Rebirth of a Mercenary: The Ace Mercenary Forced to Be the Beloved of the Group

The winter nights in the Gobi Desert are so quiet it's as if the whole world has been muted.

The snow had stopped, but the layer of white that had accumulated during the day still covered the training ground, the gravel on the track, and the rooftops of the dormitory buildings, enveloping the entire base in a blurry gray-white. Moonlight filtered through the gaps in the clouds, shining on the snow and reflecting a cold, silvery light.

In Group A's dormitory, everyone was asleep.

Bai Ye lay on the lower bunk by the window, the blanket pulled up to his chest, his hands flat at his sides, his eyes closed. His breathing was steady, and his face was expressionless. He was dreaming.

The sky in my dream was blood red. Not the warm orange-red of a sunset, but a nauseating dark red that only appears after being burned through by smoke and fire. The ground was black, and it didn't feel like soil when I stepped on it, but something sticky and cold, somewhere between metal and flesh.

Bai Ye stood on the black ground, looking down at his hands.

Those hands weren't those of a sixteen-year-old boy—the knuckles were thicker, the fingertips were covered in calluses, the skin between the thumb and forefinger was worn down from years of holding a gun, and gunpowder residue was embedded in the nail crevices.

Those were hands from a past life.

007's hands.

Then he heard that voice.

"Do you think you deserve it?"

Bai Ye suddenly turned around.

008 stood not far behind him, wearing the same tactical vest they wore during their last meeting, holding a gun in his hand.

His face stood out sharply against the blood-red sky, every detail as if etched onto his retina—the curve of his lips, the scar on his brow bone, and those eyes that 007 had once thought were trust and reliance, only to later realize were the result of scheming from beginning to end.

"007, do you know what your biggest weakness is?" 008 tilted his head and looked at him, his tone like he was lecturing a naive child. "It's not that you're too strong. It's that you're too stupid. Stupid enough to think that someone would be sincere to you. Stupid enough to think that a cold-blooded killing machine like you deserves friends and family. Stupid enough to entrust your back to someone you don't even know."

Bai Ye wanted to speak, but his lips seemed to be sewn shut. He wanted to rush over, but his feet seemed to be nailed to the ground.

"If you weren't so stupid," 008 raised the gun, pointing it at his forehead, his voice suddenly becoming extremely gentle, so gentle it sent chills down one's spine, "you wouldn't have been betrayed. You wouldn't have died such a tragic death. Did it hurt when you died? When that bullet hit you between the eyebrows, did you feel the moment it pierced your skull? Did you regret it in your last second—regret that you shouldn't have trusted anyone?"

A shot rang out.

Bai Ye suddenly opened her eyes.

Bai Ye stared at the upper bunk for five seconds.

His heart was beating almost twice as fast as usual, and the back of his T-shirt was soaked with cold sweat. But apart from slightly rapid breathing, his expression remained unchanged. His forehead was not furrowed, his lips were not trembling, and his eyes were not red.

He quietly sat up in bed, lifted the covers, and moved as lightly as a cat.

He had originally intended to go find Li Mo. After the attack in the alley last time, Li Mo had told him—no matter the reason, wake him up next time you can't sleep. No matter how late, no matter what he's doing. Bai Ye remembered those words, every single one. He walked to Li Mo's bedside and stood there for a few seconds.

Li Mo was fast asleep. The bandage on his right arm was faintly visible in the moonlight, and his usually tense brows were unusually relaxed in his sleep.

His sleeping posture is completely different from when he is awake—when he is awake, he is like a knife ready to be drawn at any time, but when he is asleep, he is like an ordinary person who has finally put down his burden.

Bai Ye looked at him, then turned and left.

It's not that I don't want to call. It's that there's no need.

Li Mo's right arm injury hasn't healed yet, so it's not appropriate to ask him to get up and walk with her now.

Bai Ye pushed open the dormitory door. The nightlights in the corridor were still on, casting a dark gray glow on the non-slip floor. He walked past the tightly closed dormitory doors, down the stairs, and pushed open the main door of the dormitory building.

It's cold. The cold of a winter night in the Gobi Desert isn't the kind of slow, seeping, damp cold; it's a dry cold, sharp as a knife, cutting into exposed skin piece by piece.

The snow that had fallen during the day was still on the ground, and the night wind had blown it into a thin layer of ice, making a very faint cracking sound when you stepped on it. The air was so cold that every breath felt like inhaling shards of ice, and the mucous membranes in my nasal cavity were frozen and painful.

The training ground stretched out under the moonlight. Most of the gravel on the track was covered by snow, with only a few faint gray tracks left by daytime footsteps still discernible. Icicles hung from the horizontal bar, refracting tiny sparkles in the moonlight. The direction of the firing range was pitch black, with only the sound of wind whistling through the barbed wire.

Bai Ye stood at the edge of the training field, exhaling a breath of white air.

The images from my dream are still swirling in my mind—008's face, 008's words, and that shot.

A cold-blooded killing machine. Unworthy of friends. Unworthy of family. Foolish enough to entrust their back to someone they don't understand.

He closed his eyes briefly, then opened them. 008 was right. The 007 of his past life was indeed foolish. So in this life, he wouldn't be foolish again. He would become stronger, stronger than his past self.

He started running. His combat boots crunched rapidly on the snow, each step leaving a deep footprint. The cold wind rushed into his lungs, carrying an icy sensation that swept from his throat all the way to his chest.

He didn't slow down. After sprinting ten laps, he started doing push-ups. A small patch of snow melted from his body heat, and icy water soaked through the front of his training uniform, but he didn't stop. After push-ups, he did pull-ups. The icicles on the pull-up bar melted from his body heat, trickling down the metal pipes and mixing with his sweat, dripping onto the snow and creating small craters. After pull-ups, he started sprinting, and after sprinting, he continued sprinting.

His body was screaming. The muscle fibers trembled repeatedly on the verge of tearing, and his lungs were like a balloon being squeezed and released and then squeezed again, with each breath carrying the taste of blood.

His physical strength was nearing its limit, but he didn't stop.

In his past life, 007 could fight continuously for 48 hours under extreme conditions, but this body can't even last forty minutes of extreme training. Why? Why be satisfied with "not bad"? Why accept "okay"? Why live under someone else's protection?

Bai Ye gritted his teeth and ran another lap. His vision began to blur, and the things in front of him switched back and forth between moonlight and darkness. The training track swayed beneath his feet like a snake.

He was nearing his limit, and his vision was blurring in waves.

Then he collapsed.

He couldn't see anything anymore. In the last second before his consciousness faded, he seemed to see a white blob in the distance. He tried to see it clearly, but darkness was faster than his will.