Wade adjusted his tattered robe as he wiped off the blood from his face. His gaze lingered on the bloody mess that was the rite of passage.
'Hundreds of people, many of them managed to survive for over a year. Yet, their end was just for entertainment.'
He slowly walked toward the highest tower.
'The power of those above me forced me into these circumstances. Nobody here is by their choice.'
He kneeled and looked up to see Madame's amused face.
'I am selfish. Just like everyone else.'
He lowered his head and waited for further orders.
'Indeed, I am at someone's mercy, waiting for orders. A Warhound.'
'A Warhound that will do anything to survive.'
———
Madame looked down onto the sole survivor. His bloodied and malnourished figure was reflected in her blue eyes.
"Another useful pet."
She spoke smugly.
"What is your name?"
Her voice shook the yard, waking the people up from their deathly silence. Guards and slaves alike watched the whole show with wide eyes. Especially when the confrontation of the three people was the most memorable.
Some slaves felt pity and terror at the fact of their powerlessness. Even if they could survive for one year, wouldn't they have to kill till one remained alive?
Many of the slaves had relatives, friends and loved ones with them. The world was too cruel to them. Yet, they had no right to demand anything from the world.
'Ants don't have a voice.'
Wade clenched his fists.
He was excited!
'Finally, I am going to be free from this wretched fate. The perpetual stench has burnt my nostrils. I wonder what roses smell like.'
Wade remembered the first day of the battlefield. His first kill and wound. The pain of being weak.
'There will be a day when I won't remember those beneath my feet.'
'Patience…'
Wade took a deep breath as he looked at Madame.
"It is Wade, your excellency."
His smile was so innocent that even Madame was stumped for a moment. Forming an eerie contrast from the surrounding puddles of blood and piled-up corpses.
A strange glint flashed through Madame's eyes.
The woman originally wanted to correct and shout at him, saying he was just a dog, but decided against it.
Wade picked up the shift in her expression as he displayed what he considered as 'a servant incapable of swatting a wingless fly'.
"From now on, you are a member of Warhounds. We are people who value fairness and thus your slave status is gone. However, there are also expectations placed on you. If you fail, you won't have an easy death."
Madame emphasised the last sentence with coldness. Her tone put clear boundaries.
Wade lowered his head.
"Thank you, Madame!"
———
It had been a few days since Wade joined Warhounds. He was relocated from the perpetual battlefield and brought to the regional headquarters.
Strangely enough, Madame made the trip together with him, even though the henchmen were tasked with taking care of him.
From a closer look, she was a petite woman in heavy armor. Her face had scars that diminished her outward beauty. Yet, her attitude and years of authority made the air around her feel special.
But the only thing that made Wade excited was the abundance of food, necessities for hygiene and a comfortable bed.
It was already noon and he was standing there in black armor, guarding inside Madame's personal office.
He found it a bit overwhelming. Indeed, her face was scarred, but the way she carried herself had a certain mystique to it.
After being fed and getting good sleep, his body started to regain its normal functions. Thus, him being alone with her made him feel a bit restless.
'A man's natural instincts, huh. I guess it works wonders when I am not constantly malnourished and exhausted.'
Amid the rustling of the pen and papers, as well as occasional soft sighs of Madame, Wade thought of his future.
'Warhounds are a mercenary organization. Their activity spans across the entire Skyripple Continent. They are renowned even among the common folk.'
'Nobody knows the origin of Warhounds…'
Wade's mind shook. Many possibilities crossed his mind in an instant.
'Wait, almost all famous organizations have a place of origin, while Warhounds is one of those mysterious ones. Looks like the whole thing isn't as simple.'
The rustling of the paperwork came to a stop as Madame turned to look at Wade, standing by her side.
"Wade, how old are you?"
This sudden question stumped him.
"Madame, this servant's memories are blurry. The most recent memories I have are of a village that I lived in three years ago."
Wade bowed, hoping his answer would satisfy this woman's seemingly random curiosity.
Madame pursed her lips as she stared at Wade's bowing figure.
"All members of Warhounds are cultivators. You should have heard that everyone has a certain prime time for their cultivation somewhere between fifteen and twenty-five years of age."
With a serious tone, she commanded.
"Come with me."
———
Wade silently walked behind Madame, keeping his distance. The luxurious halls of Warhounds headquarters were adorned with paintings of the past. The heroes and saviors of the organization that valiantly fought till their last breath.
'I rose beyond mere slavery. Now, I am encountering a new world that propagates heritage.'
The biggest painting was in the lobby. It depicted a broken sky and a bloody hand reaching toward the battlefield.
Instead of bloody battles, the people there were kneeling with expressions of piety. Some were even depicted as having sacrificed their lives, committing suicide.
Upon closer look, one could make out that those people were dressed like slaves, while the outline of the hand resembled a Warhound.
Madame paused in her steps as she looked at the painting.
"This is the painting that might resonate the most with you. Slaves that pledged their lives to Warhounds receive the greatest benefits, while those who remain neutral get nothing."
She glanced at Wade from a corner of her eyes and pointed in the corner. There, a frail figure was shouldering a boulder, its face displayed its unwillingness to kneel. Behind it stood another slave that was whipping it with closed eyes as its expression radiated loyalty.
Wade's outward expression didn't change as he nodded as if the painting was resonating with him. However, he sneered inside at an obvious method of instilling control.
'Do they want to make themselves look like gods that are gracing mortals? I have seen better ways to manipulate the masses.'