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

Moonlight streamed in from the alley entrance, falling on the profile of the person blocking Bai Ye's view.

Li Mo's forehead was covered with a thin layer of sweat, not because of pain, but because it took him less than forty seconds to rush from the dormitory building to this alley.

Bai Ye knelt on the ground, looking up at him. His training uniform was stained with his own blood and Li Mo's blood, and fine beads of blood were still seeping from the gravel marks on his knees. He looked at the dagger piercing Li Mo's arm, and his lips moved: "Captain."

Li Mo looked down at him. His gaze was no different from his usual expression on the training field—calm, composed, and devoid of any unnecessary emotion. He didn't respond.

Bai Ye fell silent for a moment under his gaze, then changed her form of address: "...Brother."

"Um."

Bai Ye stood up from the ground and wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.

"Your injury."

Li Mo glanced down at the dagger stuck in his arm, then gripped the hilt with his left hand, took a deep breath, and pulled the dagger out of his muscle.

The sound of the blade scraping against muscle fibers was sickening, but he didn't even flinch. Blood gushed from the wound, and he casually tore off a piece of fabric from the hem of his training uniform to make a makeshift tourniquet above the wound, his voice as calm as if he were reporting the weather: "Minor injury. It's nothing."

Bai Ye wanted to say how could nothing be wrong, but Li Mo had already turned and walked out of the alley.

The medical room is located on the first floor of the east side of the main building of the base, and there is a military doctor on duty 24 hours a day.

When Li Mo pushed open the door, the on-duty military doctor was writing a medical record. When he saw Li Mo's training uniform, which was half soaked with blood on his right arm, and Bai Ye, who was covered in blood behind him, he almost jumped up from his chair.

The medic used scissors to cut open the sleeve of Rimer's right arm, exposing the wound to the fluorescent light—a penetrating wound with a clean entry and exit point, without damaging major blood vessels or nerves, but with a large area of ​​torn muscle tissue.

When they were stitching him up, the medic said he would need at least thirty or forty stitches, but Li Mo said, "Hurry up."

The military doctor looked at his face and began stitching without anesthesia.

Bai Ye sat on the treatment bed next to him, and the military doctor treated the knife wounds on his body—one below his collarbone, one on the outside of his left arm, and two cuts on his waist. None of them were deep and did not require stitches. Disinfection, medicine, and dressings were all that was needed.

The smell of disinfectant filled the infirmary. After finishing the last stitch, the military doctor cut the thread, gave a few instructions, and left.

Bai Ye stood up and walked to Li Mo. He took out the remaining wet wipes that Xuan Xiao hadn't finished wiping from his pocket, pulled out the last one, bent down, and began to wipe the bloodstains around the stitches on Li Mo's arm.

"Go back to sleep." Li Mo stood up and rubbed Bai Ye's head with his uninjured hand. "Training will proceed as usual tomorrow. You're still injured, so remember to do extra training tomorrow. You can catch up when you're better."

Bai Ye opened his mouth, but in the end he only hummed in response.

-

Beyond the base, deep in the Gobi Desert, at the foot of a stone mountain weathered for a thousand years, stands a small building that looks like an abandoned mining station.

The basement lights were a cold white, casting a chilly glow over the entire room. Instead of maps or mission briefings, the walls were covered with rows of gleaming tools—pliers, crowbars, bone saws, scalpels, chains, and hooks, each one meticulously maintained to a polished shine.

The air was filled with a lingering smell of rust, mixed with formaldehyde and some deeper, instinctively sweet and pungent odor that made one want to retreat.

Bai Chen stood in the very center of the room.

He was more mature than he was six years ago, with a tall and slender figure. His black long-sleeved combat uniform outlined smooth yet powerful lines—broad shoulders, a taut waist, and every muscle looked as if it had been precisely calculated and inlaid, just the right amount.

That face was extremely handsome, with features that looked as if they had been carved by a cold blade, one stroke at a time—high and sharp brow bones, a straight and sculpted nose, and thin lips that, when slightly pursed, carried an innate coldness.

But what truly captivates the eye are his eyes. They are an icy blue—not the gentle blue of the sky, not the soft blue of a lake, but the blue that only appears after millions of years of high-pressure crushing deep within glaciers.

It was so cold it lacked warmth, emotion, and any semblance of humanity. It was like the permafrost of Siberia that never thaws, or the deepest part of the Arctic ice cap where the sun has never shone.

He stood there, his lines from shoulder to waist to leg like a military dagger frozen in ice for years, every detail of his body radiating a silent signal—don't come near this person.

The man in black knelt before him, his mask torn off, revealing a face as pale as paper.

Bai Chen looked down at him. His icy blue eyes fell on the man in black, like a glacier slowly pressing down.

"You want to chop my brother into pieces, huh?"

His voice was unhurried, deep and cold, each word like an ice bead rolling from his lips and hitting the black-clad man's eardrums.

The man in black's teeth began to chatter. He opened his mouth, but only a series of incoherent, trembling sounds escaped his throat.

He knew Bai Chen.

Everyone in the entire Broken Void region knew Bai Chen.

The former battalion commander who single-handedly took down an overseas armed base six years ago, whose mission report stated "no survivors," was codenamed "Yama."

But didn't he say he was missing? Didn't he say he was dead? How could he be here? How could he know what happened tonight?

Bai Chen didn't wait for his answer. He turned around and looked at a person standing in the shadows in the corner.

"Number Nine, get things ready."

Number Nine bowed slightly, his voice flat: "Yes."

A few minutes later, Number Nine pushed open the door and came back.

He was pushing a small cart, on which were neatly stacked rows of tools—pliers, scalpels, bone saws, electric drills, a bundle of steel wire, and several bottles of clear liquid labeled with chemical names. Each tool was polished to a gleaming shine, reflecting a dazzling luster under the cold white light.

He walked up to Bai Chen and bowed slightly: "Master, everything is ready."

Bai Chen smiled and nodded.

He reached out and picked up a gleaming scalpel from the cart, his long, slender, pale fingers gripping the handle and twirling it between his fingers. The blade reflected the light, drawing a cold arc on the wall, and his eyes, chilling to the bone, were reflected on its surface.

He turned and walked to the man in black, scalpel in hand, and knelt down. With a sudden jerk of his left hand, he grabbed the man's hair with such force that it seemed he was about to rip his scalp off and pull his face, contorted with fear, upwards.

The man in black had his neck pulled straight, his Adam's apple exposed in the cold white light, his eyes wide open as if about to burst, his pupils reflecting the torture instruments on the wall and Bai Chen's exquisitely handsome yet icy face.

Bai Chen tilted his head slightly, his icy blue eyes reflecting an almost transparent luster under the light, the curve of his lips deepening, his voice as gentle as if he were catching up with an old friend.

"Are you ready?"