We continued our training, only today Instructor Thompson was absent. We guessed he had gone to track down that boy. At lunchtime, Instructor Thompson returned, wearing sunglasses and driving an off-road vehicle. He stopped the car, jumped out by himself, and his cold face paired with those sunglasses sent a chill down our spines. Two assistants behind him dragged a corpse out of the car—it was no surprise, it was that boy. Instructor Thompson didn’t say a single word and just walked back to his room to rest. The two assistants tied the boy’s body with a rope and hung it from a wooden post above the main entrance. Everyone seemed to be used to this. I walked over and looked at the boy. His eyes were wide open, staring defiantly ahead. I was silent, a trace of sorrow in my heart. The left half of the boy’s body was drooping. I reached out and touched it—it was soft. It seemed all the bones on the left side were shattered. I immediately thought of Instructor Thompson’s “Tomahawk”!

Less than half a week after the boy’s death, a new person arrived to fill that empty bed. He was a mixed-race kid, with yellow skin and Caucasian eyes, looking rather odd. But in some people’s eyes, he was “sexy.” There wasn’t a single woman in the entire training camp, and the pent-up fighters often molested the newcomers in the bathroom. This mixed-race Shawn Benson happened to catch their eye. If I hadn’t gone to the bathroom at that moment, he probably would have lost his “virginity.” I’d been here for a year—not an old-timer, but not a newbie either. I could fight, and I had the backing of my whole dorm.

That day, I drank a bit more water and got up to use the bathroom. Just as I reached the door, I heard screaming inside. I shook my head—I’d seen this kind of thing before. Although I found it disgusting, it had nothing to do with me. I walked in. A tall figure was pinning someone in the corner. I ignored them and went to the urinal to do my business. Suddenly, the struggling voice called out, “Lie, help me!” I froze and turned around, finally seeing that the person pinned in the corner was my new roommate, Shawn Benson. I walked over, grabbed the guy on top of him, and threw him off with force. I helped Shawn Benson up. “Are you okay?” He was still shaken, trembling as he nodded, “I’m okay… for now. Watch out!” I knew that guy was coming at me again. I turned and kicked him away—ever since Marcus left, I’d intensified my training, and now there weren’t many in the camp who could beat me. I didn’t use my full strength with that kick; he wouldn’t die. He fell into the urinal. I walked over and continued what I’d come to do. My urine splashed onto him as he struggled to get up. I ignored him, knowing that kick would keep him down for half an hour.

After I finished, I pulled Shawn Benson up. He looked at me, then at the guy lying in the urinal, wanting to say something but holding back. I said, “I’m saving him for you. If you want to regain your dignity here, if you want others’ respect, you need strength!”

Half a year later, Hogan left us. His record ended in Vaughn Python’s stone house. When he came out, he could barely stand. He didn’t have the courage to challenge Anlock Arrowmane, but that was enough—he could go straight to the advanced boxing matches, no longer needing to waste time in the lower or intermediate ones. Height: 193 cm, weight: 120 kg, squat: 595 kg, bench press: 310 kg, five kicks per second—these were Hogan’s stats when he left.

Then it was Baker, then Thompson, then Morton—they all went straight to the advanced matches, but they were still a bit worse than Marcus. Finally, three years after I arrived at the camp, Instructor Thompson called me out of the lineup: “Tomorrow, it’s your turn!” Back in the dorm, the others gathered around me—every time someone left, it wouldn’t be more than a month before someone new arrived—they all congratulated me, reminding me of when Marcus was about to enter the arena. That night, Shawn Benson came to me: “Lie, come out for a moment!” I was curious and got up to follow him. Shawn Benson walked ahead without looking back or saying a word, all the way to the third stone house. He stopped at the door and said, “I remember what you said—you saved him for me. Now that you’re leaving, I’m going to settle things with him tonight, right in front of you!” I nodded. Shawn Benson kicked the door open. The people inside were startled. When they saw it was Shawn Benson, they glanced at that guy and then lay back down to sleep—the people in the camp all knew about their grudge and wouldn’t interfere. “You!” Shawn Benson pointed at the guy. “Come out!” The guy looked at me. I shrugged, “Relax, I won’t interfere—just watching!” The guy gave a cruel smile, stood up, and walked out.