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"Then, we'll begin survival training 42. Five people will form a team, and each will receive a weapon corresponding to their score. The game will last three hours. You must find hidden flags within the area and return as many people as possible to their original positions within the time limit... There are no other combat rules."
After the explanation, the instructors assigned weapons. Some received guns, some received knives, and some received nothing.
Heiner fiddled with the jackknife he been given. It was a meager weapon compared to the automatic pistol he received the other day.
Heiner was on Team D. All the team members were familiar faces. The training camp was a closed space, and even if they weren't close, everyone knew each other's faces.
A one-minute strategy meeting was given. After briefly defining each team's positions and roles, they stood at the starting line. A senior teammate patted Heiner on the back.
“Heiner Valdemar, right?”
"...Yes."
"Amy White, fourth grade. But you're a third grader, right? You're quite large for your age. Anyway, let's do our best."
Heiner nodded. The fourth-year boy standing to Heiner's left interjected.
"I'm David. I've heard a lot about you. You're such a good fighter, aren't you? But this time, your weapon is... Anyway, let's do our best."
David thrust his fist at him. Heiner met his fist with a blank expression, showing no emotion.
A green flare shot into the sky. With a bang, the trainees leaped forward. After running together for a while, they finally dispersed to their respective positions.
Heiner charged straight into the grass at a terrifying speed. His gray eyes, flashing like lightning, darted sideways.
He quickly caught up with one of the enemy team members who had started from a different location. It was Germa, a fellow student. Germa was carrying an eight-shot pistol.
Heiner threw the jackknife upward. It spun in the air a few times before landing back in his grasp.
He snapped off a sharp branch and hurled it at Germa's running eyes. The branch flew at a furious speed, striking the tree head-on and falling.
"Ah!"
The person who let out a sound that was neither a scream nor a sigh stopped.
It was a very brief pause, but Heiner didn't miss the opportunity to reverse the swing and throw a jackknife. It was a surprisingly nimble move.
Germa's head belatedly turned toward Heiner. His face was a jumble of confusion, fear, surprise, and urgency. The gun's muzzle met Heiner's gaze.
Bang!
A gunshot echoed through the forest. Birds perched on the branches flew up. For a moment, the world fell silent, as if it had stopped.
The grass rustled under his black combat boots. Heiner trudged out from behind a tree. He approached his fallen opponent.
Germa was gasping for breath, clutching the back of his neck. Heiner, his face numb, gripped the handle of the knife. He then thrust a little deeper.
Finally, Germa's breath died. Blood gushed out as he pulled out his jackknife. Heiner tore off his name tag. If the number of flags represented the team's victory, the number of name tags represented individual points.
Heiner picked up the pistol that had fallen to the ground and checked its ammunition. There were seven rounds left. It was only a short time since the match had started, so it was only natural that the shot he'd fired earlier was the first.
Generally, reducing the enemy team's numbers from the start wasn't a very wise choice. It was easier to capture the flag after finding a certain number of flags and then killing them.
But Heiner needed a gun just in case. The graduating class participating in this survival training was determined to kill him.
Heiner began running through the forest again, searching for flags in treetops and rock caves, killing another man along the way and taking his name tag. However, his opponent had no flag.
Gunshots and screams began to be heard here and there in the forest. Boom. A yellow flare shot into the sky. It meant an hour had passed.
While taking a side road, Heiner came face-to-face with Ethan. Ethan looked a bit nervous as he confronted his roommate.
Heiner silently stepped aside. Ethan flinched slightly, then grinned and patted him on the shoulder as he passed.
Afterwards, Heiner collected another flag from the grass. He spotted an enemy team member, but he hid quietly because he was armed with a rifle.
Boom. The yellow flare went off. There was one hour left until the end of the game.
Heiner met with Amy and shared the number of flags and information. Amy focused on killing and capturing them rather than personally finding them, and managed to capture two flags in total.
After parting ways with Amy, Heiner headed toward the 5 o'clock position as instructed. Just as he was about to jump over the stream, he sensed a faint movement and instinctively leaned back.
Bang!
A flying bullet lodged in the tree next to his head. Heiner, narrowly escaping death, immediately hid behind the tree. A familiar voice came from the other side.
“Tch, that’s so dirty and quick.”
Benjamin Holland. He was one of the group that lynched Heiner. He was talking nonchalantly, his gun blaring.
“I was looking for you anyway, and I just happened to meet you like this.”
“Hey, that guy almost died.”
“Then what the hell, save him?”
"I told you I don't want to kill him. Are there any other kids like that in the training camp?"
Olivia grumbled, telling him not to touch his face. Heiner stood, leaning against the tree, watching the situation closely.
There were four opponents. They were all members of the same group that had been harassing Heiner terribly. Graduation was imminent, so they seemed to have given up on grades and focused on survival.
“Hey, is this your friend?”
Gritta, known even among the graduating class for her quirky personality, kicked something. It rolled through the grass and ended up next to Heiner. It was a corpse.
Heiner's eyes narrowed slightly as he examined the back of the head of the corpse lying beside him. Shoulder-length hair and a relatively small build. It was a familiar sight.
“Even if we become different teams tomorrow...”
“Let’s just let each other live.”
It was Ethan.
He said they would save each other, but he was dead somewhere far away. Judging by the fact that rigor mortis hadn't yet set in, he seemed to have died not long ago.
Gritta and Hayden taunted him, joking.
"Your friend is terrible at fighting. How did you survive until now? Did you survive by supporting him?"
“Didn’t you give it to that kid?”
"That kid said he'd give it to the instructor. He's got a long list of sausages, ugh."
They giggled and cracked low-brow jokes.
Heiner took his eyes off Ethan's body and scanned his surroundings. The dense canopy of trees seemed ideal for cover.
There were four opponents. Benjamin and Gritta, in particular, were quite skilled. In a direct confrontation with such a numerical disadvantage, defeat was highly likely.
Olivia and Hayden weren't particularly impressive, but they were also graduating seniors. Considering the survival rate to graduation, they were at least in the upper-middle class.
Heiner quietly adjusted his grip on his pistol. A chuckle drifted into his ears. Judging by the idle conversation, he seemed completely relaxed.
Ethan once told him:
"Why do you keep getting hit? Honestly, if you go at them like crazy, they won't be okay. You need to show them that if they mess with you, they'll lose too."
Ethan wasn't entirely wrong. Despite being a third-year student, Heiner was significantly larger than his peers and was a trainee that the instructors were keeping a close eye on.
He couldn't be subdued by one or two graduating seniors. Yet, despite possessing such skill, Heiner never once attacked them.
“...Killing trainees outside of survival training is prohibited.”
"No, who wants to kill him? Just show him an example."
“It won’t end there.”
"What?"
“It won’t end unless you break it or kill it.”
There are many types of violence. Heiner was intimately familiar with the kind of violence that occurs in confined spaces. He had experienced it countless times, even from a young age, and he barely remembers.
As with any group, there were cliques among the trainees. Among them, Benjamin's group was a leader.
In the training camp, power was absolute. There was no way these graduating seniors could tolerate the humiliation of being trampled by third-year students.
An ambiguous victory only leads to greater violence. If there was one thing Heiner learned most clearly at the orphanage, it was this.
Violence was an inescapable part of his life. His entire life, growing from a child to a young man, was filled with that kind of thing.
If confrontation was inevitable, it was better to avoid even greater violence, unless the perpetrator of the violence could be eliminated.
Heiner exhaled slowly, his pistol pressed against his chest. "Shoot." The grass surrounding Ethan's body swayed in the wind. A faint light flickered in his dry, gray eyes.
In survival training, killing is condoned.
It also meant that he could see the end.
After the explanation, the instructors assigned weapons. Some received guns, some received knives, and some received nothing.
Heiner fiddled with the jackknife he been given. It was a meager weapon compared to the automatic pistol he received the other day.
Heiner was on Team D. All the team members were familiar faces. The training camp was a closed space, and even if they weren't close, everyone knew each other's faces.
A one-minute strategy meeting was given. After briefly defining each team's positions and roles, they stood at the starting line. A senior teammate patted Heiner on the back.
“Heiner Valdemar, right?”
"...Yes."
"Amy White, fourth grade. But you're a third grader, right? You're quite large for your age. Anyway, let's do our best."
Heiner nodded. The fourth-year boy standing to Heiner's left interjected.
"I'm David. I've heard a lot about you. You're such a good fighter, aren't you? But this time, your weapon is... Anyway, let's do our best."
David thrust his fist at him. Heiner met his fist with a blank expression, showing no emotion.
A green flare shot into the sky. With a bang, the trainees leaped forward. After running together for a while, they finally dispersed to their respective positions.
Heiner charged straight into the grass at a terrifying speed. His gray eyes, flashing like lightning, darted sideways.
He quickly caught up with one of the enemy team members who had started from a different location. It was Germa, a fellow student. Germa was carrying an eight-shot pistol.
Heiner threw the jackknife upward. It spun in the air a few times before landing back in his grasp.
He snapped off a sharp branch and hurled it at Germa's running eyes. The branch flew at a furious speed, striking the tree head-on and falling.
"Ah!"
The person who let out a sound that was neither a scream nor a sigh stopped.
It was a very brief pause, but Heiner didn't miss the opportunity to reverse the swing and throw a jackknife. It was a surprisingly nimble move.
Germa's head belatedly turned toward Heiner. His face was a jumble of confusion, fear, surprise, and urgency. The gun's muzzle met Heiner's gaze.
Bang!
A gunshot echoed through the forest. Birds perched on the branches flew up. For a moment, the world fell silent, as if it had stopped.
The grass rustled under his black combat boots. Heiner trudged out from behind a tree. He approached his fallen opponent.
Germa was gasping for breath, clutching the back of his neck. Heiner, his face numb, gripped the handle of the knife. He then thrust a little deeper.
Finally, Germa's breath died. Blood gushed out as he pulled out his jackknife. Heiner tore off his name tag. If the number of flags represented the team's victory, the number of name tags represented individual points.
Heiner picked up the pistol that had fallen to the ground and checked its ammunition. There were seven rounds left. It was only a short time since the match had started, so it was only natural that the shot he'd fired earlier was the first.
Generally, reducing the enemy team's numbers from the start wasn't a very wise choice. It was easier to capture the flag after finding a certain number of flags and then killing them.
But Heiner needed a gun just in case. The graduating class participating in this survival training was determined to kill him.
Heiner began running through the forest again, searching for flags in treetops and rock caves, killing another man along the way and taking his name tag. However, his opponent had no flag.
Gunshots and screams began to be heard here and there in the forest. Boom. A yellow flare shot into the sky. It meant an hour had passed.
While taking a side road, Heiner came face-to-face with Ethan. Ethan looked a bit nervous as he confronted his roommate.
Heiner silently stepped aside. Ethan flinched slightly, then grinned and patted him on the shoulder as he passed.
Afterwards, Heiner collected another flag from the grass. He spotted an enemy team member, but he hid quietly because he was armed with a rifle.
Boom. The yellow flare went off. There was one hour left until the end of the game.
Heiner met with Amy and shared the number of flags and information. Amy focused on killing and capturing them rather than personally finding them, and managed to capture two flags in total.
After parting ways with Amy, Heiner headed toward the 5 o'clock position as instructed. Just as he was about to jump over the stream, he sensed a faint movement and instinctively leaned back.
Bang!
A flying bullet lodged in the tree next to his head. Heiner, narrowly escaping death, immediately hid behind the tree. A familiar voice came from the other side.
“Tch, that’s so dirty and quick.”
Benjamin Holland. He was one of the group that lynched Heiner. He was talking nonchalantly, his gun blaring.
“I was looking for you anyway, and I just happened to meet you like this.”
“Hey, that guy almost died.”
“Then what the hell, save him?”
"I told you I don't want to kill him. Are there any other kids like that in the training camp?"
Olivia grumbled, telling him not to touch his face. Heiner stood, leaning against the tree, watching the situation closely.
There were four opponents. They were all members of the same group that had been harassing Heiner terribly. Graduation was imminent, so they seemed to have given up on grades and focused on survival.
“Hey, is this your friend?”
Gritta, known even among the graduating class for her quirky personality, kicked something. It rolled through the grass and ended up next to Heiner. It was a corpse.
Heiner's eyes narrowed slightly as he examined the back of the head of the corpse lying beside him. Shoulder-length hair and a relatively small build. It was a familiar sight.
“Even if we become different teams tomorrow...”
“Let’s just let each other live.”
It was Ethan.
He said they would save each other, but he was dead somewhere far away. Judging by the fact that rigor mortis hadn't yet set in, he seemed to have died not long ago.
Gritta and Hayden taunted him, joking.
"Your friend is terrible at fighting. How did you survive until now? Did you survive by supporting him?"
“Didn’t you give it to that kid?”
"That kid said he'd give it to the instructor. He's got a long list of sausages, ugh."
They giggled and cracked low-brow jokes.
Heiner took his eyes off Ethan's body and scanned his surroundings. The dense canopy of trees seemed ideal for cover.
There were four opponents. Benjamin and Gritta, in particular, were quite skilled. In a direct confrontation with such a numerical disadvantage, defeat was highly likely.
Olivia and Hayden weren't particularly impressive, but they were also graduating seniors. Considering the survival rate to graduation, they were at least in the upper-middle class.
Heiner quietly adjusted his grip on his pistol. A chuckle drifted into his ears. Judging by the idle conversation, he seemed completely relaxed.
Ethan once told him:
"Why do you keep getting hit? Honestly, if you go at them like crazy, they won't be okay. You need to show them that if they mess with you, they'll lose too."
Ethan wasn't entirely wrong. Despite being a third-year student, Heiner was significantly larger than his peers and was a trainee that the instructors were keeping a close eye on.
He couldn't be subdued by one or two graduating seniors. Yet, despite possessing such skill, Heiner never once attacked them.
“...Killing trainees outside of survival training is prohibited.”
"No, who wants to kill him? Just show him an example."
“It won’t end there.”
"What?"
“It won’t end unless you break it or kill it.”
There are many types of violence. Heiner was intimately familiar with the kind of violence that occurs in confined spaces. He had experienced it countless times, even from a young age, and he barely remembers.
As with any group, there were cliques among the trainees. Among them, Benjamin's group was a leader.
In the training camp, power was absolute. There was no way these graduating seniors could tolerate the humiliation of being trampled by third-year students.
An ambiguous victory only leads to greater violence. If there was one thing Heiner learned most clearly at the orphanage, it was this.
Violence was an inescapable part of his life. His entire life, growing from a child to a young man, was filled with that kind of thing.
If confrontation was inevitable, it was better to avoid even greater violence, unless the perpetrator of the violence could be eliminated.
Heiner exhaled slowly, his pistol pressed against his chest. "Shoot." The grass surrounding Ethan's body swayed in the wind. A faint light flickered in his dry, gray eyes.
In survival training, killing is condoned.
It also meant that he could see the end.
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