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

The base in the mountains, the third dawn.

A heavy, lingering atmosphere, a mixture of sweat, blood, mud, and despair, permeated the mountains and forests.

On the marching route.

The scene was beyond description with just the word "horrific".

The vast majority of team members who are still "moving" have completely lost the ability to "walk" or even "stand".

They crawled on the mud, gravel, and thorns, using their elbows, knees, shoulders, and even their chins and foreheads to inching forward.

Everyone's palms and elbows were worn raw and bloody, with the bone visible, stuck to the mud and sand. Each drag left a sticky, dark red trail.

The fabric and skin around the knees had long since disappeared, revealing the stark white patella, which rubbed against the rough ground with a teeth-grinding rustling sound.

Many people's faces were crisscrossed with dirt, rippled by the tissue fluid and blood seeping from their bodies; their eyes were sunken, their vision was unfocused, and they were unresponsive to even the obstacles right in front of them.

Their breathing was weak and intermittent, and the rise and fall of their chests was almost imperceptible.

His lips were cracked like parched earth, opening and closing slightly, but he could only utter indistinct, dreamlike murmurs:

"brother……"

"wait for me……"

"Name...uh..."

"I'll give it to you..."

"Climb...climb..."

Consciousness has long been completely blurred and shattered.

What sustains this broken body, even by a single centimeter, is no longer clear thinking, but rather the sole, steel-like obsession imprinted deep within its soul—

Life goes on, and so does our journey.

I've secured a spot, and I'm sending my brother off!

The human body has absolute limits.

Three days and three nights of inhuman torture not only drained their physical strength but also their vitality.

However, human potential, especially the potential driven by willpower, is often immeasurable.

Under repeated and forced injections of the "Nirvana-1" anti-fatigue drug (the dosage was strictly controlled to ensure no permanent damage, but the pain was doubled), these team members experienced one physiological "last gasp" after another.

Immediately after the injection, they gain a brief (ten to several tens of minutes) false strength that allows them to stand up or even jog a short distance.

But after the effects of the drug wore off, they were followed by deeper fatigue, more intense muscle soreness and nerve pain, which knocked them to the ground again like a tidal wave, leaving them in an even more powerless crawling state than before.

Fall down, get injected, struggle to get up, move forward, fall down again...

This cycle repeats itself, like the endless torment of Sisyphus.

The sun slowly rose to its zenith, then mercilessly slanted westward.

Along the marching route, people began to completely break down.

Some people were climbing along when suddenly their bodies stiffened, then they collapsed limply and remained motionless—they fainted.

Some people's eyes became completely unfocused, and they started talking nonsense, crying out the names of their comrades to the air, or letting out meaningless silly laughter—they were on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Although some people are still moving mechanically, their body temperature is abnormally high or low, and their heartbeat is irregular—their physiological functions have reached a critical point.

The medics, who had been waiting at various points, appeared swiftly, like the most perceptive vultures.

They moved quickly, precisely, and silently.

After checking vital signs and assessing their condition, team members in pairs were gently lifted on stretchers and quickly transported to the emergency medical camp set up in the rear.

Every figure carried away signifies the temporary departure of an indomitable soul, and also means that the number "500" is being cruelly approached.

Inside the operations command center.

The air was so still it looked like you could wring water out of it.

On the giant screen, the number of segments decreased. In each segment, only a few scattered figures remained, still "moving forward" in various distorted postures.

Zeng Linglong stood in front of the screen, having not closed his eyes for three days and three nights.

His eyes were also slightly shadowed, but his gaze remained sharp and clear, like that of a tireless eagle.

But deep within those profound eyes, an extremely complex mix of emotions surged—scrutiny, assessment, a hint of barely perceptible weariness, and… a deep sense of anticipation.

Old Liu and Old Zhang sat on the chairs next to each other.

The two elderly generals, both over seventy, had only managed to doze off briefly in their chairs over the past three days. They now looked equally haggard, with red eyes and ruddy hair.

But their backs remained ramrod straight.

Their eyes were fixed intently on the screen.

His eyes held only unwavering determination, and an undisguised shock and emotion as he watched those young soldiers push their limits.

Old Zhang's hands gripped the armrests of the chair tightly, his knuckles turning white.

Old Liu's lips were pressed into a hard, straight line, and his Adam's apple bobbed slightly from time to time.

When the real-time statistics in the bottom right corner of the screen finally jumped and then fixed firmly on "500"...

The entire operations room seemed to have been muted.

All the information soldiers stopped typing at the same time.

Even the sound of breathing became barely audible.

On the screen, in the last 500 frames—

Someone was lying on a small slope, their outstretched arm pointing into the distance, but their fingers were too weak to bend.

A man leaned against a rock, his head tilted to one side, his eyes half-closed, and only his chest heaving very faintly.

Some people remained in a crawling position, their foreheads touching the ground, as if asleep, or as if dead.

There were no cheers, no celebrations.

There was only a silence, a silence that felt like surviving a catastrophe, yet even more profound.

Zeng Linglong took a deep, slow breath and then exhaled slowly.

It was as if he was exhaling all the pressure, expectations, and the weight of all the cruel decisions that had accumulated over the past three days and three nights.

His voice, coming through the internal communication channel, was steady, yet carried an undeniable sense of finality:

"Selection..."

"Finish."

"Medical team, immediately conduct a comprehensive examination and provide emergency treatment to all remaining team members."

"Ensure...the safety of every single person."

"Then, we will enter a period of deep rest and recuperation."

The order has been issued.

A large number of medical and support personnel who had been waiting in advance poured out from various hiding places like a floodgate being opened, rushing towards the last 500 figures scattered in the mountains and forests.

However, when the medics tried to lift the first team member—

"No……!"

The team member who was almost unconscious suddenly struggled to his feet! His eyes were unfocused, yet they held a fierce and stubbornness like a wild animal guarding its prey!

"I...can still...climb!"

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

His voice was hoarse and broken, yet it was like the mournful cry of a dying beast, striking the hearts of everyone who came to his rescue.

The medic's nose stung with tears, but she forced herself to remain calm and repeated loudly in his ear:

"Bro! The selection process is over!"

"You did it! You're in the top 500!"

"You got a spot! You can go see your comrades now!"

"A spot...?"

A faint glimmer of light seemed to flash in the team member's cloudy eyes.

The struggle gradually subsided.

"I... got in?"

"Brother...wait for me...I'll take you..."

Before he could finish speaking, the last glimmer of light in his eyes went out, his head lolled to the side, and he completely fainted.

Just before he lost consciousness, a single, cloudy tear slid silently from the corner of his dusty eye, leaving a clear wet trail on his cheek.

The same scene played out repeatedly at various rescue sites.

When you hear keywords like "top 500", "selection over", and "you can see your comrades"—

Those team members who were still resisting with their last shred of instinct, their nerves and will stretched to the limit, relaxed instantly like a snapped bowstring.

"brother……"

"We've... arrived..."

"I'll give it to you..."

Indistinct murmurs, accompanied by sighs of relief, or tears falling silently.

Then came a complete and utter fainting spell.

One by one.

Five hundred figures, scattered throughout the mountains and forests, who had just been battling death and pushing their limits, finally allowed themselves to "fall down" at the moment they confirmed that their "obsession" had been achieved.

They were carefully lifted onto stretchers, covered with thermal blankets, and quickly transferred.

Each person carried away bore indescribable, complex marks on their face—pain, exhaustion, wounds, yet also a trace of peace after everything had settled, even…

A sense of almost sacred relief, the relief of fulfilling a promise.

When the last team member was safely transferred.

The mountains and forests have finally returned to their original "silence".

But in this silence, it seemed as if the roars, gasps, cries and murmurs that had not ceased for three days and three nights still echoed.

Inside the operations room.

Old Liu slowly stood up, walked to the window, and looked at the dense lights shining in the medical area of ​​the base in the distance, where the eliminated and the 500 "team members" who had made it into the team were being treated in a tense but orderly manner.

The old man's back was somewhat hunched, yet he remained as steady as a mountain.

Old Zhang also stood up, patted Zeng Linglong on the shoulder, and didn't say anything. But the strength of his hand said it all.

Zeng Linglong remained standing in front of the screen.

On the screen, the surveillance footage of the medical camp is displayed: rows of neat hospital beds, where young soldiers lie exhausted, in deep sleep, or unconscious.

They were connected to various monitoring devices, which showed weak but stable vital signs.

His gaze slowly swept over the faces that remained furrowed in their sleep, or those that were muttering to themselves.

a long time.

He turned to look at the two veteran leaders, his voice slightly hoarse, yet clear and firm:

"The first level of hell..."

"Passed."

"But these 500 pieces of 'materials'..."

His gaze sharpened again, fixed on the deeper night sky outside the window.

"We still need..."

"A fiercer fire, a heavier hammer."

The first phase of purgatory ended with real battles, bloodshed, tears, and perseverance that pushed the limits.

Inside the base, soldiers slept soundly.

Outside the base, a turbulent undercurrent of danger lurks.