Chapter Thirty-Six: A Hard-Fought Victory (Part Two)

At this moment, it wasn’t just the guards on duty watching—the off-duty ones who were supposed to be resting had heard the news and rushed over as well. Fights weren’t rare in this prison, but for a newcomer to fight like this was unprecedented. Everyone present had, at some point, suffered brutal beatings from these very men before clawing their way back to strength.

“Is he really a rookie?” someone finally questioned as they watched Zhao Li get knocked down once again, only to struggle back to his feet.

“Absolutely. He just arrived yesterday, finished recruit training not long ago,” Jiang Hao replied. He was the one who’d spent the most time with Zhao Li, tasked with guiding him during his first days. He’d seen Zhao Li’s file, and, hearing the question, answered without hesitation, “Step aside, don’t block my view!”

Even Sanders was astonished—just how resilient was this seemingly frail young man? Truth be told, the fact that Zhao Li could last this long was partly due to Sanders holding back. Still, for a rookie to perform like this defied everyone’s expectations. Sanders prided himself on having trained hundreds of special ops soldiers, but Zhao Li was a first.

“Damn it, why didn’t I have a single trainee this tough back in the day?” Sanders couldn’t help but be shaken by Zhao Li’s tenacity, his mind wandering. The spots where Zhao Li had landed blows were starting to ache more and more; he couldn’t imagine how this kid trained to still hit so hard in this condition.

“Exhilarating!” Zhao Li’s gravelly voice rang out again, his face smeared with blood and grime, enough to make anyone shudder. Once more, he charged, though his pace had clearly slowed.

Just moments ago, they’d all seen how ruthless Sanders could be—dislocating Zhao Li’s arm without the slightest hesitation. Now, witnessing Zhao Li’s savage tenacity, it seemed he was every bit Sanders’s equal.

“This is what youth should look like. What good comes of always suppressing oneself?” The old warden watched Zhao Li and Sanders with a smile, secretly pleased with the strategy he’d set in motion yesterday.

“Hey, this kid’s got potential—much better than you were when you first arrived,” someone commented, sounding like a senior critiquing a junior.

“Tch, and you were any better?” another voice shot back.

…

Strangely, the prisoners themselves showed no such excitement. Their faces remained impassive as they watched. A few who were closer to Sanders merely stood a little nearer, but none spoke a word.

Sanders had been landing blow after blow for a long time, each strike finding its mark, yet Zhao Li still refused to stay down. This was starting to irritate him, and his attacks grew even more forceful. But after several rounds, even someone as powerful as Sanders was starting to tire.

“Is this guy made of iron?” He’d lost track of how many times he’d knocked Zhao Li down. Now, not even Sanders had the energy left to send Zhao Li flying—he could only drop him where they stood. And every time, Zhao Li would stubbornly claw his way up again, much to Sanders’s frustration and amazement.

Zhao Li’s blows had never let up, either. For every hit he took, Sanders received one in turn, though Sanders still stood firm while Zhao Li had lost count of how many times he’d fallen and risen again. In terms of raw strength, Zhao Li was far inferior to Sanders. If not for his superior technique during their earlier baton contest, he would have lost long ago.

Now, though, their battle was a straightforward clash—no tricks, just brute force. Pain throbbed through Sanders’s body, and he was close to his limit. Yet his will was iron, and he’d been trained to endure pain, so he still looked far better off than Zhao Li.

“Come on, again!” Zhao Li’s blood-smeared face loomed before Sanders once more, a fist flying at him. Sanders shifted forward, bracing his hardened chest to absorb the blow—both to counter Zhao Li and to protect his softer midsection. He answered with a punch of his own.

Zhao Li’s fists were as strong as ever—or was it just Sanders’s imagination? From start to finish, the blows hadn’t weakened. If they’d met under different circumstances, Sanders would have been confident he could turn Zhao Li into an elite commando. But now, his only hope was that Zhao Li would finally give out, ending this pointless struggle.

Kill Zhao Li? In another place, Sanders wouldn’t have hesitated. But here, with that old man watching, even Sanders wouldn’t dare.

“What do you want?” Sanders finally roared at Zhao Li, unable to contain himself, his voice weak and breathless.

“To beat you till you admit it!” Zhao Li, just up again, gasped out his reply. He could tell Sanders was exhausted, too.

This was his chance, though not the best one yet. Quietly employing his basic martial technique, Zhao Li launched another seemingly futile attack—only to be knocked down by Sanders again. On and on it went: rise, fall, repeat.

…

This scene continued for another half hour, with Zhao Li refusing to be crushed. Even when everyone thought he’d lost consciousness, he would stagger to his feet again. Not only Sanders, but the others began to sense something uncanny—Zhao Li seemed born immune to punishment. None of these blows could rob him of consciousness.

Even with the support of his training, Zhao Li was teetering on the edge of collapse. But he knew his opponent was just as spent; now it was simply a matter of who could endure longer.

With a thud, Zhao Li crashed to the ground—but managed to sweep Sanders’s leg as he fell. Sanders’s left leg buckled and he dropped to one knee. At that exact moment, Zhao Li completed a cycle of his internal technique, and fresh strength surged through him.

Seizing the opening, Zhao Li scrambled up as if injected with adrenaline, slammed into Sanders’s other leg, then darted behind him. He locked up Sanders’s arm—the same one that had been dislocated earlier.

This time, Sanders had no strength left to resist Zhao Li’s expertly leveraged hold. Exhausted, he collapsed to the ground.

“Do you yield?” Zhao Li’s ragged breath came from behind, along with the drip of some fluid.

“Alright, you win, kid!” Sanders called out, slapping the ground in surrender.

At those words, Zhao Li finally couldn’t hold on any longer. He toppled onto Sanders, blissfully slipping into unconsciousness.

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Second update—still pushing for the leaderboard. Please vote and support, thank you all!