Chapter Thirty-Four: Fairness and Justice (Part Two)

Sanders appeared genuinely surprised that Zhao Li would dare to act this way. He looked Zhao Li up and down several times, scrutinizing his somewhat slender frame, and a smile crept onto his face. His crimson tongue swept across his thick lips. “Very good, kid. I like you. So don’t worry—I’ll spare your life.”

“Who spares whom isn’t certain yet, is it?” Zhao Li hadn’t even finished speaking before he darted forward again, his speed nearly identical to before.

Clang! The two batons collided once more, but this time Zhao Li truly suffered the disadvantage. With the old warden watching eagle-eyed from the sidelines, Zhao Li didn’t dare go overboard. He held back most of his strength to shield himself, leaving little power for offense.

As expected, Zhao Li seemed to be sent flying by the blow, but his body was agile: twisting mid-air, he landed steadily a short distance away. The moment his feet touched the ground, he pounced again, showing no sign of injury.

His strength was insufficient. The basic body-strengthening technique, aside from fortifying his body, only boosted his endurance; it didn’t do much for explosive power. Even a direct hit with the baton, unless it struck a vital spot, wouldn’t have much effect. Zhao Li had no choice but to consider other tactics.

After all, holding a police baton, there was another way to attack besides striking: utilizing the various ends to jab or hammer. The smaller the point of impact, the greater the damage dealt. This was common sense—known to both Zhao Li and Sanders.

It seemed that as Zhao Li switched attack modes, Sanders mimicked him, changing his grip on the baton. With his overwhelming strength, as long as he landed a solid blow, Zhao Li would be lucky to escape with his life, let alone unscathed. Though Sanders had just promised to spare him, he seemed to have forgotten all about it.

Yet when it came to skill with the police baton, even with the old warden present, Zhao Li could confidently claim second place—no one would dare claim first. It was as if he were born for this weapon. During the third phase of recruit training, Zhao Li had almost obsessively trained with this seemingly mundane security tool, while these fierce men usually preferred weapons made for killing, so it was understandable that they lacked finesse here.

Sanders was enormous and powerful. Every time his attacks missed and struck the ground or surroundings, they left a gaping crater. Zhao Li, in contrast, could pull back his strength almost instantly if his aim faltered.

It appeared that Sanders expended far more energy than Zhao Li. But if Zhao Li hoped to tire Sanders out, he was sorely mistaken. While his basic body-strengthening technique allowed him to endure, truly exhausting Sanders would take hours of relentless motion—utterly impossible in this scenario.

Moreover, in such a long contest, Zhao Li couldn’t afford even a single hit from Sanders. With his slight build, even with the body-strengthening technique absorbing much of the impact, Sanders’ terrifying strength would still inflict damage. The slightest lapse in agility would spell disaster—at that point, perhaps Sanders would finally consider sparing his life.

The only advantage Zhao Li could exploit was Sanders’ lack of agility despite his immense power. This happened to be Zhao Li’s forte. Relying on nimble footwork, he repeatedly dodged Sanders’ attacks, landing heavy strikes in return.

Though Zhao Li’s blows lacked the force they had when supported by inner energy, the horizontal grip of the police baton still left Sanders wincing with pain. At such moments, a grimace would twist Sanders’ face. As these attacks accumulated, Sanders grew visibly irritable, roaring in frustration, his strikes growing increasingly erratic.

This was exactly what Zhao Li had been waiting for. None of his earlier attacks had targeted vital points—not out of reluctance, but necessity. Sanders was more than a head taller than Zhao Li; to aim for his head would be to expose his own chest and abdomen—his most vulnerable areas—directly before Sanders. As a special forces instructor, Sanders was more than capable of delivering a lethal blow. Such a mistake was unthinkable.

So Zhao Li focused his attacks on Sanders’ midsection and back; occasionally, he struck at the legs. The chest and abdomen were rarely within reach, and the back offered few opportunities. Most of his blows landed on Sanders’ arms and legs, causing pain but little substantive damage.

Sanders’ increasingly chaotic attacks gave Zhao Li an opening. He began to aim deliberately for the joints—especially elbows and knees. Though these were among the body’s hardest points, against a steel-core police baton sheathed in engineering plastic, they were still vulnerable. Perhaps in his prime, Sanders would have shrugged off such attacks, but now he could only grit his teeth and bear it.

One had to admit, Sanders had an astonishing tolerance for pain. Zhao Li thought that in his place, after taking several blows to the elbow, he’d be unable to grip the baton. Yet this hulking man merely cried out a few times and continued to attack.

After suffering several of Zhao Li’s swift, precise strikes, Sanders’ movements slowed noticeably and became more cautious. Zhao Li was simply too agile; even with all his strength, Sanders could barely keep up. Methodical defense and counterattack were the only sound strategy.

Yet it seemed Zhao Li had truly gotten under Sanders’ skin. Two consecutive failures had dealt a blow to his pride, and the prospect of a prolonged struggle was intolerable. The pain from Zhao Li’s effective strikes only fueled his rage. At last, Sanders bellowed, swung his baton, and attacked Zhao Li with reckless abandon.

This was the moment Zhao Li had been waiting for. His baton spun in his hand as if dancing, switching to a reverse grip. Then he launched himself forward, aiming a vicious strike at Sanders’ abdomen.

Confronted with Zhao Li’s sudden advance, Sanders seemed unable to bring his strength to bear. Just as Zhao Li, heart pounding with excitement, watched Sanders double over in pain from the heavy blow, he caught a glimpse of a sinister, victorious grin twisting Sanders’ face.

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