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

A few months passed, and Zero was now over two years old.

His activities were no longer confined to that cold metal box and the gravel training ground.

Occasionally, when Baroque deliberately forgot to lock the door or when Xue Yan went to the laboratory to check on the experiments, he would sneak into the inner area of ​​the fortress to play for a while.

The so-called "play" is nothing more than changing to a bigger cage and witnessing more bizarre and crazy things, which is what the three Baroques are willing to see.

But Baroque always scoffed at this:

That bastard only knows how to play with these sissy things! Itching powder? Useless!

Today they give the little brat a biological drug to strengthen his physique, and tomorrow they inject him with a research drug that can change his bones, claiming they're going to create a future war god. Is it even effective?

We haven't seen any results yet. A real man makes a difference!

What he meant by "the sound" was gripping Zero's small hand and pulling the trigger of an old-fashioned revolver. The deafening roar of the gunshot left his ears ringing for an entire day.

However, these two extreme forms of "education" have already enabled Zero to gain the deepest understanding of danger perception.

At the same time, the shadow descends again.

It was an afternoon, and most of the people in the fortress, worn down by the heat and hangovers, fell into a deathly silence. Only the whistling of the hot wind blowing through the cracks sounded like the whispers of the dead.

Zero sat in the shadow of his metal suitcase, intently carving his name on the ground with a sharp stone he had picked up.

He wasn't painting; he was simply repeating the same deep scratch, practicing his control over force and angle.

The stone shards chafed his fingers, and blood seeped out, mixing with the soil, but he was completely unaware.

A shadow silently enveloped the ground he had carved.

Zero paused, didn't look up, but his body had already instinctively tensed up.

He didn't even hear a single footstep, but he recognized that cold, almost tangible sense of oppression.

Silence.

He was still wearing that dark combat uniform, like a silent human figure.

He didn't look at what Zero had carved; his gaze lingered on the child's bleeding finger for half a second.

Then, he held up one finger.

That finger, with its short, neatly trimmed nails, large knuckles, and rough skin covered in various tiny old scars, exuded a jade-like coldness and stability.

He didn't point to anything specific; he simply made a lateral movement in the air, extremely slowly.

Zero raised his dark eyes and looked at the finger with confusion.

The silent fingertips stopped at Zero's own throat. Then, with an extremely slight movement, they moved them to the side.

A simple, cold, and unambiguous throat-slitting action.

Zero's pupils suddenly contracted. Not out of fear, but a tremor of...a realization that some state of ignorance had been shattered.

He subconsciously touched his neck, where the blood vessels were pulsating steadily beneath the thin skin.

He silently withdrew his finger, offering no explanation. His gaze shifted to a spot not far away.

A plump desert rat cautiously peeks out from a ventilation duct, its whiskers twitching as it sniffs for danger in the air.

It was alert, but detected no sound or obvious threat.

The silent gaze, like an invisible shackle, nailed the mouse to its death.

Then, he looked at Zero again.

This time, his gaze first fell on the blood-stained, sharp stone in Zero's hand, then slowly moved upwards, fixing on Zero's throat again, and finally returned to the unfeeling rat.

The intention was naked and cruel.

Zero gripped the stone fragment tightly in his hand.

The rough edge prickled his bleeding fingers, causing a sharp pain.

He glanced at the mouse, then at the silent man's eyes, which were devoid of any emotion yet contained an intense sense of command.

A chilling realization, like a venomous snake, burrowed into his young mind.

He understood. Not with words, but with a more primal, killing instinct.

He looked down at the stone shard in his hand, then at the rat.

Instead of acting immediately, he began to regulate his breathing.

The breathing, which was initially slightly rapid due to tension, gradually became long and shallow, and finally so faint that it was almost imperceptible.

His small body relaxed, no longer tense as if preparing to pounce, but relaxed as if blending into the environment, like a lifeless stone.

Then, he moved.

Instead of running, he crawled. Supporting himself on his knees and the free elbow, like a silent gecko, he moved slowly towards the mouse, clinging to the darkest part of the ground.

Every movement was extremely slow and light, with muscle control so precise it was unbelievable, avoiding all possible pebbles and debris that might make a sound.

The distance is gradually closing.

The mouse seemed to sense something was amiss, and suddenly raised its head, its beady black eyes scanning its surroundings warily.

Zero froze instantly, his entire being seemingly becoming part of the shadows, even his breathing completely stopping.

Finding no movement, the mouse tilted its head in confusion and then began to sniff again.

Just the moment it lowered its guard!

Zero's body, like a spring compressed to its limit, suddenly burst forth!

Instead of lunging forward, it darted along the ground at breakneck speed! So fast that it left only a blurry shadow!

The sharp stone in his hand drew a short, precise, and ruthless arc!

No sound.

There was only a very slight "plop" sound, like a ripe fruit falling to the ground.

The rat didn't even have time to let out a scream before its head was almost completely severed, leaving only a layer of skin connecting its body. It collapsed limply to the ground, its limbs twitched a couple of times, and then it stopped moving.

Dark red blood seeped silently into the parched earth.

Zero remained kneeling in the same position, still holding the stone shard he had thrown, his small chest heaving as he gasped for breath. At the tip of the shard, a drop of warm blood was slowly gathering and dripping down.

He killed it. Cleanly and silently.

Silent had somehow walked up to him, looking down at the dead rat, then at the bloodstained weapon in Zero's hand, and at the child's dark eyes, which had suddenly brightened due to the outburst and were now reflecting the scene of death.

A deathly silence enveloped the two of them.

After a long silence, he nodded slowly and very slightly.

The amplitude is so small as to be almost non-existent.

But that was undoubtedly an endorsement. The stingiest, yet heaviest, endorsement from the most efficient killing machine in this land of armies.

He left no words, turned around, and disappeared silently into the depths of the dimly lit corridor, just as he had come, as if he had never been there at all.

Zero remained kneeling, looking at the rat's corpse, then raised his hand, looking at the blood-stained stone fragment and his own blood-stained fingers.

The smell of blood filled my nostrils; it wasn't pleasant, but strangely, it brought an unprecedented sense of control.

Violence and noise are the language of the Baroque. The pain and physical enhancement brought by drugs are the symbols of Xue Yan. And silence and death... are the laws of silence.

He seemed to have just learned his first...word that truly belonged to him.

He stuck out his tongue and licked the filth mixed with his own and the rat's blood from his fingertips again.

The flavor was more complex than last time.

He stood up, no longer looking at the rat, dragged his still aching body, silently walked back to the corner of his tin box, picked up the stone slab again, and continued carving on the ground.

This time, he didn't carve meaningless scratches.

Instead, it is a crooked, yet chilling symbol—a simple straight line representing division.

Outside the fortress, the hot wind still howled.

But something quieter and more deadly has already uttered its first cry in this world of armies.

Silence, yet thunderous.