Chapter Fifty-Two: Subduing with Force (Part Two)

As chaos erupted, the frenzied pace in Zhao Li’s mind quickened in tandem with his movements. Amidst the cacophony of clashing sounds, a circle of groaning figures lay sprawled on the ground around him.

Startled by Zhao Li’s sudden frenzy, the crowd swiftly parted to create a gap. A few stepped back at the sight of his wild demeanor, yet the others jeered, reigniting the disorder as they surged forward once more.

It wasn’t just ordinary prisoners; even hardened criminals joined the fray. Without them, this uproar would never have ignited, as they were the primary targets of the assault. Zhao Li, caught between the two sides, inadvertently became the final barrier.

But by standing there, Zhao Li blocked both paths. At a moment like this, no one cared if he was their savior—anyone in their way was an enemy. Instantly, Zhao Li found himself besieged from all sides.

His police baton, once capable of incapacitating with a single strike, seemed less effective now. In a swift move, Zhao Li threw it at a man’s face nearby, freeing his hands to begin a relentless assault loosening prisoners’ joints.

The cracking sounds echoed incessantly, piercing the ears and nerves of all present. Those behind, unaware of what had transpired ahead, pressed forward, while those in front retreated in chaos. Yet Zhao Li paid no heed; any target within reach was met with a deft twisting technique.

Wrists, elbows, shoulders, collarbones, jaws, ankles, knees—no joint was spared. Even the pelvis was not exempt. Wherever Zhao Li’s hands grasped, a subtle adjustment would send the victim sprawling, wailing in pain. None escaped.

Zhang Yingzhan, the combat instructor, stepped forward but was swiftly countered. Zhao Li grabbed him; though Zhang leaned back to evade, a powerful kick landed, unsealed true energy coursing through Zhao Li’s body making it a harsh blow. Zhang retreated, but before Zhao could strike again, Zhang lunged, seizing Zhao’s leg.

Both held firm, the strain eliciting a grunt from Zhang, who clutched his injured hand and moved back. Even the toughest body could not match Zhao’s unrestrained true energy. Where once a direct clash might have meant mutual injury, Zhao’s overwhelming force left Zhang with dislocated joints and a blow that seemed to wrench his very insides.

If Zhang’s plight was harsh, the ordinary prisoners fared worse. Nearly none escaped Zhao’s grasp. Each snatch and twist left another groaning figure clutching some injured limb.

The jeering lessened but persisted. Zhao no longer called for restraint—any moving figure in his sight was an enemy, and any enemy was seized without hesitation.

Over a hundred lay on the ground, some trapped beneath others, crying out in misery. The scene was grim.

“What now? Should we aid Zhao Li?” Jiang Hao felt uneasy, unwilling to simply watch Zhao fight alone while they stood idle.

“Don’t move,” the major replied, eyes fixed on the still vigorous Zhao inside. “Our mission is to maintain order and prevent a riot. As for Zhao Li... it’s better he learns a lesson.”

Jiang Hao said nothing, standing his ground.

Zhao’s eyes burned red with fury, his strikes more forceful. His nameless true energy surged wildly through his veins, fueling every limb.

The more desperate the fight, the sharper his techniques became. Those earlier skirmishes seemed mere practice; initial awkwardness gave way to mastery, as each grasp naturally twisted joints with precision, subduing foes effortlessly.

From outside, Zhao appeared a ghost of countless hands, touching and bending without mercy. Around him, the only sounds were the sharp snaps of joints being dislocated.

One or two victims might not instill fear, but hundreds overwhelmed the crowd’s spirit. Fear crept in too late; Zhao showed no mercy, advancing relentlessly. No one escaped his flanking blocks and swift counterattacks.

Unlike the timid ordinary prisoners, the hardened criminals saw in Zhao a thrilling challenge. Eyes gleaming, they pounced like hunters with a beloved toy, eager to test his exquisite techniques despite lacking true energy protection.

Their aggressive assaults dulled Zhao’s earlier ease. Yet he remained measured, cherishing the rare opportunity to spar with such skilled opponents.

Attacks and defenses flowed with practiced grace. Recognizing their lack of true energy, Zhao abandoned his own energy attacks, relying solely on technique. Only when caught off guard did he briefly summon energy to break free, each such instance fueling his refusal to yield as he focused ever more intently against formidable foes.

The criminals sensed this shift, avoiding mass charges in favor of one-on-one battles. Each unveiled their secret moves, yet Zhao’s intricate grappling defied identification. Techniques from all corners of the world seemed woven into his style.

Before the warden could fret over the prisoners’ safety, Zhao had already separated both sides completely. Those left standing were either cowed or watching closely, hoping to glean some insight from his methods.