"Another casualty?! Damn it. These rookies never learn."
The voice rang out sharp and cold, cutting through the tense air like a blade. A man with dark brown hair stepped forward from the shadows of the watch hall, a jagged scar stretched across his left cheek. It didn't bother him. He had long stopped caring about pain—what mattered now was results.
His eyes were fixed on the training grounds ahead.
The field was a mess.
Young recruits were scattered across it, some crawling, some screaming, some not moving at all. A few clutched broken limbs. Others bled from deep gashes. One had lost an arm entirely. The health team raced onto the scene, trying to stabilize the fallen, but there were too many.
"Over fifty down already…" the man muttered under his breath. "How the hell are we supposed to turn this into a force? They're falling apart before real training even begins."
He shook his head with clear disgust.
"This batch is pathetic. Weak. Useless."
"Not all of them," came a more even voice beside him.
Another man stood there—taller, with long black hair tied neatly behind his head. Like the first, he wore the long black robe of a Grand Instructor. His gaze was calm but sharp, watching the chaos below– Derick.
"I've heard rumors. A few of these recruits aren't like the rest. They might surprise us."
The first man, Edwin, scoffed without looking away.
"Rumors don't win tournaments. Bones do. Blades do. If we're lucky, ten of them might be worth something. Maybe."
He crossed his arms, eyes still scanning the field.
"If this is the best we've got, Castle Loon Assassin Campus is already finished."
Just then, another instructor stepped up behind them. His red eyes gleamed faintly as he spoke.
"He's right, Edwin. It's been seven years since we last made the top ten Assassin Grades. Seven years of failure. Seven years with only 3% of our trainees ever becoming elite. We're bleeding potential—and gaining nothing."
Edwin smirked bitterly.
"Castle Loon Assassin Campus used to command fear. Now? We're a joke. Our last legend came eight years ago. Since then, the best we've produced is a Grand Master."
The second man beside him clenched his jaw.
"That's why this year must be different. We have to win the Grande Tournament this year to regain our fame or we are erased from the cycle of Assassin Campuses. "
Edwin nodded slowly. His voice was low and deadly.
"We will not let this batch fade into weakness. We'll temper them in fire. Tear them down. Rebuild them as killers. This academy will no longer shelter the fragile. It will become a forge. Those who break… will stay broken. Those who survive… will become monsters."
The other man grinned.
"As it should be."
Inside the infirmary, the air was heavy with blood.
Recruits lay across stone slabs, some groaning, some too weak to speak. The floor was slick with crimson. The stench of sweat and pain clung to the walls. Bandages were soaked through. Limbs were gone. Bones protruded. Screams echoed and never stopped.
The health team worked without pause, but even they were starting to falter.
"Forty-five down… and it's only been two days," a man whispered in disbelief, hands trembling as she tried to tie a tourniquet.
"Damn it! I never thought this was going to be this hell! I just want to get back home! This is more than I can bear!!" a young man cried out. He had lost half of his right arm.
"That's not possible. No one leaves here without completing the lessons and school. It's a rule. You want to leave here? Then you die." a man whose arua was broken said. His eyes were lit with a sort of fire, and he looked to be somewhat informed.
"Really? Who cares?! Better to die running than to die in a goddamn forsaken training! Which death is more honourable, you thick head!!" the man said as he coughed out blood.
"If you really think that you could just die, I've got news for you. No one leaves here in an attempt to escape. Try it and you die!"
the man cursed out again.
They were about to get onto each other when a health care team intervened. They took the man with a half-chopped arm to the room and began to handle his wounds. Everyone stared on. This campus was causing them misery and pain.
"To hell with them. To think about dying as an option. Not a real mark for assassins, if I must say. Pretty dumb." Xero muttered to himself.
His eyes were golden-lit, and his blue hair was rough. He wasn't so much bruised. Just a cut on his arm and a fracture on his head. He stared at his hands and noticed his watch. It was technologically made and the design was not the regular. On it, it read: 20 coins. A faint smile tore through his lips.
He was here to be an assassin. One that even legends will come to fear and grow to hate. Unlike like him,most people here were here to earn fast coins. The assassins earned far more coins than any other occupation.
In this world, money was coins, and with the best technology, it was credited into accounts per performance. As to say, for example, a doctor who succeeds in saving 6 lives in a day can earn about 5 coins. But one who succeeded in saving 10 lives but losing 4 lives will earn only 2 coins.
The rule was simple. A good performance attracted a single coin on the good side, and a bad work caused a deduction of two coins. The world was drifting to perfection, and as such one had to be perfect.
"Who's next?" a voice called out.
Zex turned sharply to stare at the door to the first aid room. A nurse was standing by. He slowly got up and walked to the door.
Of all the people injured here, his own injury was minor to theirs. Most of them fixed their eyes on him. He walked on, unfazed by their heavy gazes. His movements were slow but steady.
"Not much work on you." the nurse said as his eyes ran over the body of Xero , studying him . Xerox kept an expressionless face. The nurse smiled and took him in.