Daro was in the field with General Mahone, wrapped in a plain brown coat, blending into the desert atmosphere, even though the surroundings were green—neatly arranged grass covering the mountains far from his sight.
"You know you have to be ready. This training requires mental resilience; you will be pushed even when you're exhausted," General Mahone said, looking at Daro with a stern expression, showing no sign of a smile.
"Yes, I'm ready, even if it kills me… I will force myself to become a beast like you all," Daro clenched his fists, his face filled with seriousness; there were no happy words, only words of determination within him now.
"Here, soldiers don't care if it's a girl or even a child; if ordered to strike, they will strike. Eliminate your empathy for those trash creatures, show who you really are—that you are not a coward but a hero," General Mahone continued with firm resolve.
"Yes… Coward… I am not part of the cowards," Daro replied, looking towards General Mahone. "We can start the training now."
Harith was carried, taken to the mansion on Markburg Street. The black iron gate creaked open gently, revealing a winding stone path leading up to the magnificent mansion. Neatly trimmed trees lined both sides, as if welcoming every approaching step.
The two guards at the mansion's entrance quickly opened the door, and a soft creak echoed as the beauty and elegance of the mansion were revealed inside.
The marble floor shimmered under the large crystal chandelier, reflecting light throughout the room. A thick red carpet stretched down the hallway, muffling every footstep. The walls were adorned with classic paintings framed in gold, while tables were decorated with vases of roses, their soft aroma wafting through the air.
So this is what the place looks like.
Although Harith had been staring at the floor, he could visualize the entire mansion, demonstrating extrasensory perception—the ability to see things beyond normal sight, like remote viewing (seeing a location or object from afar or without actually looking at it, even though one's gaze is fixed in one direction).
In the center of the room, an emerald green gambling table exuded a luxurious aura. A pile of royal defense cards lay in the middle of the table, while sparkling dice seemed to reflect the dim light from the chandelier. Crystal glasses filled with liquor rested on the corner of the table, accompanied by a faint scent of tobacco.
The two men quickly placed Harith on the chair positioned neatly in front of and behind the gambling table.
"Watch your mouth; our boss will be here soon."
"He won't hesitate to kill you if you resist or are rude."
Harith chuckled, showing no reaction at all to the cold words of the two men, his bloodied head still dripping slightly.
The man asked, "Do you want a bandage?"
Harith displayed no expression; his demeanor was cold, as if he could not be shattered by a hammer.
"Hehe, no need. I'm not weak like you," Harith didn't hesitate to say this to his enemies, using extreme tactics to make his opponents lose confidence.
The man fell silent, too lazy to respond to Harith's arrogance. They only needed to wait for their boss.
The blood that continued to flow from Harith's head could be described as a hemorrhage; if the bleeding was severe enough, the body could experience significant blood volume loss, potentially leading to hypovolemic shock, a medical emergency where the body organs do not receive enough blood to function properly. A drop in blood pressure from blood loss can cause dizziness, confusion, or even loss of consciousness.
Harith chuckled, his vision slightly blurred, but he was still aware because it was a minor issue for him, nothing compared to the pain of "something" whose agony couldn't be explained rationally.
"Oh, Mr. Harith!" A voice came from the second floor, "Why is your head bleeding?" The man slowly walked down the stairs, holding a glass cup filled with wine.
"My name is Varozmen." Varozmen descended and approached the gambling table.
"You know, I'm curious about you? That bleeding head of yours... I'll let it slide; I don't care about that because I just want to know your true abilities." Varozmen laughed, his laughter echoing throughout the room, leaving no space untouched by his voice.
Harith chuckled slyly, "Because for me, your arrogance is just a way to cover up your stupidity." Harith laughed. "A loser remains a loser; they hide behind a bright and happy mask, only wanting to show their superiority, just like Hector." Harith delivered the taunt, aiming to plant those words in Varozmen's mind for when Varozmen eventually loses, which would make him feel a loss of dignity and confidence.
"You really believe in yourself, don't you?" Varozmen said slowly, bowing his body and bringing his face close to your ear. "Or does that statement reflect who you really are?" Varozmen straightened up and laughed.
"Ah, enough of that; let's fight now," Varozmen chuckled. "We'll play six rounds, and every time you lose a round, I'll carve your legs with a knife. What a great idea, right?" Varozmen laughed.
Harith remained silent, his gaze cold, indifferent to the nonsense words.
"You know, I am the king of underground gambling; my intuition is above all other humans in this world, which is why I'm curious about you—I want to feel the challenge," Varozmen chuckled slyly.
Harith chuckled slyly, "Your happy voice betrays your fear; your confidence lies beneath my feet, just waiting to be trampled into oblivion."
"Yes, continue your speech, for there are no words for victory, nor life for you after finishing this entire round," Varozmen laughed wickedly.
Hehe, this rich man also likes images of golden dragons; there's a golden dragon statue, trying to show that he is wealthy. But there's something…
Golden dragons typically symbolize strength, wealth, and power, but they can also have terrifying connotations. The size of the dragon, its facial expression, and its dominant position in the image could hint at how Varozmen perceives power and his fears.
Harith recalled the myths and folklore related to dragons. In many cultures, dragons are often seen as fearsome beings that can bring destruction if not respected. By keeping a picture of a golden dragon, Varozmen might be harboring a fear of the consequences of his arrogance.
Hehe, Varozmen is afraid of falling because of his own arrogance, which is why he keeps a picture of a golden dragon. Varozmen must have read a book on Chinese mythology, where a very arrogant king challenges a dragon and ends up being destroyed.
Harith analogizes Varozmen's situation with the physics law of pressure.
When pressure increases, one must find a way to release it; otherwise, something strong can shatter. In this case, Varozmen's arrogance is a way to release his emotional pressure, but the fear reflected in the image of the dragon is a threat that could destroy everything if not managed well.
From this observation and analysis, Harith concludes that Varozmen is trapped in an internal struggle between the need to appear powerful and the fear of losing that power. The image of the golden dragon becomes a symbol of that struggle, reflecting an arrogance rooted in deep fear.
Sweat dripped from Daro's forehead, and his boots thudded against the ground relentlessly.
"Ughh…." Daro suppressed the extreme fatigue after 20 minutes of intense training.
His heart raced in sync with the commands of his instructor, Naoki.
"Down for fifty more push-ups!" Instructor Naoki shouted, firm and unrelenting.
Daro's body was already shaking; he had been doing this training for 20 minutes, and his body felt weak. He wasn't used to this kind of workout, but he remained determined.
"Ughhh!"
All the other adult soldiers still looked strong and unfazed, while for Daro, this was a grueling exercise. This was just the warm-up.
Daro's memories of Harith and even his own family had faded, leaving him with only one motivation: to become strong. The sadness within him had been cast into the sea, letting the waves wash away his sorrow to nourish the trees, allowing them to grow healthy.