The military tent was more spacious than Byrne had imagined. A square wooden table with several chairs sat in the center, and two tall metal cabinets stood side-by-side not far away.
Since he wasn't wearing his power armor, Marcus pulled out a chair and sat down casually, gesturing to the pair. "Sit. You two have had quite a journey."
His tone was considerably softer than it had been during their first meeting.
Byrne and Selena exchanged a glance before taking their seats. Neither let their guard down; after all, they were facing a man who, on the first day, had unhesitatingly shot a candidate for defiance. No one knew if his current mildness was simply another mask.
Marcus pulled two military canteens from a drawer beneath the table and tossed them toward them.
"Drink some water first. Looking at you, you're probably half-mad with thirst."
Byrne didn't hesitate. He unscrewed the cap and let the water pour down. The cool liquid slid over his parched throat, instantly soothing the dryness. He drank half the canteen before stopping.
Unlike the guzzling Byrne, Selena—despite her extreme thirst—still sought to maintain her dignity as a noble lady. She took small, measured sips, though her eyes never left Marcus, warily observing his every move.
Once hydrated, Byrne set the canteen down and got straight to the point. "Proctor Marcus, we have completed the test. We've delivered the ore crate to Blackstone City intact. What happens now?"
He placed a deliberate emphasis on the word "intact," curious to see how Marcus would react regarding the crate's contents.
Marcus glanced at Byrne, seemingly seeing right through him. He picked up a data slate and began swiping. "Very good. Arriving on the twelfth day makes you the fourth group to complete the mission. Your performance exceeded my expectations."
"You flatter us. We were just lucky enough not to run into too much trouble on the road," Byrne replied.
Internally, however, Byrne was thinking: This guy couldn't have missed my subtext. He's clearly avoiding the subject. Is he refusing to talk, or is he playing a different game?
Selena set her canteen on the table and spoke bluntly. "Proctor Marcus, please answer Byrne's question. Stop dodging."
Marcus pointed to their necks. "Don't be in such a hurry; I was getting to that. It's simple: first, give me back your collars."
Byrne didn't move. He countered with a question: "Once we return the collars, are we officially cleared, or is there more to the process?"
Marcus had mentioned that the collars were for GPS and recording, but he had never mentioned returning them. Byrne needed to be absolutely clear about the next steps. He couldn't afford a lapse in judgment at the finish line. He had seen this man's methods too many times—from Sonny's brutal death to the life-and-death trial in the desert, this man clearly lacked a moral floor.
Marcus let out a derisive snort, tossed the data slate onto the table, and leaned back with his arms crossed.
"Relax. The test ended the moment you pushed that crate back here. I'm taking the collars back so you aren't under surveillance for the rest of your trip. As for the 'process,' you'll be inducted into the Tax Collector ranks, naturally."
Seeing that the two still hadn't moved, Marcus paused, then realized something. He added, "Don't worry. I'll destroy the recordings inside the collars right in front of you."
With that promise, Byrne and Selena looked at each other and finally reached up to unbuckle the devices from their necks.
Marcus took one in each hand and gave a sharp squeeze. With that simple motion, he crushed both collars into literal dust.
Byrne watched the fragments fall onto the table, his jaw tightening slightly. Well, that's one way to 'destroy' the evidence.
Marcus swept the debris into a nearby wastebasket like he was clearing away common trash.
"There. The recordings are destroyed. You can rest easy now."
Marcus spoke with a casual air, as if he had just performed a trivial chore. He then stood up, walked to the metal cabinet, and retrieved two items. Upon returning, he slapped two employment agreements and a pen onto the table in front of them.
"Next, you just need to sign these. Bring them to the Tax Bureau tomorrow to report for duty. But before you sign, let me warn you: a Tax Collector's job isn't as easy as you think—especially here in Blackstone City."
Byrne picked up the agreement and skimmed it. Without a moment's hesitation, he signed his name. To him, this wasn't a prestigious job offer; it was a lifeline to escape the Imperial Guard draft. As long as his name was on that paper, he wouldn't be dragged to a battlefield as trench-filling fodder.
Though she was slower than Byrne, Selena finished reading and signed her name with equal resolve.
The test was effectively over. Before leaving, Byrne asked one last question.
"Proctor Marcus, what happens to the candidates who didn't make the top twenty?"
"What? Are you planning to plead for the losers?"
Byrne didn't flinch. "I just want to understand the full scope of the rules. Since you set them, there must be a designated outcome for them, right?"
Byrne really wanted to know what would have happened if he had been one of the ones who failed.
Marcus leaned back, looking indifferent. "It's simple. Those who failed to deliver their crates either died on the road, or they'll be 'recovered' by my men once the winners' list is full."
"Recovered?" Byrne caught the loaded word. "Recovered how, exactly?"
Marcus's lips curled into a cold smirk. "How else? The useful ones are sent to the Imperial Guard as reserve recruits. The useless ones are slaughtered and sent to the processing plants as raw material."
Raw material for the processing plants...
The words hit Byrne and Selena like a physical weight. The so-called "recovery" was just a euphemism for slaughter and exploitation. Even those who survived the desert wouldn't escape the draft; they would still be marched onto suicide battlefields.
This was the destiny of those at the bottom. In this cesspool of a world, you didn't even have the right to choose how you died.
"What? You think it's cruel?" Marcus glanced at them, a mocking smile on his face. "On Kolor, mercy is the cheapest commodity there is."
"You either become the one who sets the rules, or you become the fuel that the rules consume. You're sitting here not because of your status or your brains, but because you understood how to use the rules to claw your way into survival."