The hallway lead to what seemed like a forgotten armory. There were corridors of weapon racks containing swords, spears, daggers, axes, and spears. Nilbog guessed there were around a couple hundred in total.

“Pick a weapon according to your proficiencies. You will be shortly using it, and whether you live or die will depend on your skill with it,” the guard said. Then, after a short, awkward pause, he walked over to the nearest prisoner. He placed his palm against him. After a muffled flash of yellow, 666 was tossed into the air. He struck the ground and rolled until a weapons rack stopped him. He groaned from under a pile of spears that fell one after the other on top of him.

“When your commanding officer says something, even if it was not a question or a command, the appropriate answer is yes sir,” he said, looking expectantly at the rest of them.

“Yes sir!” everyone except the one groaning on the ground said. It seemed he was not excluded, as in the next moment the guard began to kick and stomp on his slithering body. 666 brought his hands up to his head and balled up, but from the sounds of it, it didn’t do much for him.

“I will repeat myself for the final time. When your commanding officer says something, you answer, no matter what condition you are in. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir!”

“Good. You have one minute to decide.”

Nilbog wandered around, trying each weapon in hand. He felt like he could use any of it, and he likely could. He wouldn’t be a very good Sentient hunting monster in human flesh if he was made without knowing how to use weapons. If a bow was offered he would have likely taken it—he’d seen humans hunting animals with it. It was much more effective than a spear.

The uncertain future made him go for a comfort pick. The daggers he used at the café was the only time he wielded a weapon. Their small range and weight made them a poor offensive choice, but Nilbog didn’t really mind that. They were small, light, and flexible. Being able to throw was pretty nifty too, plus he could hide them much better than a sword or spear.

The issue was barely any of the ones in front of him were decent. The iron was crooked and was too heavy for its small size. It was incomparable to the ones he had used.

Old Rusted Dagger Weapon Type: Dagger Weapon Star: ★

Slash: ★

Thrust: ★

Durability: ★

The only thing that you can use this piece of metal is to kill is yourself, and even then, it would be foolish to wholeheartedly rely on it.

Nilbog grimaced. That was some nasty flavor text. The others were any better, but while others had Life Force to make up for it, he of course had nothing.

“What seems to be the issue, 666?” The soldier said.

666 lowered his hand. “Isn’t it unfair for us to be stuck with an idiot that can’t even use any Source? And can that thing even run?" he said, pointing towards the 665. His tummy was hard to miss.

"Isn't it unfair I have to escort worthless little shits like you instead of leveling up?"

"Uh...yes sir..." 666 said, his face turning red. Getting humiliated got to him better than getting beat.

"Keep quiet then. We leave."

Nilbog didn’t bother hiding his chuckles. He got a glare from 666 for it, though it didn’t really matter. With, or without Nilbog’s efforts, 666 would still end up blaming him and 665 for most of the shortcomings their rugged party meets with.

Nilbog was beginning to become familiar with his kind.

They finally saw the light of day, and spirits were they hideous. An open field of dirt spread before the base. Every other building wrapped around it like a horseshoe. Lines of prisoners stood in front of tables in the center of the field, waiting for their rations as the soldiers watched them from the sides. Those that skipped the line or made a ruckus were beaten. Worse yet they weren’t allowed to rejoin the line.

Nilbog and the rest of his party followed suit, all quiet to the point of muffling their own steps. They were too hungry to put up a fight. Eating a brick no longer seemed unreasonable. More reasonable than people, at least.

Turns out the joke was on Nilbog--they were eating bricks. It was supposed to be bread, but it looked more like a rock. It felt like one, too. Nilbog’s teeth could barely mulch it down. Not even the water could soften it. A part of him was glad they were given a small portion, otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to swallow it whole. It scraped his throat and dropped into his stomach, where the acid was going to give it its best shot. His Shapeshifter’s immunity to internal damage would hopefully protect him from the worse of it.

The mental damage, however, was still there. Nilbog did his best to focus on the pain of his cheeks rather than the taste in his tongue. It removed his Starvation debuff, but did little else for his sour mood. It took an hour or so of freezing until everyone entered the yard.

“That’s not everyone,” 664 said.

“That’s every Cub probably. Anyone higher got a better deal,” 663 responded, scratching his beard. “Or just let go. Better to negotiate than force loyalty.”

“Not us, though,” 664 said, pursing his lips. He wasn’t skinny, but he certainly wasn’t buff. After Nilbog, he looked to be about the second youngest person in here. Early twenties, if Nilbog had to guess. Not too young nor too old for his Danger Rank.

Once they were fed, each party were given a large bag pack containing heavy metal objects of various shapes that they weren’t told the purpose of. There was another one for tents, grinding stones, and even a few low-quality herbs that lowered poison damage. Nothing was explained, but it was easy to guess—They were going on an expedition in order to build something while fighting monsters that dealt poison damage.

Once equipped, they marched out of the army block and towards the South-West side of the city. Dungeons sprouted all around the kingdom, and while they were highly sought after and monopolized for their great rewards but limited uses, the low-level ones were cleared as quickly as possible. There was a pretty good chance that the kingdom would gain some type of bonus depending on the difficulty and scale of the Dungeon.

Besides, nobody cared about the low-levels. From what Nilbog saw of humanity’s power structure, Wolves and Tigers were in power, so they didn’t need to hog anything made for Cubs. Anyone less did not pose a danger to them. By the time Cubs became Wolves, the Wolves would have become Tigers. Catching up without taking extra risks was unlikely.

“Why us? They could do it themselves much quicker,” someone behind Nilbog said.

“They can't, dimwit. There is a level cap. They’re also trying to increase our level so they could use us more later.”

“You reckon we’ll be part of the army, once we get stronger?”

“Nah. We might get a position but they’ll always put us in the most dangerous spots. They’ll milk us dry. I heard some of us are going to be doing a raid."

"What about the mountains to the north? Isn’t iron and crystals more important?”

“No point to weapons if you’ve starved to death.”

Nilbog listened in, comparing the information he had to others. He stayed to himself, the rest of his party doing likewise. Few people, in general, exchanged words. They were strangers, not the organized 'civil war defectors' they were labeled to be. It was all just a farce by Olivia to get more people to do her bidding.

Not evil, just a vicious, heartless opportunist.

As they marched from one street to the next, Nilbog was able to get a good look at the new state of the kingdom he was going to have to fight for, and then fight against. The dreadful smell of cooked flesh was everywhere. Corpses didn’t just vanish. The Second Phase began immediately after the first, leaving no time for burials. Mounds of them spat a nauseous odor as they were burned. The constant rain barrage did little to wash away its stench, and only drenched Nilbog to the bone, causing the wind to bite that much harder.

The greatest pyres were those in the Third District, where the population was the densest. Nilbog could only imagine the tragedy that occurred there. Hundreds of different dark lines crept skyward, feeding the gray clouds.

Nilbog shook his head. Let the entire world be swallowed by those black flames, for all he cared. Their savagery was none of his business.

By nightfall, they laid down their equipment in a clearance within the forest. They were given instructions on how to set camp, including more bread, and were reminded that any attempts of escape would result in death.

Other than protection against monster attacks, few guards kept watch. It was an effective tactic in reducing desertion rates, as it showed confidence in the Blood Crystals as the sole preventative, but as Nilbog soon found out, no ingenious, penetrative, and thoroughly crafted method was sufficient enough to prevent human stupidity from ultimately prevailing. A dozen or so attempted to escape that night. A couple were caught by the guard’s patrolling, some were caught by their own party mates, and only a few individuals and one group escaped.

When sunrise, after another inadequate meal, everyone was gathered in front Khan. On his left was a tree that had seven people hanging off by the ropes of their feet, and on his right were four numbered jewelry boxes.

Within it, in fur covering, were red orbs. The light within them moved around as if it was liquid. Khan picked one, raising it into the air. “Observe what disobedience will result in!” he yelled, crushing the core within his gauntlets. A tiny flash of red light escaped his fingers as the red liquid dripped down his fingers.

Nothing happened. The prisoners looked at each other, confused. A few daring ones went as far as to giggle. Khan shrugged and tossed aside the broken pieces. “Probably the ones that escaped. Let’s try this one,” he said, as he picked up another and crushed it.

Once again nothing happened. Then, very slowly, blood seeped down from one of the prisoner's eyes. It began with a few drops at a time, and then it gushed through his mouth, eyes, and ears. He died instantly—there were no screams. There was only the sound of the wind rustling the trees, and the sound of his blood falling to the floor like his body like a broken faucet.

Khan crushed one after another, and not for a single moment was Nilbog able to turn his eyes away.

Meatbags. Nilbog finally understood what Wynjo meant.