The Rise of a Special Forces Soldier Abandoned by a Wealthy Family

The sky finally brightened.

Wherever the light reached, it was a scene of hell on earth.

Mud, gravel, broken branches, craters, remnants of colored marking powder, dried and blackened bloodstains... and those "objects" that are still moving.

It's hard to call them "human" anymore.

The military uniform had long been torn into tattered strips, mixed with mud, blood scabs, and sweat, and stuck to the body.

The exposed skin was covered with abrasions, scratches, and bruises, and some wounds were still slowly oozing blood.

Everyone's face was covered with a thick layer of grayish-white dust, with only the area around their eyes and lips showing their original skin color due to the sweat, which looked unusually out of place.

His eyes were sunken, his eyeballs were covered with spider web-like red blood vessels, his gaze was unfocused, empty, and lost its focus, leaving only the most instinctive, stubborn obsession with the illusory goal ahead.

Their lips were chapped and cracked, with layers of white skin, some of which had even split open and bled. They unconsciously licked these cracked lips with their equally dry tongues, leaving even deeper bloodstains.

They sat, knelt, or huddled in the mud or beside rocks, their chests heaving violently, yet they could only let out hoarse, intermittent gasps like broken bellows, each breath seeming to exhaust all their strength.

Some people tried to stand up, but their legs trembled and went weak uncontrollably, like overcooked noodles. They managed to stand up halfway before falling back down heavily.

Some people lay face down in the mud, their foreheads pressed against the cold ground, with only the heavy packs on their backs proving they were "alive."

There were also groups of three or five people leaning on each other, using their body heat and the last bit of willpower to keep themselves from collapsing completely.

one day one Night.

A high-intensity forced march interspersed with real combat, a mental and physical ordeal.

They survive on just a few compressed biscuits and the occasional stream water they find.

The limits of physiology and psychology have long been broken, trampled, and crushed.

Inside the operations room, a huge screen clearly displayed all of this.

Zeng Linglong stood in front of the screen, his hands in the pockets of his combat uniform, his posture still ramrod straight.

His gaze swept calmly over the faces that were on the verge of collapse, the trembling limbs, and the empty eyes.

Then, he picked up the communication microphone.

"hehe……"

A clear, cold laugh, tinged with undisguised sarcasm, pierced through the powerful signal broadcast and landed unimpeded in the miniature earpieces of every team member.

The laughter, like a cold steel needle, pierced their muddled consciousness.

All the team members who could still move involuntarily shuddered slightly.

"that's all……"

"You...you can't handle it?"

He paused, then his tone suddenly turned sharp as a knife:

"Where is your anger?"

"What about your hatred?"

"Has this little bit of fatigue really dampened your spirits?"

Each rhetorical question was like a heavy hammer blow.

"Think of your comrades..."

"Your brothers..."

"Because of some of you giving... incompetent orders..."

"And 'death'... or withdrawal from the selection."

"Think about them..."

"Leaving you all in a 'tragic' way."

"And you..."

He drew out the sound, like a demon's sigh:

"But they didn't even get to see them one last time..."

These words, like a final bolt of lightning, shattered the team members' confused and numb minds!

Comrades...

brother……

The last time...

Those who were carried away, those whose bodies were smoking, those who disappeared in the explosion...

Vibrant faces instantly broke through the barrier of fatigue and appeared before my eyes with unparalleled clarity!

My heart felt like it was being squeezed tightly by an invisible hand, the pain was so intense I couldn't breathe!

"Would you like to see them?"

Zeng Linglong's voice was full of seduction and cruelty.

"Do you want to...see them off?"

"Then—"

"Show us your strength."

"To become...in the top 500."

"Only you... are qualified."

He reiterated that it was cold and ruthless:

"People outside the top 500..."

"They won't even have the right to see their comrades off...."

"I said..."

Zeng Linglong's voice returned to its initial calm, yet it was more unsettling than any roar.

"This is hell."

"You are...dust from hell."

"There is no dignity here...only unconditional obedience."

"Since you... came in voluntarily."

He spoke slowly and deliberately:

"We must do it."

The brief silence was like the stillness before a storm.

Then came his final "encouragement," tinged with an almost mocking cruelty:

"Now……"

"It's time for you 'dust' to put on a show."

"go……"

"For your 'fallen' comrades..."

"Strive...forward!"

Communication was cut off.

silence.

A deathly silence lasted for about three seconds.

Then--

"ah--!!!"

A hoarse, broken roar, as if squeezed from the deepest part of the soul, burst from the throat of a team member who was slumped in the mud!

It seemed to have ignited a chain reaction!

"Ughhhhhh!!!"

"ah--!!!"

"Brother...wait for me!!!"

One sound after another, one wave after another!

That was no longer a unified battle cry, but a soul howl mixed with extreme pain, resentment, anger, sorrow, and the last obsession forcibly ignited!

Tears, mixed with the dirt on his face, streamed down his face, leaving deep furrows.

The blood from biting his chapped lips dripped onto the back of his equally chapped hand.

The sweat that had long since dried up seemed to squeeze out the last bit of salty liquid from the broken tear ducts and taut muscles.

They used all their strength to pound the ground, tear at their hair, and slam their heads against the rocks beside them...

The most intense conflict arose between a body exhausted to the extreme and a soul burning with passion.

But a shared, crystal-clear belief, like the only lighthouse in the darkness, blazed brightly in everyone's dying consciousness—

Become one of the top 500!

Go see your comrade-in-arms one last time!

Let's see them off!

If you can't even do this...

How dare they... call themselves warriors?!

And... the head instructor!

That cold-blooded devil!

Once we prove ourselves...

You absolutely must... ask him in person!

Why be so cruel?!

Why?!

Belief can sometimes be more powerful than any medicine.

Although my body still felt like lead, every joint was groaning, my lungs were burning, and my vision was blurry...

But it moved.

The first team member was lying in the mud. He trembled as he propped himself up with his arms, his elbows sinking deep into the mud. He pressed his forehead against the ground and dragged his heavy body forward inch by inch.

Next was the team member who tried to stand up but fell back down. He stopped trying to stand and instead began to crawl forward using his hands and knees, learning the most primitive way.

The group, leaning on each other, communicated with each other through their cloudy yet determined eyes. Then, gritting their teeth, supporting each other, and swaying, they took another step with legs that seemed not to belong to them.

Along the long, winding, and blood-stained march route, those figures who were almost considered "scrap metal" began their slow, arduous, yet remarkably determined movement once again.

They no longer run, and can't even walk fast.

They just walk, move, and crawl.

His eyes remained empty and numb, but deep within them, a flame called "farewell" burned stubbornly.

Old Liu and Old Zhang only rested for less than two hours in the chairs in the operations room before standing in front of the screen again.

The two elderly people watched the young people who were almost driven forward by sheer willpower, saw the blood, tears and dirt mixed on their faces, and saw the heart-wrenching difficulty of each of their movements...

Old Zhang's Adam's apple bobbed violently a few times before he looked away.

Old Liu pursed his lips tightly, his jawline taut like a rock, and his hands behind his back were clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Time, stretched out endlessly amidst extreme pain and perseverance.

The sun has set once again.

The twilight, like blood, painted the sky and enveloped this hellish mountain forest.

The team members who were still "marching" at this moment had completely lost the ability to "walk".

Almost everyone entered a crawling state.

The fabric on his palms and elbows was worn through, revealing raw, bloody flesh. He dragged his hands across the rough ground, leaving dark red marks.

The knee brace was already broken, and every time he moved forward, it was accompanied by a muffled thud as his body rubbed against the ground and a suppressed groan of pain squeezed out from between his teeth.

Some people were so exhausted that they could barely crawl, and could only turn sideways and inch forward with their shoulders and hips.

Others, almost unconscious, writhed forward, their lips moving unconsciously, uttering faint but persistent murmurs:

"Brother...wait for me..."

"I will... go in..."

"One spot... I'll take one..."

"To see you... one last time..."

"I'm giving you... glory..."

The same broken, numb vows echoed softly in the twilight, weaving together a tragic and heartbreaking elegy from hell.

Inside the operations room.

The dozen or so young information soldiers continued typing on their keyboards, tracking the data.

But their faces were already streaked with tears.

Tears fell onto the keyboard, making a soft "plop" sound, and no one wiped them away.

Through the screen, they witnessed this "tempering" that exceeded the normal human capacity to endure, and saw how their comrades were driven to the brink of despair, and how they burned themselves out for a promise and a bond of camaraderie.

Old Liu and Old Zhang could no longer bear to watch.

The two battle-hardened veterans also felt a suffocating palpitation at this moment.

At this moment when deathly silence and tragic grandeur seemed to be frozen forever.

Zeng Linglong's voice rang out again calmly through the internal channel:

"Medical team."

"To all team members still on the march..."

"Inject 'Nirvana-1' anti-fatigue medication."

"Standardized dosage to ensure they can regain basic mobility."

"Execute immediately."

The order has been issued.

The medics, who had been lying in wait at key points along the route and were dressed in camouflage suits that blended into the environment, appeared like ghosts.

They were swift, professional, and silent.

Find those crawlers who are almost unconscious, gently press them down (they are powerless to resist), take out the specially made syringe, aim at the vein in their neck or arm, and quickly inject the light blue "Nirvana-1" drug.

Once the medication is ingested, the effects are almost immediate.

It's not a complete restoration, but rather like blowing pure oxygen into embers that are about to go out!

His previously unfocused gaze suddenly sharpened for a moment!

The cold, almost stagnant blood seemed to be injected with a scalding hot current!

The dried-up muscle fibers regained a weak contractile force!

"Hmm..."

One of the team members took a deep breath, like a drowning person surfacing.

He struggled to prop himself up with his arms, looked around blankly, and then looked at his still bleeding hands.

Then, the belief in "seeing someone off" once again clearly and forcefully occupied all my thoughts.

He let out a low growl, stopped crawling, and instead swayed and staggered as he stood up again!

Despite his unsteady steps, as if he might fall at any moment, he did indeed... start walking forward again!

One, two, ten...

More and more figures "struggled" to their feet from the mud, like zombies resurrected in a movie, dragging their broken bodies, their eyes burning with the last bit of unwillingness and obsession, and once again embarking on this endless road.

They didn't know the destination.

I don't know the limits.

They don't even know the specific meaning of "living".

All I know is—

There was still a sliver of strength left in my body.

There is also a belief in my mind.

Then...

Surpass the person in front.

Surpass the next one.

Until you collapse from exhaustion, "die," or...

I saw with my own eyes the face of my comrade-in-arms, the face I missed, felt guilty about, and wanted to say "I'm sorry" and "goodbye" to in person.

Night fell once again.

In the mountains and forests, a staggering figure with a determined look in his eyes continues this endless trek, fueled by faith and fueled by the embers of life, under the faint starlight and the occasional flash of red light from the surveillance cameras.

Hell is not far off.

Unwavering obsession.