Chapter Twenty-Nine: The First Watch (Part One)

Zhao Li had no idea how he managed to descend that metallic ladder. All he knew was that, upon reaching the bottom, the young lieutenant who had come to escort him was already standing nearby, silent and still, like a predator lurking in the shadows.

“This way.” Upon seeing Zhao Li, the lieutenant led him to another area—his future quarters, where he would live alongside his comrades. As Zhao Li settled in, the lieutenant set his access permissions using his military ID.

“Sir, how should I address you?” Zhao Li seized the opportunity to get to know his comrade. With only the two of them present, he asked naturally.

“My surname is Jiang. Jiang Hao. I’m a few years older than you, so you can call me Brother Jiang.” Though the address was casual, his tone carried an unmistakable distance, making Zhao Li feel uncomfortable.

“Here’s your duty roster. Tomorrow, I’ll take you on your first shift. Today, you can rest and recuperate.” Jiang Hao’s attitude was neither warm nor cold, and Zhao Li wondered if all relationships here were similarly indifferent.

“Remember—let me remind you once more: the inmates here are extremely dangerous. The incidents you heard about during recruit training don’t even begin to describe their peril. At all times—and I mean at all times—you must remain alert. Otherwise, the consequences will be yours to bear.” Before leaving, Jiang Hao repeated his warning. Zhao Li thanked him and watched him depart.

This was the place where he would spend the next six years of his life. Zhao Li carefully examined his quarters, scarcely larger than a pigeon coop. Frankly, having a private room here was already a considerable privilege. Yet the space was unbearably monotonous—everything was the color of metal, with not a single hint of embellishment.

Zhao Li was certain that, staring at these walls for too long would inevitably lead to psychological issues. He wasn’t sure if this was a deliberate prison arrangement or a test of mental fortitude.

Jiang Hao and the old warden had both repeatedly warned him about the inmates’ dangers, and Zhao Li felt a heightened sense of vigilance. Given that this was a military prison for severe offenders, it was hardly surprising. Though curiosity tempted him to explore, he knew that wandering without a scheduled shift in such a high-security facility could invite unnecessary trouble. He decided instead to practice his martial arts and await his first duty tomorrow.

His combat training was ongoing, so whenever he had time to sit, Zhao Li would practice the basic physique-enhancing technique—a habit he’d recently cultivated.

After a session, he awoke to find three hours had passed. Recently, at least two-thirds of the true energy he cultivated during combat training had been refined by the basic technique.

Thankfully, his dantian held two types of energy; otherwise, the warden’s inspection earlier might have uncovered something suspicious. But what exactly was the warden’s true energy? So domineering, yet not harming him in the slightest—a degree of control that seemed almost superhuman.

What kind of technique was that? Zhao Li was certain it wasn’t a combat technique—he could distinguish those well enough, even if he wasn’t a lifelong expert. Could it be that this world truly held secret arts passed down through martial families?

It made sense, really. The basic technique and combat methods were designed for public dissemination—simple, easy to learn, and ideal for mass adoption. Their origins surely lay in secret martial teachings, though ordinary people rarely had access to them.

After pondering the warden’s martial skill, Zhao Li’s stomach growled. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast—first flight training, then a four-hour journey, followed by the warden’s guidance and his own practice. There simply hadn’t been a moment to eat. Hunger gnawed at him, and he regretted not enjoying a meal at the warden’s place. Whatever the fare, it would have filled his belly.

Fortunately, his room had a management terminal. Logging in with his military ID, Zhao Li discovered he could order food. Everything here was automated—remarkably convenient.

Even the simplest meal tasted like a rare delicacy to a famished Zhao Li. After feasting, he practiced a bit more, banishing his fatigue. His mind began to anticipate what his first real service would be like—the appearance of the fearsome inmates he'd soon meet—thoughts swirling, leaving him restless. In the end, he relied on his martial practice to pass the remaining hours.

Early the next morning, Zhao Li readied himself and waited for Jiang Hao to lead him to duty. He reviewed the prison management guidelines from recruit training in his mind, just as Jiang Hao knocked on his door.

“Come here to collect your gear!” Without preamble, Jiang Hao took him to the equipment room. No staff attended the place; everything was managed electronically. Military ID, fingerprints, voiceprint, iris scan—once verified, Zhao Li saw his equipment.

A reinforced police T-shaped baton—his favorite and most familiar weapon. Stroking its pristine surface, Zhao Li felt a new layer of security. But curiously, there were no firearms. What was going on?

“Firearms are prohibited here, except in extreme emergencies,” Jiang Hao warned coldly. “Any one of the inmates inside is a firearms expert; a careless mistake could lead to uncontrollable consequences.”

Currently, all inmates had their true energy suppressed; they could only use the basic physique-enhancing technique. Without combat techniques, they were generally no match for trained personnel. But the world was unpredictable, and these men’s killing skills went far beyond martial arts. Caution was paramount. Without firearms, their chances would be much diminished.

With a mix of apprehension and anticipation, Zhao Li followed Jiang Hao to the final gate leading to the prisoner confinement area. Outside, Jiang Hao gave one last warning: “No matter what you see, don’t be deceived by appearances. This place holds the most dangerous criminals in the world.”

Zhao Li nodded, though curiosity swelled within him. Such persistent warnings suggested that the inmates inside were truly terrifying. This was his first encounter with the so-called terrorists of legend. Would they look just like him? Or would they be monstrous, brutish figures with cruel faces?

The automated metal door slowly opened, revealing to Zhao Li a world of unprecedented peril. Yet with a single glance, he felt as if he'd been struck by Medusa’s legendary gaze, rooted to the spot in shock.

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Second update. Climbing the rankings, please vote for recommendations—thank you all!