Military District Tournament

"Two days until the tournament. Arrive at the venue one day early."

Zhao Tiehan leaned against the command table, tapping the edge of the sand table twice with his fingers.

"I submitted the registration form for Fortress No. 13. At eight tomorrow morning, a military district transport plane will take you to First Fortress. Go with the main unit. Remember, this trip represents the honor of Fortress No. 13."

Li Zhengyang folded the letter in half and slipped it into his pocket.

Early the next morning, at the airfield.

A heavy military transport plane sat parked there.

Besides Li Zhengyang, there were over a dozen elite veterans representing Fortress No. 13, with Hu Dahai serving as the team leader.

"Zhengyang, get on. Sit here." Hu Dahai's face was wreathed in smiles.

After last night's Beast Tide defense battle, Hu Dahai's attitude toward Li Zhengyang had changed from that of a veteran looking at a recruit to that of someone gazing up at his living father.

The cabin was spacious and the seats comfortable. Li Zhengyang chose a window seat and closed his eyes to rest.

The four-hour flight passed in the blink of an eye.

At two in the afternoon, the plane landed smoothly.

Compared with remote Fortress No. 13, First Fortress of the military district was a gigantic military fortress city.

Beyond the airfield stood towering buildings, while heavily armored vehicles streamed along the broad lanes.

Hu Dahai led the group to the guesthouse to check in. Li Zhengyang tossed down his luggage, slung the Dragon-Gallbladder Golden Spear over his shoulder, and headed straight for the registration point in the central plaza.

The central plaza was packed with people. Forty-two fortresses from across the military district, plus the military's directly affiliated special operations units, had sent over two thousand contestants. The minimum threshold here was High-grade Great Martial Master.

Li Zhengyang joined the physical test registration line, with more than a dozen people ahead of him.

While he was waiting, a commotion broke out up ahead.

"Move! Don't block Young Master Lin's way!"

Several young men in custom-made military uniforms barged through, forcibly smashing a gap in the line.

The soldiers from other fortresses at the front of the line were furious but dared not speak.

The local specially recruited fighters of First Fortress had always looked down their noses at everyone else.

The young man leading them was Lin Feng, son of First Fortress's defense commander. A Half-step Martial Sect and one of the seeded contestants.

He walked to the front of the line and knocked on the registration counter.

"Me, Lin Feng. Process my number first."

The tester smiled obsequiously and quickly entered his information.

One of Lin Feng's lackeys turned and swept his gaze over the line, stopping on Li Zhengyang.

More precisely, he was staring at the Dragon-Gallbladder Golden Spear on Li Zhengyang's back.

The dark golden sheen of the S-class alloy exuded overwhelming pressure.

"Hey, kid." The lackey pointed at Li Zhengyang. "Is that spear on your back for sale? Young Master Lin happens to be short on a heavy weapon."

Li Zhengyang ignored him and stepped forward, filling the vacant space in the line.

"Are you deaf?" Feeling humiliated, the lackey strode over and reached for the spear strap.

His hand had only stretched halfway.

Li Zhengyang raised his leg and delivered a straight kick.

It landed squarely in his abdomen.

Before the lackey could even cry out, his whole body bent like a shrimp and flew more than ten meters, slamming solidly into an iron pillar at the registration area before passing out.

Lin Feng turned around, his face dark. "You mud-legged bumpkin from out of town, you came onto my turf and beat my dog?"

"A dog blocked the road, so naturally it had to be kicked aside." Li Zhengyang met Lin Feng's gaze, his tone flat. "You didn't leash your dog properly, so I managed it for you."

The entire plaza fell silent.

Offending Lin Feng in First Fortress was equivalent to asking for trouble.

Lin Feng's eyelids twitched. The Blood Qi of a Half-step Martial Sect surged madly as a layer of Astral Qi covered his palm.

"Courting death."

He lunged forward, chopping his hand toward Li Zhengyang's throat.

He was incredibly fast, carrying a shrill howl that tore through the air.

Li Zhengyang did not even draw his spear.

He raised his right hand and flicked a finger.

The force application of the Collapse Formula was concentrated at the fingertip.

One finger met the hand chop.

"Crack."

A crisp sound came from Lin Feng's wrist.

Agonizing pain struck. Lin Feng staggered backward again and again, crashing into two testing machines. He clutched his broken wrist, cold sweat pouring down his face.

Seeing this, Li Zhengyang shook his head helplessly.

A Half-step Martial Sect was still not a Martial Sect. Within the same realm, I am invincible.

The entire venue was silent as death.

The tester's hand, holding the scanner, froze in midair.

Li Zhengyang pushed his registration form onto the counter. "Fortress No. 13, Li Zhengyang. Register me."

The tester stamped it with trembling hands and returned his identity plate.

Li Zhengyang put away the plate, stepped past Lin Feng, and headed toward the preliminary match preparation area.

"Excuse me, coming through."

The onlookers unconsciously parted to make way for him.

News that Li Zhengyang had taken Lin Feng's attack spread throughout the competition zone.

Li Zhengyang did not care in the slightest.

The official matches were what mattered.

First Fortress, Combat Command Center.

The holographic projection screen repeatedly played the surveillance footage from the registration point.

The footage had been slowed eightfold, clearly capturing Li Zhengyang's strike.

"Did you see it clearly?"

The speaker sat in the shadows, three general's stars on his shoulder glimmering in the faint light.

He was powerfully built, and even seated, he exuded the pressure of an old lion.

Lin Zhenshan, First Fortress's defense commander.

Beside him, several middle-aged men who looked like staff officers pointed at data charts.

"Sir, the force fluctuation in that instant was very strange." A bespectacled major pulled up the Blood-Qi Value curve. "Normally, the force from a Half-step Martial Sect's strike is distributed along the edge of the palm. But that kid compressed the Blood Qi of his entire body into a single point with that finger. It was clearly a killing move."

"Bullshit." Lin Zhenshan snorted coldly. "I know better than you what my son is like. He may have been piled up to Half-step Martial Sect with resources, but that was still a Half-step Martial Sect. If that kid's finger had landed on his forehead, Lin Feng would be in an urn by now."

"Should we go take care of the people from Fortress No. 13?" a staff officer asked tentatively.

Lin Zhenshan stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down over the entire fortress city.

"Take care of them? The tournament is about to begin, and the whole military district is watching. If I move against him now, wouldn't I be plainly telling everyone that I, Lin Zhenshan, can't afford to lose?" His eyes were dark. "Send Qi Tian from the second team. Tell him that if he meets that kid in the arena, there's no need to hold back."

"Yes, sir."

Inside the guesthouse room.

Li Zhengyang sat cross-legged on the bed. Though this was a military guesthouse, First Fortress's standards were clearly more than one level above those of Fortress No. 13.

The room even came equipped with aromatherapy specifically designed to aid Blood Qi circulation.

He did not light it. Things that forcibly heightened one's spirits through medicine were meaningless to him now.

He was reviewing the battle.

That finger strike earlier had only used the barest surface of the "Collapse" Formula.

As his physical qualities improved, his grasp of that method of exerting force grew increasingly refined. But in real combat, against an opponent fighting for life and death, they would not stand foolishly like Lin Feng and receive his move.

"Still too slow. Lower Profound Grade is still a little lacking." Li Zhengyang opened his eyes and muttered to himself.

A knock sounded at the door.

Hu Dahai pushed the door open, carrying two meal boxes and a stack of documents.

"Zhengyang, come, come eat." Hu Dahai set the meal boxes on the table, his tone complicated. "I asked around for you. In this tournament, besides those local snakes from First Fortress, there are a few tough opponents you need to watch out for."

He spread out the documents.

"First is Blood Butcher Zhang Kuang from Fortress No. 2. That guy is a genuine madman, staying in the fallen zones year-round. They say that when he advanced to Martial Spirit, he slaughtered his way through an entire mutated wolf pack by himself."

Li Zhengyang glanced at the photo. The man in it had a face covered in knife scars, and his eyes held a bloodthirst that made people uncomfortable.

"And this one, Ye Qing from the Military Directly Affiliated Special Forces Brigade. A woman. Don't underestimate her. She's an elite trained by the military. Not only is her combat strength high, she is also proficient in all kinds of assassination techniques."

Hu Dahai introduced five or six key people in one breath. Every one of them was a Martial Spirit in the files.

"Zhengyang, let me speak from the heart." Hu Dahai sat down and lit a cigarette for himself. "What you did today was satisfying, no question. But now you've become a target for everyone. According to what I've heard, seeded contestants from several fortresses have declared that they'll pull out your nail first in the preliminary rounds."

Li Zhengyang picked up a steamed bun and began chewing.

"If they want to pull it out, they'll have to see whether their teeth are hard enough."

"I knew you'd say that." Hu Dahai smiled bitterly. "Fortress No. 13 hasn't made the top ten in five years. Zhao Tiehan putting you forward this time was a gamble. If you win, our fortress's military funding and resources can double next year. If you lose, at worst things will stay as they are."

Li Zhengyang swallowed his food and looked up at Hu Dahai. "What if I take first place?"

Hu Dahai froze. He did not even notice the cigarette ash falling onto his pant leg.

"First place? Zhengyang, it's fine to say that in this room. That 'monster' is competing this time too, for a guaranteed admission spot at Kyoto Martial University. That guy..."

"We'll talk about it later." Li Zhengyang cut him off and closed his eyes again.

To him, it did not matter who his opponents were.

What he truly wanted was to improve his own strength.

Early the next morning, Central Stadium of First Fortress.

This massive structure, capable of holding one hundred thousand people, was packed to the brim.

The stationed troops from various departments, military industry representatives, and observation delegations alone had filled the venue completely.

At the center of the stadium, fifty enormous arenas had been cordoned off.

"Two thousand three hundred contestants. The first round will use a melee format."

The booming announcement echoed overhead through the stadium.

"Fifty people per arena, with a thirty-minute time limit. The last five remaining on the arena will advance to the next round."

Cries of surprise rose from the audience.

Five out of fifty. A ninety percent elimination rate. Such primitive and brutal rules placed extreme demands on a contestant's stamina and ability to react on the spot.

More importantly, in this kind of melee, forming groups and besieging the strong was bound to happen.

Li Zhengyang stood in the waiting area, dressed in a simple black training uniform.

The Dragon-Gallbladder Golden Spear lay across his knees.

"Arena No. 9. Li Zhengyang, please enter."

He rose to his feet and strode toward the designated area.

The moment he reached the edge of the arena, the atmosphere around him became somewhat strange.

The surrounding contestants all glanced at him sideways and lowered their voices to talk.

"That's him? The one who took Young Master Lin's attack yesterday?"

"Other than being kind of handsome, he doesn't seem all that special."

"Once we get up there, brothers, keep an eye on him. This kid's a thorn. Pull out the thorn first, then we can settle the rest among ourselves."

Li Zhengyang's expression remained calm.

With his five senses, he heard every whispered word clearly.

He vaulted onto the arena and stood at its very center.

It was a circular alloy platform fifty meters in diameter.

One after another, the other forty-nine contestants also leaped up.

Interestingly, after those forty-nine people mounted the arena, they formed a perfect ring.

Everyone intentionally or unintentionally kept their backs near the edge, while every one of them faced Li Zhengyang at the center.

"Oi, brother."

A red-haired young man tilted his neck and stepped forward two paces.

He was a contestant from Fortress No. 6, a Ninth-grade Great Martial Master.

"Don't blame everyone for targeting you. Who told you to stand out so much yesterday? On this arena, the ones who stay standing are the winners. Guys like you who want to show off usually die fast."

Li Zhengyang lowered his head and adjusted his gloves.

He ignored the provocation and merely gave the spear shaft a light shake.

"Hum."

The Dragon-Gallbladder Golden Spear gave a low tremor. Its dark golden tip pointed straight down, scraping out a shallow trail of sparks.

"You talk too much."

Li Zhengyang raised his head and swept his gaze around.

There was no panic in those deep eyes. Instead, they held a chilling coldness that made hearts tremble.

"If you're coming, come together. I'm in a hurry."

The entire arena fell silent for an instant.

Then the red-haired young man laughed in fury. "Bold enough! Brothers, attack!"

With that roar, the melee of fifty people skipped the probing phase entirely.

More than forty powerful bursts of Blood Qi exploded in an instant, and Astral Qi of every color blanketed all of Arena No. 9.

The sounds of all kinds of cold weapons tearing through the air intertwined.

Hu Dahai, seated on the main platform, was so nervous he crushed the water cup in his hand.

"These bastards are shameless—they actually joined forces to gang up on a rookie!"

Yet the next second.

A dull boom rang out from the center of the arena.

It was not the sound of a collision, but the explosive crack of a spear crushing the air as it swung.

Li Zhengyang moved.

Rather than retreating, he flashed like lightning and plunged straight into the crowd.

A glint of cold steel arrived first, then the spear shot forth like a dragon.

Within those dark-gold afterimages, there was not a single flashy movement.

Lift, deflect, thrust, lash.

Every move was astonishingly precise.

Before the red-haired youth's greatsword could fall, Li Zhengyang was already pressed right up to his face.

The spear shaft swept out with the force of ten thousand tons.

Bang!

The red-haired youth, sword and all, was sent flying off the arena.

That spear stroke raised the curtain.

In the stands, the officers who had been discussing Lin Zhenshan's son slowly rose to their feet.

In their eyes.

The spear-wielding youth on Arena No. 9 moved with terrifying simplicity.

Every time he struck with his spear, someone fell.

No matter how dense the surrounding flashes of blades and sword shadows were, he always slipped through the gaps between them.

With a casual horizontal sweep, he could smash through several people's defenses by brute force.

That kind of dominance.

It did not resemble a rookie who had only just enlisted.

"That movement technique isn't of a high grade, but it carries a hint of perfection."

On the main viewing platform, an old general with a full head of white hair narrowed his eyes, surprise coloring his voice.

"That kid's movement technique has already reached perfection. This isn't something that can be trained through hard work alone—it's an instinct clawed out from piles of corpses."

Only five minutes passed.

Arena No. 9, once deafeningly noisy, fell silent.

On the floor, aside from Li Zhengyang, only four people remained standing.

The four of them were pressed against the very edge of the arena, gripping their weapons tightly, their foreheads drenched in cold sweat.

They did not dare move.

Because that man stood in the center of the arena, his spear resting across his shoulder.

Cracks in the ground radiated outward from him like the center of a circle.

"Thirty minutes remain."

Li Zhengyang glanced at the timer on the giant screen overhead.

"Are you jumping down yourselves, or should I send you?"

The four exchanged glances.

Without the slightest hesitation, not even daring to throw out a harsh word, these elite soldiers representing their respective fortresses dropped their weapons in unison, flipped over, and leaped off the arena.

They understood perfectly.

Those five minutes just now had been the other man holding back.

Otherwise, the ones lying on the ground now would not be those defeated fighters howling in pain, but cold corpses.

Arena No. 9.

The battle ended in less than six minutes.

Li Zhengyang became the first contestant to qualify among all fifty arenas in the stadium.

Carrying his spear, he slowly walked down from the platform beneath the deathly silent gaze of tens of thousands.

In the stands.

Several geniuses who called themselves "seeded contestants" opened their eyes one after another.

That black silhouette.

Like an incomparably sharp iron nail, it drove viciously into everyone's line of sight.

The air that had once brimmed with certain victory suddenly carried a trace of gunpowder smoke.

Li Zhengyang walked up to Hu Dahai.

Hu Dahai rubbed his eyes, his voice trembling. "Zhengyang, were you really not planning to leave me some heart medicine?"

"I'm hungry."

Li Zhengyang slung the spear over his back, his expression as calm as ever.

Under the tracking lenses of countless cameras, he pushed open the doors and walked out of the venue without looking back.

"Come on, we haven't even had breakfast yet."