137 Lulling oneself into believing all is well

The kick connected. Although the young man behind him had not exerted his full strength in the interest of speed, it was still enough to send Zhang Pa stumbling forward.

Directly in front of Zhang Pa was the fellow whose temple he had just struck with a punch. Using the momentum from the kick at his back, Zhang Pa lunged forward, executed a roll, and effortlessly broke free from their encirclement.

No matter how skilled a fighter someone might be, taking on two opponents simultaneously is grueling. Facing five men at once, even with his formidable ability to absorb punishment, Zhang Pa could not afford to play the fool and fight head-on. He had to be agile, he had to evade, and he had to minimize the number of hits he took.

As he rose from his forward roll, the man who had kicked him from behind vaulted over his dazed companion, leaped into the air with a twisted torso like a character in an arcade fighting game, and swept a leg toward Zhang Pa’s head.

Simultaneously, the other three youths closed in fast. Because one of their own was sprawled out directly ahead, they had to step slightly half a pace or a full pace to the side as they pressed the siege.

Everyone moved with swiftness. The notion of dealing with one opponent before turning to the next only exists in the movies; in reality, no one grants you that kind of opportunity. Once trained, as long as one maintains punching speed, the moment you strike another is the exact moment another will strike you.

Right now, an aerial sweeping kick was coming at him from the front, while the other three were half a step behind, about to arrive in the blink of an eye.

At moments like this, victory belongs to whoever stays calm and fast. Put yourself in this situation, and you would either turn and run or duck down to dodge.

Zhang Pa did not dodge. Fueled by a chest full of rage, he reminded himself: I came here to settle a score!

Seeing the kick come sweeping in, Zhang Pa ducked low and lunged violently forward, protecting his head with both hands. He was prepared to take a blow head-on just to take down one more person.

The kick lashed out and smacked against Zhang Pa’s left arm, its force somewhat diffused. By this point, Zhang Pa was charging like an unbridled bull, his hands guarding his head as he slammed squarely into the fellow's crotch.

Given that his head was simply too large and the surface area too wide, if it had been a fist instead, that fellow's lower regions would likely have been completely shattered.

With this ferocious impact, the man was sent flying backward through the air before crashing to the ground.

Zhang Pa continued his forward charge, trampling fiercely over the fallen man with both feet.

Despite taking those two heavy stomps, the fellow retained a quick enough reaction to reach out and grab Zhang Pa’s legs. Yet that was merely a reflex born of long training, especially while a searing agony still flared below.

Even remaining still hurt; it disrupted his movements and crippled his speed. Unable to catch Zhang Pa, and lacking any strength in his hands anyway, even if he had managed to grab hold, it would have been useless. Instead, Zhang Pa’s heavy tread bent him double like a snapped branch, both ends arching upward.

Zhang Pa strode right over him. In a movie, this sequence would have paused for a moment: the protagonist would face the remaining adversaries in a combat stance, pause to readjust, or perhaps coldly re-evaluate the enemy.

This was reality, not cinema. Before the fight even began, Zhang Pa had already run through numerous battle simulations in his mind.

To venture a brief aside, fighting is actually much like studying—you must grind countless similar practice problems, and the more you do, the more proficient you become. When you have practiced enough, and your opponent fails to match your reactions, your odds of winning skyrocket.

Why do people say practical combat is the best teacher? Because if you fight often enough, you grow strong enough to know whether the enemy intends to slap or punch the moment they raise a hand.

There is no genius who understands fighting without studying it; real combat is the sole master.

Having been cornered and beaten by five men in a KTV yesterday, Zhang Pa was not about to repeat the same mistake. These opponents were experts; he could not treat them like ordinary civilians. He had to strike their vital points, and he had to be fast!

Having swiftly downed two men and rendered them temporarily incapacitated, Zhang Pa did not pause for even a second. Stride-stepping right over the fellow with the groin injury, he planted his right foot firmly, twisted his body with explosive force, and charged toward the last youth in line.

Every single one of these movements had been premeditated over and over. He had to be fast, and he had to conserve every ounce of time to defeat them.

As he lunged forward, planting his right foot and bringing his left leg forward, he twisted his waist violently to the right, spinning his entire body one hundred and eighty degrees in a fraction of a second before resuming his charge.

From the moment the five-on-one fight began, Zhang Pa had not drawn a proper breath. Every motion was executed purely on sheer adrenaline—cohesive, fluid, and lightning-fast! Knocking down the first two opponents had taken less than four seconds.

It was terrifyingly swift, merciless, and designed to neutralize the enemy with a single blow every time. Now, he charged toward his third opponent.

This third youth was equally skilled. The moment Zhang Pa trampled over the second man, he had already pivoted. Disregarding whatever Zhang Pa might do, he launched into a flying kick straight ahead.

Mirroring his move was a youth on the left, who took two quick strides, leaped into the air, and brought a fist crashing down.

Every single one of these men was a veteran fighter. Their combat relied purely on speed and power, entirely stripped of any superfluous, flashy flourishes.

At this juncture, neither of them wasted time pondering alternatives; their sole objective was to stick close to Zhang Pa. Backed by years of brutal training, they knew that once they closed the distance, the outcome was out of their hands—even if they couldn't overpower or knock him down, they could at least entangle him for a while.

This battle unfolded like fireworks; once ignited, it cascaded without a single stutter or pause. The instant Zhang Pa downed the second man, the remaining three reacted immediately. As Zhang Pa charged the third, both the third and fourth launched their assault.

Just like the first two, the third opponent attacked with a kick, as though these military experts possessed only legs.

Naturally, that was not the case; the reason was simply that legs possess greater reach than arms. Although a five-on-one fight lacked honor, they cared nothing for that—putting down the opponent was the ultimate goal. A leg reaches further than a hand, granting a slight head start in closing distance, forcing the opponent to react fractionally sooner, and buying time to forge a complete five-man encirclement and secure victory.

Moreover, in dynamic combat, a leg initiates movement faster than a hand, naturally rendering it fractionally quicker than a fist.

Seeing the third opponent spin and launch a kick—a visually striking maneuver backed by undeniable power—it was clear that taking that blow would end badly.

Yet dodging was impossible. Behind him, the fourth opponent was hurtling forward with a flying punch. It was the posture of a headlong dive, bound to lose balance, yet clearly intended to knock Zhang Pa down even if it meant the attacker tumbled too.

In the blink of an eye, facing such skilled opponents, evasion was out of the question. Besides, Zhang Pa had no intention of dodging.

Thus, for the third time facing an opponent head-on, and confronting the incoming flying kick, Zhang Pa once again targeted the groin. This time, he didn't even bother to block. The instant the kick connected with his body, Zhang Pa threw both arms around that leg, threw his weight to swing his body toward the left, and stepped forward laterally while bending his right arm.

This bend did not stem from his arm alone, but from the motion of his entire torso. With both hands locked around the enemy's leg, he pressed his body forward, bent his arm, and then released his grip to deliver an elbow strike. He slammed his elbow—the most solid part of his anatomy—directly into the enemy's most vulnerable spot.

Unable to endure the agony, the third man let out a shrill scream and crashed heavily to the ground.

As they wrestled, the man's collapse dragged Zhang Pa down with him.

In truth, Zhang Pa had been struck down. While he was elbowing the third man, the fourth had lunged forward with a flying fist, hurling himself toward Zhang Pa and landing a solid blow squarely across Zhang Pa’s neck.

A blow like that could easily prove fatal. Fortunately, it came from behind, and since Zhang Pa was already lunging diagonally forward, he managed to evade the full brunt of the force. Even so, the blow staggered him, and combined with the third man's entanglement, he went down.

Not only did he fall, but the man who had hurled himself forward with the flying punch tumbled down as well, landing prone on the earth. Immediately planting both hands on the ground and engaging his core without ever standing up, he whipped both legs backward and kicked outward right along the ground.

It was yet another attack that abandoned balance. Whether it hit Zhang Pa or not, the attacker was guaranteed to end up flat on his back.

Yet it saved precious time: the moment Zhang Pa fell, he fell too. Just as Zhang Pa tried to rise, the man had already lashed out with his feet.

In this emergency, Zhang Pa could only twist his body sideways.

It was not that his reflexes were sluggish, but because he was still pinned beneath half the leg of the third man whose crotch had just been shattered, he lacked the freedom to move cleanly.

Zhang Pa took another hit, sent flying over a meter away by the fourth fellow.

He had originally intended to use the impact to roll and stand back up, but while the idea was sound, reality proved otherwise. The enemy had discarded all pretense of balance simply to land a blow, generating massive force that guaranteed excruciating pain no matter where it landed. Agony inevitably paralyzes movement temporarily.

Then the fifth youth lunged forward. Even more vicious than his fourth companion, he hurled himself into a ferocious tackle, wrapping his arms and legs around Zhang Pa before freezing in place.

Of the five elite fighters, three had been rendered combat-incapacitated by Zhang Pa's targeted strikes to the groin, leaving only two. While the fifth man pinned Zhang Pa, the fourth youth—who had been lying flat on his back—snapped upward in a dynamic kip-up, surged forward in two strides, and drove a kick straight toward Zhang Pa’s head.

That was true savagery!

With both of Zhang Pa’s hands immobilized by the fifth man, unable to break free in time, and watching the flying kick hurtle toward him, he hardened his heart. Throwing his entire body's weight behind a violent jerk of his head, he met the incoming boot head-on.

Neither side held anything back. The kick grazed down, tearing away a patch of scalp. Zhang Pa fought desperately; despite his ears ringing and his vision swimming, he leveraged the momentum of that very kick to wrench his arms free, bringing his fists down in a vicious barrage upon the fifth man's head.

Three consecutive punches later, the grip of the fifth man loosened. But at that moment, the fourth youth delivered yet another kick.

Driven by desperation, Zhang Pa grabbed the man pinning him and rolled, using him as a human shield. A dull thud echoed as the fifth man was struck by his own comrade, letting out a muffled groan as his grip weakened further. Seizing the opportunity, Zhang Pa broke free and rapidly rolled backward.

It was wretched; fighting like this was utterly pathetic, reducing him to rolling around on the filthy ground.

Yet Zhang Pa was taking on five men at once! Against five military-trained experts, a conventional duel offered zero chance of victory.

Executing two quick rolls, he leveraged the momentum to force himself into a sitting position and glared at the enemy.

The fourth youth, who had mistakenly kicked his own companion, did not pursue. Instead, he glanced down at the four men sprawled across the floor. The first three remained out of commission, having suffered blows too severe to recover from in this short span.

The fifth companion, having taken a vicious kick from his own teammate, was pressing a hand to his back and slowly pushing himself up.

Zhang Pa hoisted himself up sluggishly as well, feeling a warm trickle running down his head. He reached up to touch it—blood, just as he expected. He raised a sleeve and casually wiped it away, wincing at the sharp sting. Pausing a moment to let the dizziness clear, he shook his head slightly.

Noticing that this guy was still moving and still possessed combat capability, the fourth youth stared down at his own foot with deep suspicion: *When did my kicks get so weak?*

From the opening bell until now, less than fifteen full seconds had elapsed, yet three of Wang Zhongxing’s faction had already been neutralized. Two were nursing their groins and struggling into a sitting posture, terrified to move because any motion amplified the agony, while one remained completely unconscious.

Within the span of a few counts, the remaining two opponents assumed combat stances, exchanged a glance, and simultaneously stepped forward to close in on Zhang Pa.

By this point, even a fool could see just how terrifying Zhang Pa’s combat prowess truly was—not merely formidable, but ferocious, with the terrifying, unyielding madness of a man who didn't care if he died.