The infirmary beds were full.
After the third test, the survivors limped, crawled, or were dragged from the test hall in silence. Blood-streaked floors were quickly cleaned, but the stench of death lingered. The staff didn't speak much. The instructors said nothing at all.
It was the third test—and it had claimed half of them.
Xero sat quietly on the edge of his bunk, his arm freshly wrapped, eyes distant.
They started with over a thousand recruits. By now, fewer than five hundred remained.
He had survived.
But at what cost? He knew that mere luck was not what one needed to survive as an assassin. He needed more than that. If only he has a good talent, probably he would be flawless.
All he wanted was to become a legend. He wanted to be a great Assassin that people will grow to fear and love. He had to train hard and survive the next two tests. He had to survive to get into the academy and be taught by the great teachers of the Castle Loon Assassin Campus.
---
Down in the training yards, past the western corridor and near the heavy steel gates of the outdoor arenas, Sonze stood with his arms crossed. His muscles were still stained with sweat and blood. The sun burned orange overhead, casting long shadows.
Footsteps approached from behind.
"Still alive, big guy?"
Sonze turned to see Clark.
Clark was lean, sharp-eyed, and carried himself with the grace of a predator. His uniform fit perfectly, clean despite the carnage of the day before. His dark brown hair was tied back, and a thin scar traced his jaw—earned in the first test.
The two clasped forearms, grinning.
"I figured if anyone made it, it'd be you," Clark said in a flatter.
Sonze chuckled. "Wasn't easy. That last test was savage."
"Exactly the point," Clark said. He looked toward the distant tower at the edge of the campus—the Grand Tower. "They're thinning the herd. Only those with real instinct are left now."
"You say that like you approve."
Clark shrugged. "We're training to become killers, Sonze. What did you expect? A pillow fight?"
Sonze said nothing. Clark stepped forward and leaned against the wall.
"They'll announce the representatives soon," he said after a pause.
"For the Grande Assassin Tournament?" Sonze asked.
Clark nodded. "It happens every year. They choose the top ten trainees. Usually two from each year, but rumor has it they're changing that this time. This year's selection will be special."
Sonze raised an eyebrow. "How so?"
Clark looked at him, eyes glinting. "Only five will be picked. And it doesn't matter what year you're in. Only strength. Survivability. Talent."
"You want to get in? Damn! You cabt possibly be strong enough for that. Look I accept the fact that you are strong but going into a grand fight is as hell a bullet on the leg. You need more training man."
Clark grinned. "I'm not just aiming to get in, Sonze. I'm going to win it. I'm going to stand on that stage with the other academies watching. Castle Loom hasn't taken the top spot in seven years. Maybe I could earn them that. As for waiting to be trained, I am handling myself just fine. Waiting for their training will cost me time and by then the tournament will be over."
"And you're going to change that?" Sonze asked.
Clark's grin widened. "Damn right."
He pushed off the wall and faced his friend. "You should come with me. You're strong. Everyone saw what you did yesterday."
Sonze rubbed his chin. "I'm not interested in glory."
"It's not about glory. It's about rank. Power. Once you make it through the tournament, you don't wait for missions. Missions wait for you."
Sonze looked away. "I'll think about it."
Clark didn't push. "Fair enough. But don't think too long. They're already watching."
---
That night, the dormitory block was quieter than usual.
Xero laid back on his bunk, staring at the ceiling.
He thought about the silence in the test hall after the clones vanished. The way the air smelled like blood. The way some recruits never saw the blade before it hit.
He remembered the first girl who screamed. The boy who tried to run and fell instantly.
Five hundred dead.
The number sat on his chest like a weight.
Some of them had laughed while the test seemed too easy. But now they were gone.
He turned and looked at the desk near the wall. His blade lay across it—polished, unused. He hadn't drawn it during the third test.
What good was a weapon when survival didn't need it?
He sat up and pressed his fingers to his temples.
His dreams were different now.
When he closed his eyes, he didn't see the clone assassins.
He saw himself in their place.
He saw his own body multiply.
He saw blood on his own hands.
And then he'd wake—gasping, cold, covered in sweat.
---
Across the hall, Sonze returned to the dorm late, his shoulder patched and bruised.
He dropped into his bed with a tired grunt.
"Clark found me," he said quietly.
Xero opened his eyes. "Yeah?"
"He wants to enter the Grande Assassin Tournament."
Xero sat up. "That's for the elites."
Sonze shrugged. "He thinks we can both get in."
Xero didn't respond at first. "You'd go?"
"I might."
"I won't."
Sonze looked at him. "Why?"
Xero stood and crossed to the window. He looked out at the glowing lights in the distance—training towers, watchtowers, and the Grand Hall itself.
"I didn't come here for rank or medals," he said. "Besides I am not skilled enough. I might not even be chosen."
Sonze nodded slowly.
"Then keep surviving," he said. "I'll cover your back. You cover mine."
"Deal."
They sat in silence for a while. Outside, a siren wailed briefly—one of the instructors signaling curfew.
As the lights dimmed in the halls, Xero looked up at the ceiling again.
Five hundred gone.
Five hundred left.
And two more tests to come.