Establishment of the Special Forces Team
Island of the Dead.
A few days later, Zoro and the others had completely adapted to their newly surging powers.
That morning, led by Emma, the nine came to the camp where more than five hundred soldiers were stationed.
By now, wooden houses had sprung up one after another. Survival in the wild was basic training for any soldier, but this wasn't true wilderness — heavy construction equipment filled the camp, making the task easier.
At the sound of a whistle, the soldiers quickly assembled in neat formation at the center clearing.
At the front stood a wooden platform, half a meter above the ground.
Emma stepped up once the soldiers had gathered.
"For the next two weeks, Colonel Soran will serve as your chief instructor. Those who successfully pass his special training will qualify to join the Special Forces!"
A soldier in the front row raised his hand.
"Sir, what are the benefits of joining?"
Emma nodded.
"Not only will your pay double, but you'll also receive a mysterious gift. As for what that gift is, you'll only know once you qualify."
The ranks stirred with excited whispers.
Most of these men had joined this private army for one reason: money. Ideals or causes meant nothing to them. Doubling their pay was a prize no mercenary could ignore.
On the side, Colonel Harry felt his chest tighten. He knew none of them could resist. These men lived with their heads hanging by the belt — for dollars, not loyalty. Against that, his authority meant nothing.
And once the Special Forces were formed, what would become of him, their former commander?
Scowling, he stepped forward.
"Who will command this Special Forces unit?"
Emma glanced at him, understanding his intent.
"Mr. Soran organized and will train the unit. Naturally, he will serve as their instructor."
Harry's face darkened. In his mind, he was the obvious choice — both by rank and by experience. He was their commander, after all.
Baron Stark hadn't told him the truth: that he and his men were nothing more than spoils of war. Since arriving on the island, their weapons had been confiscated, but their movements weren't heavily restricted. Harry had scouted the island himself. Aside from this camp, there were no outsiders to be found.
To him, these "newcomers" were simply Stark's latest recruits.
"I see," Harry said sharply. "And which unit did Mr. Soran serve in?"
Soran chuckled, stepping forward.
"I never served in a military unit. I was a mercenary."
Relieved, Harry straightened.
"In that case, I believe I'm far more qualified to command than a mere mercenary."
Emma had no patience for him. She turned to Soran.
"I leave it to you."
With that, she walked away.
In truth, Harry might have been better suited to train conventional soldiers, but this Special Forces unit was designed for assassinations and small-scale joint operations. In such tasks, a mercenary like Soran outclassed Harry completely. Their individual combat levels weren't even comparable.
To Emma, Harry was nothing more than a toy. She had no time for petty squabbles; her focus was on studying the Secret Method of the Phantom Demon. The deeper she delved, the more she respected Xu Mo — and the more she feared him.
Behind her, Harry's face burned with rage. To be dismissed so casually was an open humiliation.
Soran saw the look and grinned.
"Alright, we all know what you're thinking. Don't say I never gave you a chance. Halena — step out!"
A slim woman stepped forward from the group of nine.
"If you can last even thirty seconds against Halena, I'll give you command."
Harry's eyes blazed. This was an insult — to pit him, a former U.S. Special Forces instructor, against a slip of a woman?
"You bastard," he roared, "I'll ram your words down your throat!"
Like a cheetah, Harry lunged forward. But to Soran, his speed was laughable, every motion slowed to a crawl. He saw the strain in Harry's muscles, the twitch of his face, as if time itself had slowed.
Soran lifted his right leg and kicked.
Harry barely saw the blur before pain exploded in his abdomen. He was flung backwards, crashing into a tree more than ten meters away. The air burst from his lungs; he folded over like a shrimp, writhing in agony.
The camp fell silent.
Not because their former commander had been humiliated — Harry was nothing more than a manager to them, a foreman to employees. If anything, some were glad to see him knocked down.
No, what stunned them was the sheer display of power. None had ever seen a man kicked so far with a single strike.
Soran, noting their shock, decided to stoke it further. He turned toward a coconut tree as thick as a man's waist.
His foot lashed out with a dull crack.
The tree snapped a meter above the ground and toppled slowly to the side.
Gasps spread through the ranks.
"You want to know the reward for joining the Special Forces?" Soran asked, his voice calm. "It's the chance to gain power. The chance to reach my level — or even stronger."
The soldiers' eyes burned with greed and excitement. Every man here was desperate for strength.
Soran smiled. "Next, you'll be divided into eight teams…"
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