The Academy training grounds were buzzing with adrenaline and dread. Fifty students stood in formation. Above them, a massive holographic screen cycled through names like a slot machine.
[Joint Combat Assessment: Sector 9 Ruins] [Team Allocation: Randomizing...]
"Please not Lin... please not Lin..." a student near the front whispered, crossing his fingers. No one wanted the "F-Rank Luggage" on their team. In the wilderness, a weak teammate was a death sentence.
Instructor Vance stood on the podium, her metal eyepatch glinting in the morning sun. "Teams are final. No trading. No whining. If you die, you die."
The screen stopped.
[Team 4]
Cain (Rank E - Peak) - Assault
Borg (Rank E - High) - Tank
Yuna (Rank E - Low) - Support
Lin (Rank F - Low) - Logistics
A wave of laughter rippled through the ranks. "Oh man, Cain got the short straw!" "RIP Lin. Cain is going to feed him to the wolves."
Lin looked at the screen, his face expressionless. He knew these names.
Cain. The illegitimate son of the Black Mamba Guild leader. Arrogant, violent, and strong enough to bend steel bars. Borg. A giant of a man who rarely spoke. Rumored to be a mercenary before joining the academy. Yuna. The "Class Angel." Specialized in healing and botany.
Lin adjusted his glasses. Through his [Darkvision] thermal overlay, he saw something interesting. Yuna's backpack was glowing with a faint, sickly green heat signature. Poison, Lin analyzed. A Healer who carries neurotoxins. Interesting.
"Hey! Trash!"
A heavy boot kicked the dirt near Lin's feet. Lin looked up. Cain was towering over him, a cruel grin on his scarred face. Borg and Yuna stood behind him.
"Congratulations," Cain sneered. "You just joined the winning team. I'm going for the record score."
"Okay," Lin said flatly.
"But we don't carry dead weight," Cain continued. He dropped his massive military-grade rucksack at Lin's feet. THUD. It sounded like it was filled with bricks. "Since you can't fight, you carry."
Cain turned to Borg and Yuna. "Give him yours too."
Borg grunted and tossed his bag. Yuna hesitated, giving Lin a sympathetic, apologetic smile. "I'm sorry, Lin. Cain insists..." She handed over her bag gently. Lin didn't buy the act. Her pulse was steady. She didn't care.
Three bags. Total weight: ~60kg. For a normal human, this was impossible. For a normal F-Rank, it was torture.
The class watched, waiting for Lin to cry or beg Instructor Vance for help. Zhao Hu was snickering in the distance, running a thumb across his throat.
Lin looked at the mountain of luggage. [System Analysis] [Load: 65kg] [User STR: 18 (Rank E+ equivalent)] [Calculated Effort: 40%]
To him, this was light. But if he lifted it easily, his cover was blown.
"I... I'll try," Lin stammered, putting on a show. He grabbed the straps, gritting his teeth, pretending to struggle. He lifted the bags with shaky legs, hunching over as if crushing under the weight.
"Look at him," Cain laughed, slapping Borg on the back. "A pack mule. That's all you are, Lin. Keep up, or we leave you for the scavengers."
"Understood," Lin wheezed.
He followed them toward the transport carriers. Head down. Shoulders slumped. But under the shadow of his bangs, Lin's eyes were cold.
He wasn't carrying luggage. He was carrying bait.
Cain: High aggressive stats. Good for tanking Boss aggro. Borg: High defense. Good for blocking arrows. Yuna: Bio-weapon potential. High priority target.
"Three meat shields," Lin whispered to himself, adjusting the straps. "And they even carry themselves."
As he boarded the dropship, he glanced back at Zhao Hu. The bully was making pistol fingers at him. Lin didn't react. He just mentally moved Zhao Hu from the 'To Do' list to the 'Urgent' list.
[Mission Start.] [Objective: Survive. Eliminate Threats. Profit.]
The engines roared, and the dropship lifted off, carrying Team 4 toward the ruins of Sector 9. The hunting ground was open.
（"Enjoying the massacre? Drop a Power Stone to feed the Clone Army!"）