Draug, the Overseer, walked around, looking at them.

"Listen up!" he barked. "You know our great Lord has summoned every able man to fight alongside him. I don't care if you belong to a settlement of cowards or a raider group of yokels. You're here to obey. You're here to fight. And now, you're here for basic training. If you can't wield a weapon or shoot a gun, you'll be disqualified as as soldiers. You may still serve as carriers or grunts for our great army. Lord Mortis be praised!"

Several minions, under Draug's orders, approached with devices, looking at the eyes of the men. One by one, the recruits underwent a retina scan to record their identities. When it was Galahad's turn, he hesitated and refused. The assistant with the scanner called the Overseer over, who approached Galahad menacingly.

"Show your face or beat it," Draug growled. "I don't care what your crime is. I've seen worse things in my life."

Reluctantly, Galahad removed his mask, revealing his albino features to the onlookers. A mixture of shock and disgust rippled through the crowd. The Overseer smirked, mocking him.

"That's the worst kind of Withering. I never saw someone with that. I hope that means you can endure a couple of beatings. Let's see if you're worth anything."

Galahad endured the scan, feeling the weight of responsibility settled heavily on his shoulders. He knew that in this brutal world, survival often meant sacrifice, but he couldn't shake the hope that there was still a chance for success. His mind was now troubled with the possibility of Lord Mortis appearing.

The sun bore down with an unyielding fury upon the desolate training grounds, its fierce rays intensifying the glint of rust on abandoned weaponry and turning the tattered dummies into sad specters of a once-vibrant past.

The air was thick with tension, a palpable layer of heat and dust that made every breath feel like a lungful of sandpaper. Galahad, his face obscured by his mask, couldn't wipe away the beads of sweat that threatened to sting his eyes. Some of them knew his condition and could alert his presence and reveal his true identity.

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With Mimi amidst the tumultuous symphony of echoing gunshots and the harsh shouts of determination, he whispered quiet words of encouragement, seeking to quell the doubts that clouded his companion's focus.

Though Galahad possessed a finely crafted weapon of his own, he instead brandished a simple pipe pistol, its worn exterior betraying its age. He expertly adjusted his stance, aligning himself with the target, and with a breath as calm as the storm's eye, he unleashed six rapid-fire shots.

Five connected, piercing the bullseye, leaving a story of unerring precision in their wake. Intrigued, a recruiter approached, casting a scrutinizing gaze over Galahad’s performance, torn between genuine appreciation and lingering distrust.

"Your time in the shadows has served you well," the recruiter remarked with a smirk, "What kind of heinous act brought you to our gates?"

Unwavering, Galahad locked eyes with the inquisitor.

"I claimed the lives of a mother and her child," he declared with a chilling, fabricated indifference. Visibly taken aback, the recruiter hesitated for a mere second, a gesture betraying his shock, before hastily motioning for Galahad to engage with the waiting dummies.

"The Overseer might just find you interesting. You two monsters will get along."

Mimi grappled with his unfamiliar firearm, frustration evident as multiple shots went astray. Eventually, one bullet found its mark, and with a mixture of relief and exhaustion, Mimi gravitated toward the weapon selection table. His fingers, hesitant and curious, danced over the grim assortment spread out before them.

"The blade my mother gifted me," he whispered, nostalgia tinting his voice, "she used it to teach me grace and courtesy." Memories of a family lost to society's cruel expectations choked his words, recalling a past where they thrived in the bug farms before prejudice evicted them due to Mimi's gender.

"In this wasteland," Galahad replied with a grim determination, "softness is a liability. Here, showing your vulnerabilities can be fatal."

They approached the hand-to-hand combat section. Selecting a robust, unyielding metal pipe, Galahad demonstrated its potential as he laid waste to a nearby dummy. The objective was to see if there was any kind of strength in their bodies.

Some of the recruits were malnourished, or the Withering that plagued them was the reason their muscles were weak. Galahad nudged Mimi towards a similar weapon, urging him to overcome the strangeness it posed.

While Galahad's strikes were fluid and devastating, Mimi's were hesitant but slowly grew in confidence. Observing from a distance, the recruiters exchanged nods, silently acknowledging their tenacity. One of them showed an evil grin.

"You both passed. Go ahead to the next phase. Just you two…"