Out of curiosity, after he left, I opened this photo album. Inside were all sorts of cool, scantily clad beauties, each one with a seductive, alluring figure. What’s more, the album was divided into European, American, and Asian sections. Not only were the nationalities of these women marked, but also their measurements, heights, and even different prices. Even the cheapest Japanese girl cost as much as five thousand.

For a moment, I couldn’t figure out what exactly these women were for, so I tossed the album aside and never bothered with it again.

Now I finally understand why those people in the training camp could stay for so long and still be so energetic.

Although they couldn’t eat the free lunch and dinner provided by the instructor, they could buy breakfast and late-night snacks with their own money—though the prices were outrageously high.

Now I also know why Edward Bennett specifically left me a bank card with such a huge amount on it, and told me, “Soon you’ll understand, for people in the dark world, money is worthless. As long as you can survive, money has never been a problem for those who walk in the dark world.”

On the second day of training, I was already doing much better than on the first day.

As I stood in front of the wall, punching it hard again and again, I even had the leisure to observe the movements of the others.

Just as I expected, almost everyone had abandoned flashy moves and were honestly throwing solid punches one after another.

Of the seven stances the middle-aged man taught me, he himself only used the left straight punch, right straight punch, front kick, and side kick—these four simplest moves. Each strike could knock off more than seven points of the training wall’s life value, and only occasionally would he unleash a fierce spinning kick or side elbow to deliver even greater force.

The middle-aged man’s technique had an indescribable ferocity to it, as if it contained something I couldn’t understand. This same quality was present in the instructor’s punches as well.

By the way, today our training camp welcomed fourteen new recruits, and one of them was especially eye-catching.

This newcomer had a head full of white hair, a face full of rebelliousness, and wore clothes with more than a dozen holes, covered in metal rings—a truly non-mainstream look. Judging by his appearance and build, he was clearly of authentic Japanese descent, and that hair color was definitely not natural. Combined with such an exaggerated style, it was obvious he was quite a character.

This white-haired guy ignored everyone, as if no one else was worthy of his attention. He was extremely arrogant, not even bothering to punch or kick the wall, and spent the whole morning idly daydreaming.

In the blink of an eye, it was lunchtime again. I wiped my sweat, glanced at the cold wall whose life value had already dropped below eight thousand, and although I knew I still wasn’t qualified for lunch, I felt somewhat gratified. Today I’d improved at least threefold compared to yesterday. Although my strength was still too weak among these fierce people in the dark training camp, this progress was already very satisfying.

When the instructor appeared pushing the food cart, the rebellious white-haired guy lazily stood up, glanced at the unappetizing black bread, and deliberately dragged out his voice, shrieking, “You’re giving us this stuff to eat? Even a dog would turn its nose up at this food. Instructor, can you give me something else?”

The instructor had seen plenty of troublemakers like this and replied expressionlessly, “You haven’t completed your training task, so you don’t even get bread. Those who have completed their tasks, come get your food.”

Seeing the instructor ignore him, a sharp glint suddenly flashed in the white-haired guy’s eyes, and his tone turned icy cold as he said, “I advise you to give Lord Crimson something else to eat, or I can’t guarantee what will happen next. Lord Crimson has never had a good temper.”

The instructor didn’t even bother to speak, didn’t spare him a glance, handed out black bread to those who had completed their tasks, then turned and left with the food cart.

Being ignored like this made the white-haired guy very unhappy. With a strange yell, he suddenly leapt into the air and viciously kicked at the instructor’s head. The kick was as fast as lightning and as powerful as a mountain, making even me, watching from the side, momentarily imagine the instructor’s head would be kicked to pieces.

But in the next second, reality showed me that predicting a fight of this level was beyond a newcomer’s ability.

The instructor countered with a punch, meeting the white-haired guy’s flying kick head-on. Instantly, the white-haired guy was sent flying through the air, his seemingly fierce kick easily neutralized by the instructor.

The white-haired guy’s reaction was also extremely quick. While still in midair, he flipped like an acrobat, and when his feet landed, he was already standing steady.

Although his outcome was much better than the blond foreigner who’d been killed by a single punch from the instructor, the white-haired guy’s face was still very ugly. He said darkly, “You’ve really made me angry. You’ll soon find out how foolish it is to anger Lord Crimson!”

The white-haired guy spread his hands in an exaggerated pose, then moved like a raging wind, his claws leaving afterimages as he fiercely lunged at the instructor. The speed and power he displayed had already surpassed human limits—at least, I had never seen any human, not even world champion athletes, move so fast that their actions left afterimages in the eyes.