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

Three days. A full three days.

037 was locked in the warehouse on the west side of the main courtyard. The iron door was locked from the outside, the windows were welded with steel bars, and the only light source was a fluorescent lamp hanging in the corner of the wall, which hummed and flickered from time to time, casting a dim and bright shadow on the cement wall.

On the first day, the sound of the iron pipes being struck was almost constant.

Even through the two iron gates, Bai Ye could faintly hear the dull thuds, mixed with 037's occasional muffled groans. The sounds gradually weakened by the afternoon, not because he confessed, but because his body was about to succumb to further damage.

In the evening, Bai Ye was returning from the warehouse and passed by the main courtyard when he saw someone carrying a bucket into the warehouse. When they came out, the water in the bucket had turned dark red.

But the viper's methods go far beyond physical torture.

The next afternoon, someone carried two tin boxes into the warehouse.

The box was opened, and inside were neatly arranged syringes, alcohol swabs, tourniquets, and several rows of small, transparent medicine bottles. The liquid in the bottles had a faint, almost invisible blue hue under the fluorescent light. Each bottle had a label handwritten by Viper, with only a string of numbers on it.

Viper sat down in front of 037. He filled the syringe with medicine, slowly pushed away the air bubbles, and a drop of medicine seeped from the needle tip, reflecting a cold light under the fluorescent light.

"You know what this is." Viper held the syringe up to 037's face, the needle hovering less than an inch from his neck, and said slowly, "Its purity is three times higher than the highest grade you can buy on the market. After this injection, you won't be yourself anymore. Your brain will turn into a sponge, and your willpower will drain from your bones. At that point, even if you want to be tough, your body won't allow it."

037 turned his head and spat a mouthful of bloody saliva in the direction of the viper. The saliva landed at his feet, mixing with blood and spreading a small dark patch on the cement floor. He didn't speak, but the meaning in his one still-open eye was clear.

Viper didn't flinch. He glanced down at the spit, then raised his foot and stepped on 037's fingers, which were handcuffed behind his back. The sole of his shoe ground down, and the knuckles made a soft, cracking sound.

037's back tensed up suddenly, the veins on his neck bulged, and his teeth clenched so tightly that they clicked, but he didn't make a sound.

When the first needle was injected into his vein, 037 gritted his teeth. He could still curse, he could still struggle, and he could still use the hand that wasn't being stepped on to grab the viper's wrist.

The moment the medicine was injected, his pupils contracted violently, and then, as if a switch had been turned on from the inside, his body began to tremble uncontrollably within seconds.

Second shot. Third shot.

That night, 037's voice came from the warehouse.

His voice was much hoarser than on the first day, with a dryness that had been repeatedly hollowed out, like someone who had been repeatedly submerged and pulled out of the water, his vocal cords worn raw and bleeding.

But his swearing never stopped. He cursed Viper, his ancestors, and everyone under him, from drug trafficking to human trafficking, from money laundering to murder, he cursed every crime he knew.

His curses came in fits and starts, becoming increasingly fragmented, the words scrambling out of order, as if he were losing control of his language. But he kept cursing.

Even as his mind began to blur, even as saliva mixed with blood trickled down his chest, he kept cursing. He repeated the word "fuck" over and over, sometimes seven or eight times in a row, like a drowning person grabbing onto the last piece of driftwood.

On the third day, the situation changed.

The morning fog had not yet dissipated, and the sky was just beginning to brighten.

When Bai Ye passed by the main courtyard, it was quieter than usual. The chickens in the corner were huddled in their coop and didn't move. Even the dog, which usually dozed off at the door, had its tail between its legs and huddled under the eaves.

The air was filled with a damp, rusty smell, mixed with the morning mist, and when inhaled, it carried a sticky, sweet, and metallic taste.

Then the warehouse's iron door was kicked open.

The door slammed against the wall with a deafening crash. A section of the chain on the iron door snapped off, slammed against the wall, and bounced back with a clang. Even the chickens huddled in the corner of the yard were startled and took flight, fluttering low in the air before landing back on the ground, their necks outstretched warily.

Bai Ye stopped in his tracks. He turned his head and saw 037's body fly out of the warehouse.

037 slid nearly two meters along the ground before his head hit the corner of the courtyard wall and came to a stop with a dull thud, like a heavy bag being thrown against the wall.

He lay face down on the ground, his hands still cuffed behind his back. His T-shirt was almost torn to shreds, revealing large patches of purplish-black wounds on his back. Some areas had scabbed over, while others were still oozing pale yellow blood mixed with tissue fluid. The edges of the wounds were rolled back, revealing the dark red muscle fibers underneath.

He coughed, and blood mixed with stomach acid surged from deep in his throat, which he vomited onto the ground, leaving a small patch of dark red water.

His breathing was rapid and shallow, and with each breath, a rattling sound like a broken bellows could be heard from his chest. His left arm was twisted at an abnormal angle, probably dislocated from being stepped on. When he lay on the ground trying to prop himself up, his arm hung limply at his side, unable to exert any strength.

Viper emerged from the warehouse, his shirt sleeves rolled up above his forearms, revealing his lean and muscular forearms. His left hand's knuckles were stained with dried blood, which had turned a dark brown.

He held an iron pipe in his right hand, from which a dark red liquid was still dripping. In the morning light, the liquid dripped onto the cement floor, making a faint sound.

He walked up to 037 and kicked him in the side. The force was so great that 037 rolled half a circle on the ground, his back hitting the corner of the courtyard wall, his head tilting to one side, and another mouthful of blood gushing from his mouth.

037 lay on the ground panting for a while before finally managing to lift his head.

His gaze was unfocused and cloudy, his pupils twitching back and forth between dilation and contraction, alternating between the confusion caused by drug use and the alertness honed through years of training. But when he saw Bai Ye, something suddenly flashed in those almost burnt-out, cloudy eyes.

He saw a little boy. Sixteen or seventeen years old, thin and frail, standing in the morning light of the main courtyard. His clothes were a bit too big, and the cuffs were rolled up twice to expose his wrists. The morning light shone from the side, casting a light golden glow on his face.

037 opened her mouth. Her chapped lips opened and closed like a stranded fish, and the sound squeezed out of her throat was so hoarse that it was almost inaudible.

His tongue swirled around in his mouth several times before he finally managed to spell out the word: "...child..."