mauro and Melly, each occupied a separate table. After yesterday's "purge," they were the only three trainees left in the vast camp.