"Now, I'll count down from ten. When I finish the final count, your life in hell will begin." Satan lightly raised a single finger. "Ten..." "Nine..." The voice of Satan was utterly calm and relaxed, yet to the ears of the new recruits, it resonated like the booming drums of antiquity, shaking their very hearts. Ten seconds, an impossibly brief span. In the eyes of the new soldiers, however, it stretched out like an entire century.

When the final number was uttered, two recruits from the "loser group" finally stepped forward. Among them was the very recruit who had been sent flying by the female soldier's kick. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead, and he was still clutching the spot where he’d been struck, clearly indicating that the kick had done more than just send him tumbling—it had genuinely injured him. An injured body like that would struggle to complete standard recruit training, let alone the terrifying, unknown trials that lay ahead here.

Satan grinned, laughing in satisfaction. "Excellent! Self-elimination, I adore such trash! To reward you, I will summon the finest helicopters to safely whisk you away from this place. As for the rest of the refuse who remain..." Satan’s eyes flashed with a vicious, predatory gleam. "When you can’t take it anymore and wish to leave, I will give you a piece of wood! That will be your means of departure! So, you have one last chance. Seize it well."

Two more recruits from the loser group walked out, their shoulders slumped in defeat. Using wood as transport meant they were essentially volunteering to become shark bait; facing that fate was preferable to staying here only to suffer a drawn-out end.

Qin Fen shook his head subtly. These men lacked even the most basic tenacity and courage. Such people, even equipped with the finest martial arts, gear, and environment, would never become true masters.

This minute gesture from Qin Fen did not escape Satan’s notice. He suddenly raised the pitch-black training baton in his hand, the wood whistling as it cut through the air and pointed directly at Qin Fen. "Sneaky little devil, you seem dissatisfied with the performance of these smart ones."

"Reporting, Instructor, I am merely observing them from the perspective of a martial artist!" Under the menacing aim of the baton, Qin Fen instantly felt a profound threat. He stood ramrod straight, responding in the most perfect military posture: "Those lacking mettle cannot become true powerhouses!"

The other recruits, who had been wavering, had their eyes instantly light up. Their hesitant expressions were wiped clean in that moment by looks of resolute determination.

Satan rolled his eyes. He didn't need to check the expressions of the others to know that once Qin Fen had spoken those words, absolutely no one else would choose to quit. Those wavering minds had been completely shattered by the phrase, "become a powerhouse."

"Now! Announce your names!" Satan pointed at Qin Fen. "Sneaky devil, you start."

Qin Fen, wary of receiving punishment under Satan’s command, stepped forward with a standard military pace, standing like a benchmark, and reported loudly: "Reporting, Instructor! Recruit Qin Fen reporting!"

A playful smile touched Satan’s lips. This recruit possessed boldness, yet coupled with his slipperiness was a sufficient degree of caution.

"Next. We have the only female in our training squad." Satan pointed the baton toward the female soldier standing in perfect composure. "Girl, state your name."

Snap!

The female soldier took a step forward with a sharp, rhythmic stomp that kicked up mud droplets. Her tone was cold and devoid of emotion: "Recruit, Lin Ling!"

"Recruit, Du Zhanpeng!" "Recruit, Xing Wuyi..."

One by one, the recruits quickly introduced themselves.

After everyone had finished, Satan used the pitch-black baton to tap each recruit in turn, re-stating their names. Nearly a hundred people, introduced only once, and yet Satan hadn't misspoken a single name. This astonishing memory stunned quite a few of the new soldiers.

Under the gaze of the crowd, Satan laughed smugly. "Rest assured, I won't mix up your names. Otherwise, how would I know whom it is most amusing to torment later?"

Just then, the jungle rustled again, and a dozen soldiers clad in camouflage, their faces smeared with camo paint, burst forth in the formation of a combat team.

"Fresh meat," Satan's smile was filled with ill intent. "Have you ever experienced a run at your absolute limit? Almost all the new recruits nodded—as the top prospects from their respective battalions, they naturally received extra attention from their instructors. What day went by without running at full speed for basic stamina training?"

"Is that so?" Satan tapped his own palm lightly with the training baton. "Then what about this? I have some doubts that you've truly run until you've given your all."

Crack-crack-crack...

The dozen soldiers in camouflage simultaneously chambered the rounds in the P308 carbines they held. The faces of the new recruits instantly changed in unison. This was a weapon of exceptionally high versatility! Its design and production had been conceived entirely before the Federation was established, taking full consideration of the operating environments of the US military at the time—mainly arid, scorching deserts and humid tropical rainforests. It was a firearm specifically crafted for combat.

Satan radiated a cheerful smile. "Let me remind you of one thing: the ammunition in these guns is definitely not blanks that can't kill. The one running last, watch your step; you might just find a bullet greeting you. Now, you may begin running. Whether you use your internal energy techniques (Neigong Shenfa) or pure physical stamina, run however you please. Just gather back here tonight."

Tap-tap-tap...

A veteran fired a short burst from his P308 into the air. Branches struck by the bullets immediately snapped and tumbled to the ground.

The new recruits exchanged glances, seeing the same signal in each other's eyes: scatter and run! Nearly a hundred fresh soldiers facing a dozen veterans. If they split up, surely some would be lucky enough to escape pursuit!

Satan watched the recruits scattering in flight, a more triumphant smile spreading across his face. "They have some brains, after all. ///\ But if your old Satan couldn't anticipate such a trick of yours, what kind of a devil would I be? Surely you don't imagine there are only these few pursuers in the jungle? Did I not set traps in advance to entertain you?"

The dozen veterans smeared with camouflage paint also chuckled. They crouched down, studying the chaotic footprints on the ground, selected their respective targets, and vanished into the depths of the jungle.

Satan dragged a wheeled table out of a structure. On it sat four screens displaying flickering images—many of the recruits' movements in the jungle were visible on his monitors.

"Boys, the game has begun," Satan said, propping his legs up on the computer desk and casually opening a can of nutrient drink without looking up. "Sneaky devil Qin Fen, you are hiding well. Unfortunately, the companion next to you isn't hiding his strength well enough. You doubled back right after running out, did you think this Instructor of mine was easy to deal with?"

In the dense thicket, Qin Fen and Du Peng exchanged a look, then quietly retreated deeper into the rainforest. Since Satan had discovered them, the plan of a stealthy raid to seize the base had lost its value.

As Qin Fen withdrew, Satan raised a hand to stroke his smooth, bald head. "Interesting, truly interesting! If it weren't for that other kid just now, he might have actually succeeded with an M134 surprise attack."

On the secluded tropical island, the explosive crack of P308 gunfire sounded intermittently. The new recruits, initially full of confidence, gradually realized they not only had to face unknown traps ahead but also figure out how to shake off the relentless pursuers behind them. These new soldiers possessed some skill in many areas, but few knew how to conceal their tracks in a tropical rainforest well enough to fool the veteran pursuers. Compared to the veterans familiar with the jungle, the recruits were little different from the blind.

A few recruits focused only on running faster, completely failing to notice the traps underfoot. By the time they reacted to triggering a mechanism, they were either suspended upside down from a tree by a steel cable clamped to their thigh, or completely encased in a capture net.

The pursuing veterans gave no quarter to these recruits who had sprung a trap and might have hoped for a moment's rest. The steel buttstocks of the rifles and the thick leather boots delivered a barrage of strikes denser than a heavy rainstorm. When the veterans left, these trapped recruits were bruised and swollen, lying on the ground gasping for breath; even the slightest movement caused them agonizing pain.

Yet, they had to force themselves up and run again. Because the departing veterans had left a clear warning: "I will return here in half an hour. If I find you still here, you will become one of the fatality statistics."

The beaten new recruits, while mentally cursing Satan for all manner of ill fates, gritted their teeth against the pain and fled towards different locations.

Of course, not all veterans were having an easy or pleasant chase.

"Damn it! Fooled again!"

One veteran kicked aside a large pile of dead grass, narrowly avoiding a simple wooden arrow hidden within, and spat out an oath with deep resentment. His initial mood, which carried a lighthearted air of casually punishing someone on a rainy day, had transformed into the fury of being toyed with. He couldn't comprehend whether the person he was chasing was truly a new recruit. Throughout the pursuit, he hadn't even glimpsed the person's silhouette, yet he had nearly been skewered several times by the rudimentary traps left behind. He began to seriously doubt who was the actual prey and who was the true hunter in this scenario. Judging by the casually constructed traps, he had a strange feeling that this recruit wasn't taking the pursuers seriously at all. The traps were made so carelessly, without any genuine effort in their design. Simply put, the recruit felt like he was playing—playing a game against a veteran expert in jungle warfare.

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