Chapter 18: Comprehending Martial Techniques

Dugu Bieli cast a glance at him, his mind spinning rapidly as he analyzed the opponent’s likely attack methods, speculating on his means, direction, and timing of offense. Within just a few seconds, he had reached a rough conclusion.

The general was still oblivious to the fact that he had been seen through completely, brimming with confidence as he launched his charge. While Dugu Bieli silently recited “right fist attack” in his mind, the general clenched his right hand, channeled his power, and swung out with a roar.

Dugu Bieli moved lightly, gliding his foot across the floor and instantly appearing behind the general. He predicted the opponent might twist his body and sweep with his leg, or perhaps flip in midair, both hands striking like dragon claws.

The general’s internal power surged with the force of a general’s command, his strength raging as he coordinated his body. Sure enough, he flipped backward in midair, both claws reaching out—one for the face, one for the chest.

Dugu Bieli flexibly bent low, sliding along the ground with a hiss, returning to his original position. He recalled every detail of the general’s actions, analyzing why he had chosen to flip rather than sweep with his leg, all while anticipating the next move...

On the arena stage, the general pressed on, though his breathing grew heavier, his chest heaving erratically. Despite exerting all his strength, he felt powerless, as though his force was misapplied, leaving him frustrated. It seemed to him that his opponent could anticipate every move before he made it.

Sweat trickled down naturally.

The general held his breath. Though the idea was strange, he couldn’t help but believe it—better safe than sorry. So, on his next attack, he deliberately changed his tactics.

Below the stage, the watching generals, not experiencing his frustration firsthand, only saw his imposing presence as he pressed the warrior, who could only dodge desperately, never finding a chance to strike back—defeat seemed inevitable. A few generals who had once been bested by him watched the tangled fight and jeered, mocking, “Impressive as always—driving a warrior to flee in disarray. No wonder he’s a top fighter with nearly a hundred victories.”

“Ha, isn’t that the truth…”

“Truly gracious, and patient too—still offering pointers on the arena, sweating buckets in the process, ha ha…”

“…"

Upon hearing this, the general grew angrier, wishing he could leap down and drag those mocking troublemakers onto the stage to let them taste this bitterness themselves. Distracted, he stumbled, nearly falling, his body pitching forward, arms flailing.

Unexpectedly, this wild, chaotic move caught Dugu Bieli off guard, striking him squarely in the hip. The general’s strength was double that of a warrior—Dugu Bieli couldn’t withstand it, staggering back several steps, barely managing to stop at the edge of the stage.

Seizing the momentum, the general avoided an embarrassing fall. Seeing the slippery warrior now perched at the very edge, he was overjoyed and prepared to continue his assault. Yet, a thought suddenly flashed through his mind: perhaps his opponent had deliberately taken the hit to spare his dignity as a general, so he wouldn’t lose face in front of the crowd.

With this realization, he froze for a moment, then, blushing with shame, clasped his fists and said, “Thank you, sir. I admit defeat.” With that, he vaulted off the stage.

Above Dugu Bieli’s head, his record immediately updated: one hundred and one victories.

“Oh my, look at that!” the mocking generals cried out. “So gracious—he actually yielded to a warrior!”

“Tsk tsk, what a people-pleaser. We can’t compare…”

“Haha, well said. Now everyone can see, he’s spineless. When he faces us nobodies, he’s ruthless, but now he shrinks away…” One general, who had once been defeated, seized the chance to vent his resentment.

The general held back, but finally couldn’t take it anymore. He stormed over, shouting, “If you’ve got the guts, get up there! Let’s see if you’re so tough. If you can win, I’ll get on stage myself, let you kill me without resistance!”

“I’ll go!” The goaded general, named Lei Yun, who also had a fiery temper, agreed at once, launching himself onto the stage like a cannonball. He didn’t even glance at Dugu Bieli, instead addressing the crowd: “Remember what was just said. Don’t deny it later. Gentlemen, bear witness for me, Lei Yun—once I take care of this privileged warrior, don’t let him get away.”

He emphasized the word “warrior,” and when he said “him,” he pointed at the general below the stage.

“We’ll witness for you.”

“If he dares run, quits the arena, and breaks his promise, none of us will let it go. We’ll spread the word in the real world so he can’t show his face in the East Wastelands.”

“Agreed!” No matter the time or place, there are always those who love to join in the commotion.

“Wait until you win before you boast,” the general responded calmly, unruffled, as if utterly confident. “But I think you’ll have no chance to ‘kill’ me.”

“We’ll see about that!” Lei Yun clenched his fists, his knuckles cracking. His battle power surged, like a raging current within him. He shot a fierce glare at the crowd, then turned a savage, threatening look on Dugu Bieli. “If you know what’s good for you, get lost now—don’t wait for me to throw you out of the arena!”

“Kill me?”

Dugu Bieli sneered. He despised this kind of person the most. He had seen the earlier exchange clearly and respected the general for admitting defeat with dignity—so now he had no intention of holding back. Lei Yun’s attitude irked him profoundly; he even decided to revise his goal for this match.

He would utterly crush Lei Yun.

“Aren’t you leaving?”

Lei Yun unleashed his aura, holding nothing back, feeling as fierce as he ever had, yet his opponent didn’t budge. Lei Yun roared in anger, but inwardly wondered, “Could it be that last hit rattled his brains?”

“Make your move.” Dugu Bieli frowned, adjusting his stance, ready for a full-force assault. As for his original purpose—to temper his experience and technique—that was now pushed aside.

No matter; this one would do just as well.

At the very least, Lei Yun could serve as another mark on his victory record.

“If you want a beating, I’ll oblige.” Lei Yun finally erupted, his fury burning in his chest, craving an outlet.

Boom!

Lei Yun attacked, throwing a punch.

His fist moved like the wind, swift as lightning, immense as the sun, like a meteor crashing down—overwhelming and unstoppable. Clearly, he intended to end the fight in a single blow.

With a hiss—Dugu Bieli moved, his figure flashing like a shooting star across the sky, a brilliant arc cleaving through the void. He unleashed his full fivefold strength, not wasting a bit, dodging the fist with precision to appear right in front of Lei Yun, striking forward and back with both hands, focusing all his force on a single point at Lei Yun’s chest.

Even as a general, with great strength and resilience, Lei Yun had neglected his defense in his all-out attack. He saw only a blur as his target vanished, then felt a series of sharp stabs at his chest, as though pierced by needles, over and over. Instinctively, he doubled over, gritting his teeth, and stretched out his arms in a desperate attempt to seize his opponent in a crushing embrace.