"Hey, what's your name?" Warmond approached Finn and kicked the still figure lying on the ground.
Finn remained motionless, as if he hadn't heard anything.
"I'm talking to you! Can't you hear me?" Warmond was already irritated by Finn and, seeing him ignore him, his temper flared. He lifted his foot to stomp down on Finn's head.
"Bang!" The foot landed on the ground instead. Finn flipped over and sat up, raising his head slightly to look at Warmond, panting heavily.
"What are you staring at?" Warmond felt uncomfortable under Finn's gaze and glared back, lifting his leg to kick Finn in the stomach.
"Ah!" Finn's whole body jolted. He pushed himself up from the ground and let out a primal, furious growl.
"What? Not satisfied?" a kid following Warmond shouted at Finn, then ran over and kicked him too.
"Kill!" Finn's mind seemed to have been struck by something, and he involuntarily uttered a word. As the kick approached, Finn effortlessly evaded it by half a meter before suddenly charging back.
The kid was taken by surprise as Finn lunged toward him, and he tried to step back, but it was too late.
With no weapons, only his fingernails, Finn left deep gashes wherever he passed.
A scream rang out, immediately capturing everyone's attention in the training ground. Finn stood still, hands hanging low, with blood dripping from his fingertips onto the child lying on the ground, who was now motionless.
"You... you bastard! I'm going to kill you today!" Warmond shouted, his rage ignited as he charged at Finn.
"Kill!" It felt as though Finn's heart was struck again, and his body instinctively jumped back a few paces, circling around Warmond with swift movements.
"Don't run! Damn it, stop right there! I'm going to slaughter you!" Warmond was far too slow to catch up with Finn, and after running for a while, he still couldn't find Finn's shadow, which only fueled his anger.
Finn eventually stopped. As he hit the brakes, his feet left two lines in the sand.
The two stood several meters apart, locked in a fierce stare. Warmond's eyes burned with rage, while Finn's gaze was cold, radiating an aura of lethal intent.
"Killing intent?" Augustus exclaimed, suddenly standing up. The older recruits resting in the shade nearby also turned their attention to the scene.
The air was thick with killing intent, something that could hardly emanate from a mere child. That icy aura sent chills through the hot atmosphere.
"What's that little brat planning?" Augustus narrowed his eyes, a bad feeling creeping into his gut as he walked toward Finn and Warmond, whip in hand.
"Ha! Ha! Ha! Just die already!" Warmond panted, feeling the trembling aura emanating from Finn. Instead of fear, he was consumed by anger. Without a second thought, he charged wildly at Finn.
At the same moment, Finn sprang into action. He leaped backward before launching himself toward Warmond. Finn's speed was clearly superior; even under the blazing sun, he appeared to be nothing more than a faint white shadow to the ordinary eye.
"Stop!" Augustus shouted, cracking the whip toward the two. However, the whip didn't land on either of them; instead, it struck someone else.
"Crack!" The whip, sharp enough to tear through steel, hit the broad back of a figure standing between Finn and Warmond, leaving no mark at all. This muscular youth stood there effortlessly, lifting Warmond off the ground with one hand while using his other hand to block Finn's path with outstretched fingers.
"Abram?" Augustus called out in surprise upon seeing the young man.
Ignoring Augustus, Abram tossed Warmond aside and turned his attention to Finn, who was equally fixed on him.
Abram's physique was comparable to Joseph's, but while Joseph resembled a machine, Abram looked like a muscular statue. His sharply defined face was dominated by lion-like eyes, and his solid chest was adorned with strange tattoos. A necklace made of bones hung around his neck, and he wore nothing but brown, short, fur-lined trousers and similarly crafted boots, revealing a physique that was as formidable as a mountain.
After studying Finn for a long moment, Abram glanced at his own hands, frowning as if deep in thought.
"What are you doing? This is between us; you don't need to meddle," Warmond shouted, getting back to his feet and addressing Abram. Despite his arrogance, he understood the disparity between them.
"Abram," Augustus stepped closer, first inspecting Abram's broad back before calling out to him.
"Hmm? Oh, you can handle this," Abram replied, snapping back to reality. He shot one last look at Finn before turning and striding toward the training ground, where a crowd had already gathered.
"What a monster," Augustus muttered under his breath as he watched Abram's retreating figure. Though he had been cautious not to hurt the two boys too severely, the fact that Abram could brush off such a powerful attack without any visible consequence was something Augustus found hard to accept.
"Enough! What's going on with you two?" Augustus shouted, waving his whip at the two boys who were still locked in an intense stare, unwilling to back down.
"Hey, Abram. What's up with that look?" A cheerful boy with a bright smile greeted Abram as he returned to the formation.
"Didn't catch him," Abram replied, still gazing at his hands.
"Huh?" The boy looked confused.
"I saw him clearly, but when I reached out, my hand just went right through," Abram continued.
"Seriously? Went right through? What are you talking about? He's not a ghost," the boy laughed.
"Ghost? Maybe he really is one," Abram said slowly, finally lowering his hands and looking up.
"What? What are you saying?" The boy was bewildered, but Abram fell silent.
"Nothing," Warmond said after a long, tense stare at Finn, his body relaxing reluctantly. He then turned to walk toward the gathering formation on the training ground.
"You little brat." Augustus frowned, clearly displeased with Warmond's attitude. However, he chose not to comment; some matters were not worth his trouble, especially in such sweltering heat.
"Alright, damn it! You useless slackers, stop being lazy!" Augustus raised his whip again, signaling for training to resume.
"What did you think about that?" Elmo asked a tall, thin man beside him, observing the unfolding situation.
"Hmm, natural talent, beyond imagination," the man replied with a grin, his eyes glinting with fascination as he looked at Finn. "If it were me, I'd probably be just as captivated. Aelric is really lucky."
The speaker was Marcel, one of Elmo's so-called Four Kings, who managed all the external fighters at LB Arena and was known as the Demon.
"Come on, stop being so sappy," Elmo said, shuddering slightly at Marcel's expression. "When are you going to change that habit of yours?"
"If the boss can quit smoking, I can change anytime," Marcel said with a sly grin.
"Get lost. First, settle those debts before talking," Elmo retorted, kicking Marcel away with a scowl.
"Got it, got it! Jeez, no need to kick so hard," Marcel called out in a voice that could make someone's muscles cramp as he ran off.
"Hey, if he could just fix that way of talking, he wouldn't be half bad. If he adjusted his personality a bit more, he might actually have a chance of evolving into a decent man," Elmo said with a resigned shake of his head, lazily sinking into a comfortable armchair.
Just a short while after Marcel left, Zachary walked in holding a huge poster.
"Is it done?" Elmo asked, a hint of surprise flickering across his face at Zachary's arrival.
"It's been tentatively finalized, but it still needs the boss's approval," Zachary replied, unfurling the massive poster. This was the promotional piece set to be displayed on the large front advertisement board of LB Arena, a centerpiece for the upcoming performance and a significant event in the arena's recent months.
The poster featured an exciting design, with the eternal themes of beauty and bloodshed that adorned gladiatorial advertisements. However, the central figure on this poster was a serious-looking, handsome man. He wore a flowing white robe and held a long sword, exuding elegance.
"Hmm, not bad, very nice. Have the invitations been written up?" Elmo examined the poster for a while, a satisfied smile creeping onto his face.
"All done, just waiting for the boss's signature," Zachary replied nonchalantly, showing no sign of sharing in Elmo's excitement.
"Who's on the guest list?" Elmo asked, his eyes glued to the poster as if it held a magnetic pull.
"Everyone of significance from the Everlasting Wilds is on the list, along with some from other regions. As long as they can make it on time, they'll be notified," Zachary answered.
"Great, great! I trust you to handle things." Elmo finally set the poster down, stretching his back with a satisfied groan. "Things will gradually get better; Fabrice will be thrilled when he finds out."
"By the way, Zachary, what do you think about ghosts?" Elmo suddenly asked, feeling quite upbeat.
"Are you talking about those summoned by necromancers?" Zachary frowned, then coldly replied, "They're not good news."
"Hey, hey, Zachary, that's not what I meant. I'm asking about the characteristics of ghosts, the traits," Elmo said with a smile, gesturing slightly. "I don't like summoned entities either."
"Characteristics, huh… I guess they're often elusive and unpredictable. Why the sudden interest?" Zachary pondered for a moment before responding.
"Well… it's nothing much, just felt like I saw one today," Elmo mused, pulling out a cigar and placing it in his mouth.
"A ghost?" Zachary asked, puzzled.
"Yeah, a white ghost," Elmo nodded, lighting the cigar and exhaling a puff of smoke into the air. "Do you think I could ever quit smoking?"
"Not a chance," Zachary replied quickly and decisively.
"Did you have to answer so fast? I mean, I'm your boss; you could at least consider my feelings a bit. Don't be like that Joseph," Elmo murmured, lowering his head.