Future Masters in Modern Times

Chapter 44: Your Lives Are in Our Hands

Max hesitated for a moment, then pulled open a drawer and took out a brightly polished plaque. Upon closer inspection, the crowd realized it was actually a gold nameplate. “This is your nameplate—105. It holds special significance. Listen to what I have to say.” Max solemnly handed the nameplate to Zhao Wuji and began to explain its meaning in detail. “Back when Tiger Wang came to the Siberian Training Camp, his nameplate also bore this number.” All the boxers’ eyes reddened; each breathed a little heavily, exhaling in heavy gasps through their nostrils. “Ever since Tiger Wang passed away, the training camp administration created this nameplate in his memory, hoping someone could restore its former glory. Only our registration office has the authority to award this nameplate to a boxer. There’s only one requirement for wearing this nameplate: you must be Chinese. Any Chinese person who registers at our registration desk to participate in the training camp each session is eligible to wear it. However, I won’t force you—you can choose a regular nameplate instead. But if you choose this ‘105’ nameplate, I think you should be well aware of what awaits you.” ” Max said solemnly, glancing at the boxers whose eyes were nearly red with strain. That single glance sent them into a chill as if they’d fallen into an ice cave; a wave of cold swept through their bodies, and they immediately realized: if they were to wear this badge, they would likely be under constant pressure every single moment! Max looked at Zhao Wuji, torn by conflicting emotions. He both hoped Zhao Wuji would choose this nameplate and hoped he wouldn’t, because once chosen, it would be tantamount to condemning himself to a fate from which there is no escape. What would he choose in the end? The boxers around them all seemed to take a perverse pleasure in his misfortune, watching the impending scene unfold as if they were mere bystanders. No matter which way he chose, it seemed there was no good outcome. If Zhao Wuji refused, everyone would think he was weak. But if he accepted it, countless troubles would await him. Zhao Wuji smiled faintly, seemingly unconcerned, slipped the golden plaque into his pocket, turned around, and walked straight toward the open area. He’d made his choice—and just as expected. Max’s gaze grew distant. For all those years, every Chinese person who entered the Siberian Training Camp had chosen the golden nameplate—they feared no death and pressed forward undaunted. Although they had never again encountered a figure like Tiger Wang, everyone had come to remember the character of the Chinese: unyielding! Unyielding! And unyielding once more! “I was being overly sentimental.” Max wore a wry smile; he should have known long ago which golden plaque Zhao Wuji would choose. As he walked onto the open area, the boxers around him quickly moved away from Zhao Wuji, creating a clear space around him. They certainly didn’t want to bring any bad luck upon themselves—who knew what misfortune might befall them if they followed this Chinese man? Badge 105? Hmph, is that something just anyone can have? That plaque is practically a death warrant—who would dare accept it? The next two were Alan, number 2535, and Belka, number 2536. Berken patted Alan on the shoulder and said, “Did you see that? That stupid Chinese guy. I bet he won’t last a week at the Siberian Training Camp. Don’t you agree?” Alan shook his head slightly, took a few steps forward, and stopped just a few paces away from Berken. He turned back and said, “You shouldn’t think that way. This is his dignity as a boxer. No one has the right to mock a person’s dignity. Regardless of how you view his actions, I, Alan, admire him.” Alan kept his distance from Berken and walked straight toward Zhao Wuji. “Hah.” Belka watched his back and let out a cold laugh, running his right hand over his chin. “Damn it, you’re just as despicable as that Chinese guy.” Belka flexed his burly arms, imagining knocking them both out with a single punch, and a cruel smile spread across his face. Zhao Wuji heard the muttering rustling by his ear, and the look of disdain on his lips deepened. What was there to talk about with someone who was nothing but a smooth-talker? Those boxers thought Zhao Wuji was a fool, but didn’t Zhao Wuji, in turn, view them as nothing more than monkeys? After all, why would anyone bother to take a bunch of monkeys jumping all over the place seriously? “Hey, hello, No. 105. I’m No. 2535.” Zhao Wuji was coldly observing everything around him when he saw the boxer named Alan walking toward him with a friendly smile on his face. “Hello, No. 2535—Alan,” Zhao Wuji replied with a faint smile. Alan looked a little surprised. “You know my name?” “I heard it just now.” Zhao Wuji crossed his arms over his chest, looking somewhat relaxed. “I really admire you—how can you still be so relaxed right now?” Alan’s expression grew even more surprised. He had assumed Zhao Wuji’s composure was an act, but upon getting closer and observing him, he realized Zhao Wuji was genuinely at ease. That kind of composure isn’t something just anyone can fake. “In any case, I support your decision.” Alan patted his chest, then glanced at the boxers who were pointing and whispering, a look of disdain naturally crossing his face. “They’re nothing but a bunch of hypocrites. We don’t need to pay them any mind,” Alan said. Zhao Wuji couldn’t help but laugh. He could tell that this Alan was straightforward and without ulterior motives. However, Zhao Wuji felt quite a fondness for people like him, so he struck up a conversation with him. During their conversation, he learned that Alan came from a small country in the South Pacific. The people there were very straightforward; good was good, and evil was evil—they were direct and never beat around the bush. Alan was originally an orphan, but he had a good coach—a former underground fighter who had retired from the sport. The coach treated Alan as both a mentor and a father; he had taken Alan in when he was a child. From then on, Alan grew up under the coach’s guidance, and his skills naturally improved over time. The coach taught him the law of the jungle: the victor reigns supreme, while those who fear death can only become the weak and be eliminated. This year, recruitment for the Siberian Training Camp had begun again, so Alan decided to give it a try. To his surprise, he actually made it. Zhao Wuji simply listened as Alan recounted his experiences, without interrupting. After a long while, Alan curiously asked about Zhao Wuji’s own experiences. Zhao Wuji simply smiled, waved his hand, and said, “My experiences aren’t worth mentioning—they’re quite ordinary, and there’s really nothing to say about them.” Hearing this, Alan had no choice but to let it go. “Fighters, quiet down.” After verifying all the fighters’ information, Max finally spoke again. “Do you feel lucky and happy to have made it into the Siberian Training Camp?” Max asked with a smile. Quite a few boxers nodded. But then Max let out a cold laugh. “In fact, the boxers who voluntarily withdrew just now are the lucky ones. As for you, you’re about to face hellish training.” The boxers present remained noncommittal; of course they knew this. If they didn’t even know that, why would they have joined the Siberian Training Camp in the first place? “Now that you’re boxers at our Siberian Training Camp, remember this: your lives are no longer in your own hands. Your lives are now in the hands of the Siberian Training Camp. Do you understand?” The boxers nodded, and Max gave them a satisfied look. “In that case, let’s begin our first training session.” “What? We just signed up, and now we’re starting our first training session?!” Everyone was taken aback. But this was just a registration point—they hadn’t even seen a trace of the Siberian Training Camp yet! “I told you, your lives belong to us now. If we want you to live, you live; if we want you to die, you die. Is there a problem with that?!” Max slammed his fist down on the table and roared. At that moment, numerous heavily armed guards emerged from both sides, glaring menacingly at the boxers—ready to riddle them with bullets at the slightest provocation. Now, no one dared to utter a word. Max gave a cold snort and ordered the guards to take them away. Zhao Wuji was among the crowd, following the guards as they marched forward. Ahead, it was pitch black; the unknown seemed poised to swallow them whole. Finally, everyone came to a halt. Before them stood a massive steel gate. A guard stepped forward and entered a few codes; with a “click,” the massive iron gates began to slowly slide apart. Inside the gates, the light was blindingly bright, and everything seemed perfectly normal. But as their eyes adjusted to the light inside, terror set in. A massive cage stood silently in the vast chamber. Dead silence, dead silence. But this silence was not destined to last long. For their footsteps had startled the creature inside the cage awake. “Roar!” All the fighters froze in shock—the creatures locked in the cage were actually ferocious wolfhounds. A quick count revealed there were no fewer than twenty of them. Twenty ferocious wolfhounds—were they really supposed to take them on? You’ve got to be kidding me! Everyone’s faces turned ashen. Max strode in with heavy footsteps, glared at them coldly, and then let out a scoff. “What’s the matter? Are you already backing down? You should know that when you entered the Siberian Training Camp, you faced black bears. Back then, were you this indecisive?” Max looked at each of them; only Zhao Wuji remained expressionless, as if the twenty wolfhounds didn’t even exist. Alan’s expression was grave, but he showed no fear—only caution. “I won’t waste my breath on you. You’ll go in one by one, in groups of five. Each group has ten minutes to survive. The survivors win. This is already an extremely lenient arrangement. In the future, what will be required of you won’t be as simple as just lasting ten minutes. Do you understand?” As Max spoke of the brutal practices at the training camp, he relentlessly riled up the fighters’ nerves. “Open the cage. I’ll count to 10. When the time is up, anyone not inside the cage will be executed.” Two guards stepped forward and opened the cage doors. Cold Eye gestured for the first group of five fighters to enter. “One.” “Two.” Max’s cold, ruthless voice rang out like a death knell. Hesitating, the first fighter stepped into the cage. The twenty wolfhounds immediately bristled, their bright green eyes fixed intently on the man who had entered first. Once the first one was in, the second followed. “Ten.” Another fighter hesitated, unable to move forward. He turned to face Max, spread his hands wide, and was just about to speak. But no one gave him a chance to speak. With a “thud,” a bloody hole appeared in the fighter’s head. With a look of sheer shock still frozen in his eyes, he collapsed straight to the ground. Max remained expressionless, not even glancing at the boxer, and signaled for the cage to be closed. “Clang.” The iron door slammed shut, as if separating two worlds…