Sweat poured out almost instantly from every pore, soaking the thin training clothes, and flowed down the cheeks, neck, and spine to form a muddy stream, dripping onto the scalding sand with an inaudible "hiss".
Muscles began to tremble uncontrollably and ache, knees felt like they were filled with lead, and everything before the eyes went dark.
In less than ten minutes, the giant formation started to show visible "ripples".
So people's shoulders slumped, so secretly moved their numb toes, so swayed their bodies slightly trying to relieve the pain, and more were staring blankly, attempting to fight their body's instinctive reactions with sheer willpower.
Jiang Feng stood on the high platform like a cruel deity overlooking a swarm of ants. He didn't need binoculars, his Hawkeye-like eyes were as precise as a high-precision scanner.
"First Regint! Battalion Three Company Two! Third Platoon! Line Seven, Line Nine! Is it your waist collapsing or are your bones broken?! Extra ten minutes of training!"
His voice cut through the noisy air like an accurate scalpel, pinpointing the target.
Over a hundred old soldiers, with fresh red "discipline" armbands, stood ready, like a pack of wolves slling blood, impassively charged into the formation.
Their movents were swift, precise, irresistible, roughly dragging out the unlucky ones whose faces instantly turned ashen, throwing them to the "discipline zone" specially drawn at the edge of the field.
"Report! It's too hot! Can't take it! We're here to learn how to kill, not to learn to be wooden stakes!"
A burly man with flesh ringing his face, arms tattooed with ferocious tribal totems finally erupted. He was called Musa, once the top fighter of a major tribal militia, had joined Hafter's forces after the civil war, long accustod to the previous loose military camp life.
His shout was exceptionally harsh on the silent training ground, instantly attracting thousands of gazes.
Jiang Feng's gaze, like two cold lasers, instantly focused on Musa's distorted face, the air seed to freeze.
"Na?" The voice was frighteningly calm.
"Musa!" The burly man held his neck stiffly, with provocation.
"Musa! Step out!" The command was brief, without a ripple.
Musa, panting heavily, pushed away those attempting to hold him back, strode out of the formation, standing in the empty space before the formation, glaring at the high platform.
"Too hot?"
Jiang Feng's corner of the mouth seed to twitch, but it was definitely not a smile, "Good. You're bold."
He raised his hand, pointing to the dust-laden cross country track surrounding the entire core training area, that track stretched as far as the eye could see.
"See that road? Full gear! Load twenty kilograms! Ten kiloters! Now! Imdiately! Run!"
He paused, voice like poisoned icicles:
"Fail to finish, or stop midway, then take your 'boldness' and get out of the base gate! Go wherever you please! This place can't accommodate 'warriors' who can't stand steady!"
Musa's face flushed instantly red, still wanting to argue.
Beside him, two Razorback old soldiers with red armbands already appeared ghostlike at his side, the cold AK barrels intentionally or unintentionally pressed against his waist.
A fleeting glimpse of fear and humiliation flashed in Musa's eyes, finally under the gaze of thousands, he let out a resentful low howl, donned the sand-filled tactical backpack thrown to him, seized his rifle, and staggered toward the seemingly endless track.
Heavy footsteps and heavy breathing beca the most piercing background sound on the training ground at this mont.
The lesson learned, the effect was imdiate.
The entire formation felt like it was tightly pressed down by an invisible giant hand, suddenly taut.
Struggling soldiers desperately straightened their waists and backs, their eyes wandered aimlessly, fixed on the back of the head of the comrade in front.
No one dared to speak, only the sound of heavy breathing and sweat dripping interwove under the scorching sun.
However, Jiang Feng's Hell was just starting to warm up.
His never-failing Hawkeye continued scanning. As ti went on, more and more subtle violations were caught: slightly slumped shoulders, slightly bent knees, wandering eyes, slightly moving fingers...
Every target captured escaped neither his icy pinpointing nor the resulting "extra ten minutes of training" verdict.
Those yanked out of the formation thrown into the discipline zone increased rapidly like snowball rolling.
One hour of military posture on the scorching Gobi Desert, under Jiang Feng's tireless Hawkeye and the Razorback discipline team's cold ruthless catches, stretched as if it lasted four long hours.
When the piercing whistle finally marked the end of the first phase, nearly two hundred stood densely packed in the discipline zone!
Everyone looked as though dragged from water, faces pale or flushed, legs shaking like chaff, eyes full of fear, exhaustion, and confusion.
"Discipline zone! All of you!"
Jiang Feng's voice had no warmth, not even a hint of fluctuation, "You're lucky, still have a chance to prove you're not useless!"
He pointed to Musa still struggling to run in the distance, and the dust-laden track:
"Full gear! Load twenty kilograms! Target—keep up with him! Run! Run until you collapse, or until the sun is overhead! Begin!"
Two hundred exploded instantly into chaos! Wailing, protests, and pleas arose. But the Razorback discipline team mbers were like cold machines, rcilessly began distributing heavy sandbag backpacks, roughly stuffing them into everyone's arms, using gun butts and tactical rods driving them toward the track.
Soone attempted to resist, imdiately tackled to the ground by several discipline team mbers, fists and kicks followed, then dragged like dead dogs to the starting point, and kicked away.
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