Sengrar, Rargnes, and the guard arrived at the training ground and took their places on the podium. Although silence had never reigned in the military base, soldiers' footsteps echoing across the training ground made Rargnes dizzy. His heart began to beat so hard that soon he could hear nothing but an immense silence manifested by a constant buzzing in his ears. His vision blurred, and he instinctively reached for his alcohol bottle at his waist, taking a shaky sip.
'Deep down, you don't care to know. Some things are better left unknown.'
When Rargnes heard the voice, his first instinct was to argue, but the discomfort and unease grew. He looked at the crowd, focusing on the details, the people coming in, the people he knew—anything that could hold his interest or stop him from repeating these thoughts in his head.
The soldiers arrived and soon formed groups, the quickest standing behind the commander. Almost all members were present—about two hundred people. Heze was also there, surrounded by some doctors and guards, and Rargnes was surprised to see a Jean with little energy inside him. He concluded that this was the Jean from the fourth apocalypse and that the third was dead.
His eye caught the mage goblin arriving on his right simultaneously with the masked woman. Rargnes averted his gaze from him and looked at the latter, whose posture indicated displeasure.
Sengrar stepped forward in front of Rargnes, and before he realized it, the commander and the masked woman were beside him. Up close, he felt the commander's weak energy compared to the power of Sengrar and the masked woman. Despite his recent entry into the fourth apocalypse, that energy almost matched his own.
'Of the three strongest, all three are mages,' he thought, suppressing his displeasure. Behind them, the strongest members of the crowd were all warriors. Only three men with lord's class matched Rargnes' power.
"If I have gathered you here, and I know it is a subject unpleasant to remember, is to ask you about the selection." Sengrar said.
The commander gave him an intrigued look.
"How many here remember the selection process?"
There was a long silence.
"What do you mean by that?" the commander asked.
Rargnes' hands were already sweaty, and he felt his heart pounding as if hit by a hammer. His hand mechanically moved toward his flask, but the solemn situation paralyzed his hand. Looking toward the crowd, he noticed the goblin mage's eyes were focused on him.
Fortunately, Sengrar resumed speaking in an uneasy tone: "I mean the process before the apocalypse, to reduce our numbers, to be worthy of the opportunity."
'He never spoke to you about this before,' the voice said. 'Be wary of the goblins. They taught him magic, they are not trustworthy, they have been manipulating the noble's territory for who knows how long, they have an almost complete monopoly on administration and magic. They can manipulate the elements, why not memory? Why not those memories you have of your so-called past lives?'
"No idea what you're talking about," the commander finally replied before turning to his men. "Does anyone remember?"
Negative responses echoed in the training camp. However, some people seemed hesitant about their answers.
"I haven't seen any injured before that!" shouted a doctor with little energy. "If such a selection existed, we would remember it, and I clearly recall the period right before the apocalypse. Everything was normal."
"The system might have made you forget!" replied Sengrar. "Doesn't anyone really remember? It's not hard! The black armor? Does it ring a bell?!"
Negative responses continued until the masked woman spoke: "I remember the situation. Goblin mage, have there been any similar cases in history?"
"No such stories were recorded for as long as I remember, but traces from previous eras are few, especially those concerning individuals. Not even all nobles have their name known, and of the few otherworlders who became noble and have their stories written, many preferred to consider themselves fully assimilated citizens with abilities granted by the Gods. I doubt such a feeling would be transmitted through writing."
"Rargnes." Sengrar turned to him and pointed a finger. "Rargnes here and I were in bars during the apocalypse's start! I believe the same was true for many people after the selection! After the massacre! When was the last time you saw children or old people?! They have all been killed! That's fucking why!"
The words echoed in Rargnes' mind, his eyes becoming wet and blurry. He struggled to keep them open and felt himself losing balance. He blinked, and the training ground turned into an urban battlefield where corpses piled up.
"Run!" said Truckdriver's frantic voice. Behind him, a man in full black armor drew his bloodied sword, cutting down yet again the corpses who collapsed, joining their comrades. Truckdriver grew paler, turned his head, and fled with all the strength from the armored man standing a few dozen meters from him, who reappeared in front of him the next second. The blade cut through the space, and Truckdriver closed his eyes. When he reopened them, the person next to him fell dead to the ground while the figure slaughtered other groups of people.
"I must survive," Truckdriver said in a trembling voice. "I will survive and kill them. They will pay. They will pay!"