Chapter Twenty-One: The Complete Annihilation (Part One)

The fist had already connected with flesh; to pull back now and defend would not only make it impossible to evade the attack, but might also mean having to let the opponent before him go. In the blink of an eye, Zhao Li made his decision: knock down the teammate in front of him, then brace himself to take the blow from behind.

Things unfolded just as Zhao Li anticipated. The enemy before him fell without surprise, and the following assault landed heavily on his back. The moment the blow struck, Zhao Li’s first instinct was that this was no fist or foot, but a weapon.

Regret was useless now; Zhao Li could only marshal all his inner energy to his back, lunging forward to try and dissipate as much of the force as possible.

But it seemed he was already a step too late. Even Zhao Li could clearly hear the impact of the T-shaped baton on his back—a sound utterly unlike flesh meeting fist.

He exhaled sharply. The force from the baton was immediately lessened by his forward motion, but the inner energy contained within the blow pierced through his defenses in an instant, surging straight to his organs.

Zhao Li was prepared to accept the consequence of internal injury, but he would not take the blow for nothing. That someone would use a weapon, acting so despicably in a ten-to-one fight, had well and truly enraged him.

Yet the intense pain he expected did not come. When the opponent’s energy reached his governing vessel, the inner strength honed by his foundational body-strengthening technique seemed to come alive, surging forth in an instant.

This robust energy was even more manageable than the battle techniques Zhao Li was currently practicing, as if it possessed a will of its own. It confronted the invading force, then, borrowing the momentum, shrank back, as if setting off a small explosion within his condensed energy, rebounding forcefully.

The opponent’s energy seemed to have slammed into a springy cushion, bouncing back entirely. The attacker, never having anticipated such a result, inadvertently unleashed his most powerful energy into his own hand gripping the T-shaped baton—a backlash he could not withstand.

A violent tremor shot through his hand, the baton flew from his grasp. Before he could comprehend what had happened, Zhao Li’s counterattack was upon him. This time, Zhao Li struck in anger, showing no mercy—a palm to the side of the neck, a solid punch to the pancreas.

The blow came from below, striking first the softest part of the abdomen, then carrying inner energy upward. Coupled with the strike to the neck, the assailant managed only a cry of pain before fainting, the sound caught midway in his throat like a rooster being strangled.

The baton fell from the air, and Zhao Li caught it in one swift motion. There was no time to wonder where the weapon had come from; his only thought, burning with fury, was to take down every one of his opponents—especially the instigator, Li Xiuyuan.

With a weapon in hand, and one he was most familiar with, Zhao Li was like a tiger with wings. In training, he had always favored this police baton, pouring the most effort into it. Now, wielding the baton against a group of unarmed teammates, the outcome was self-evident.

The weapon proved devastatingly effective. In less than a minute, Zhao Li had felled every unarmed teammate. Fortunately, even in his anger, Zhao Li maintained enough control to strike hard but not lethally; everyone he hit fainted on the spot, without exception. They would surely suffer when they awoke, but should recover without lasting harm.

Until now, others had only seen Zhao Li’s slow, methodical practice with the instructor, never witnessing the speed and fluidity with which he wielded a weapon. His movements were so smooth and efficient that Li Xiuyuan, baton in hand but too late to intervene, felt as if he were watching a masterfully choreographed martial arts film, every attack exquisitely executed without a hint of waste.

To see more than a dozen companions taken down in such a short span sent a chill through Li Xiuyuan’s heart. Though he had trained hard, most of his efforts were poured into combat techniques, not the weapon skills the instructor had only required them to learn, not master.

Now, his wish fulfilled, his combat technique rated at level six, he should have felt a sense of superiority. Yet, even with so many level five and six practitioners combined, they could not prevail over Zhao Li, whose technique was rated only at level four. The reality left him shaken. Could it be true, as the instructor had said, that rank meant little? The evidence was irrefutable.

Even if Li Xiuyuan had wanted to help, he would not have had the chance. Zhao Li never gave an enemy the slightest respite, constantly moving and striking. By the time Li Xiuyuan reached one spot, Zhao Li had already moved on, and the person before him was already down.

Now only Zhao Li and Li Xiuyuan remained, each holding a T-shaped baton. Li Xiuyuan stood dumbfounded at the outcome, but Zhao Li had no intention of letting this ringleader go. With only one opponent left, escape was not an option. Watching Zhao Li approach with measured steps, Li Xiuyuan involuntarily retreated two steps.

It was only when his back hit the wall that he realized there was no way out. His earlier words had been far too arrogant; there was no hope of Zhao Li’s forgiveness now. At last, Li Xiuyuan tasted the bitterness of regret, each nervous swallow tinged with it.

Before joining the military, Li Xiuyuan had always excelled in technique, admired and envied by others. Only after entering the army, especially during this stage of training, had he first tasted the bitterness of defeat. It had seemed his combat rating would finally give him an advantage, but now it was clear—nothing had changed. The triumphant remained so, the defeated just as they were.

“I refuse to accept this!” Li Xiuyuan shouted, gripping the baton’s cross-handle so tightly his fingers turned white. The shout seemed to kindle his courage; swinging the police baton, he charged at Zhao Li.

Brave, perhaps, but his technique was clumsy. Zhao Li dispatched him with quick, clean blows, battering his limbs until he could barely stand, then finished with a fierce strike that sent him blissfully into unconsciousness.

“Whether you accept it or not is none of my business!” Zhao Li tossed the remark over his shoulder, dropped the baton, found a cool, comfortable spot, and sat down to focus his energy. The blow to his back still ached—he needed to check carefully for injury.

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The first update arrives as promised. During the ranking sprint, your recommendations and support are greatly appreciated. Thank you all!