First Battlefield Commander! - Chapter 119
Chapter 119: Friendly
Three hours of activity time was far too rushed.
Even with a perfect win record, accounting for running time, rest periods, combat transitions, and other delays, it would take nearly two hours. And aside from a few exceptional students, maintaining a fifty percent win rate was already quite impressive for most.
Especially with the five-minute combat limit—if you encountered an opponent who knew they couldn't beat you and just wanted to drag you down, deliberately avoiding direct confrontation and resorting to evasive maneuvers to stretch the time to five minutes before forcing you back into running, all your efforts would be wasted.
Judging by the morning's results, it was clear that timeouts leading to invalid matches weren't uncommon.
Under all these constraints, completing the task within three hours was extremely difficult.
In such situations, it came down to character and luck.
For the top students who might achieve early victories, the others had reached an unprecedented consensus to collectively resist them. Since the platoons were composed of students from different schools who didn't know each other, they had no qualms about targeting them.
The few who had secured six consecutive wins in the morning and earned early rest had all been blacklisted. From the start, plans were made to "snipe" them, ensuring their progress was hindered and their rhythm disrupted.
If they couldn't win, they could at least stall. The agreed-upon tactic against these top performers was to employ evasive maneuvers to waste time, keeping them in a constant state of running to drain their stamina.
There was no other way. The results of the previous training session affected the next one, and to keep the majority's strength on roughly the same level, the leading students had to be slowed down.
On the surface, it was individual training, but in reality, it was a competition.
Having already experienced this in the morning, the students knew what to expect.
Those with ample stamina and confidence in their abilities chose to seize early advantages. The intermittent rest periods determined later combat performance, so while their physical condition still allowed them to fight at their usual level, they could rack up a few wins first.
Other students, after calmly assessing their competition, concluded that completing the task was nearly impossible. They simply gave up, opting to jog slowly for three hours to conserve energy for the evening's activities.
In short, no one had good intentions. The moment someone showed promise, a line of people stood ready to drag them down.
The time for wits and courage had arrived.
Zhao Zhuoluo and Ye Buqing exchanged a glance before sprinting ahead together. The others behind them controlled their pace, refusing to give chase recklessly.
The two finished their kilometer almost simultaneously and entered the combat ring for the afternoon's first match. Soon, other students began arriving at the arena.
This time, no one lingered at the edges to stall.
Zhao Zhuoluo and Ye Buqing opted for quick resolutions, settling matches in a single move. Both opened with a straight punch. Zhao Zhuoluo, with his superior speed and strength, seized Ye Buqing's arm. Rather than struggle, Ye Buqing stepped out of bounds.
The first match ended in seconds.
The instructor glanced at the time and reminded them, "With enough participants, the same pair can only face each other once. And you can't keep fighting students from your own school."
The two nodded in understanding.
After their match, instead of resting, they resumed running. Soon, they lapped Lian Sheng by a full circle.
Lian Sheng: "..."
Lian Sheng strolled leisurely into a combat zone where a male student already stood waiting.
"Sorry about this!" The boy rubbed his hands together sheepishly. "You get it, right?"
Lian Sheng nodded. "I get it. Don't worry—I won't let you feel sorry for long."
A four-meter diameter circle wasn't large enough for him to evade her forever. Against an average male opponent, slipping under might work, but Lian Sheng's height denied him that option. His only choice was to dodge sideways.
Lian Sheng lacked explosive power, but even the strongest bursts had deceleration and reacceleration phases. When she blocked his path and he turned or changed direction, that adjustment window was her perfect opening—especially when she could predict his movements.
Soon, Lian Sheng closed in from an angle.
The boy glanced down at his footing, afraid of stepping out of bounds, and stepped forward again to face her properly.
Against a male peer, he could rely on brute force to stall, but against Lian Sheng, he found himself restrained.
The most effective moves—striking the chest or groin—were off-limits. When he defended, Lian Sheng always struck bizarre spots that sent sharp pain through his body, disrupting his stance before kicking him out.
As expected, Lian Sheng seemed frail but was the hardest opponent to deal with.
"Agh—!" The boy clutched his head and dropped to his knees. "Why?! Why this?! I refuse to accept this!"
The instructor scoffed. "Get out already. Next! We're busy here."
Lian Sheng sat down to rest peacefully while the boy ran off indignantly.
Midway, he performed a series of martial arts moves—rolling, pretending to get hit, disrupting his breathing—before continuing his run. This was far more exhausting than simply running a few kilometers.
One instructor leaned back and asked his colleague, "That one just now—your student?"
The instructor responsible for Alliance University glanced over and nodded. "Yeah."
"Hah, not bad at close combat. Her combat awareness is advanced, and she seems unusually experienced. She switches between offense and defense seamlessly."
"Still not good enough," the instructor said with a shake of his head. "Her strikes are precise, targeting nerve clusters, but her strength is lacking, her endurance is weak, and her explosive power isn't great. Mechs don't have the same flaws as these students. Unless she plans to be an infantry soldier forever?"
"She can train for it. Explosive power can be built up over a few years of hard work, but could you develop that kind of perception in a decade?"
The instructor said, "With sharp perception, she could be a sniper."
"That's completely different! Long-range versus close-range, static versus dynamic, sensitivity to light versus situational awareness—none of it's the same!"
"Then what do you want me to do? Strength and explosive power depend on talent and limits too. It's not just about being tough." The instructor grinned. "I've always believed my physique was blessed by fate."
His colleague clicked his tongue in disdain.
A few nearby students let out mocking noises.
The instructor glared. "What's with the 'eh's? One more sound and I'll make you run two extra laps!"
Zhao Zhuoluo and Ye Buqing were likely among those "blessed by fate."
Zhao Zhuoluo was consistently outstanding, with balanced, top-tier stats. Ye Buqing specialized in explosive power, making him a sprinter. Combined with his muscular strength, he could chase from afar and brawl up close.
Attempting to grind them down with evasive tactics required considerable skill and yielded minimal results.
Cheng Ze was an endurance-type. Unlike Zhao Zhuoluo and Ye Buqing, who dominated early, he became terrifying in the mid-to-late stages.
He lagged slightly at first but surged ahead later.
They preferred quick resolutions, while Lian Sheng deliberately paced herself, sticking to her rhythm. No matter how the rules changed or how fierce the competition grew, it seemed irrelevant to her.
Others had already shortened their ten-minute rest periods to five, pausing only to catch their breath. Some stamina monsters didn't even rest until after their third run.
Lian Sheng appeared the most relaxed, yet she still knelt by the medical station's water bucket, playing with the water and chatting before resuming her runs and breaks.
Once again, she completed the noon session with six consecutive wins, sitting comfortably at the medical station while watching the others struggle.
No one had managed to defeat her in the one-on-one matches.
The instructor glared at her and smacked the ground in frustration. "I really want to kick her butt and shove her forward! This isn't the spirit of our training at all!"
"Can't you guys step up? Can't you win just once?" the instructor lamented. "Ugh, this batch of boys is hopeless!"
The male students looked aggrieved.
Fang Jianchen fell victim to "sniping" during his final match. After that, outsiders kept targeting him, dragging him into round after round of attrition.
By then, his stamina was flagging, and his close-combat skills weren't monstrous enough to break through the deliberate obstruction. After several futile kilometers, he had no choice but to slow down and adjust his rhythm—though even jogging was draining.
Wiping his sweat with his shirt, he realized time was running out.
"Outstanding, they're bullying your dad!" Fang Jianchen wailed. "Avenge me!"
Zhao Zhuoluo sat quietly nearby. "Dad's already finished running."
Fang Jianchen: "Brother Ye!"
Ye Buqing stretched his legs and nodded. "Keep it up."
"These heartless bastards!" Fang Jianchen raged. "Why drag everyone to hell together? Aren't they afraid it'll get crowded?!"
Lian Sheng fanned herself with the medical assistant's fan and said lazily, "Why not call me 'Brother Lian'?"
Fang Jianchen roared, "Screw off!"
Fang Jianchen had pushed too hard early on, exhausting himself, but it had also bought him extra time for the later stages.
He used two kilometers to steady his breathing before accelerating again, running right at the six-minute limit to secure another combat chance.
Just one more win! Please give him a female opponent!
Lap after lap, those still trapped sank deeper into misery. Lian Sheng was sent by Doctor Lin to deliver water to them.
When Fang Jianchen passed by again, Lian Sheng asked, "Do you still have the strength to run?"
Fang Jianchen took the cup and rasped, "When I hit the twelfth lap, I thought I was done for. But by the fifteenth, I realized I could fly."
He added weakly, "And then I really did fly—westward. Too bad it wasn't enlightenment."
The true test always came after exhaustion set in.
By the time the last of the crazed had gone mad, their training was finally over.
With fifteen minutes left, the competition reached its peak, and Fang Jianchen finally completed his task.
Thanks to their relentless mutual sabotage, half the students failed the three-hour session and would begin weighted runs that evening.
The victors either had absolute combat prowess, ensuring high win rates, or astonishing endurance, brute-forcing their way through sheer repetition.
Regardless, everyone could now clearly sense the training's hostility.
The longer it went on, the heavier the physical toll, and the more severe the tasks became. Once weighted penalties were added, shaking them off would be nearly impossible.
The harsh rules were designed to push as many people as possible into this state of oppression—both mentally and physically—in the shortest time.
Like heavy chains binding them, only to be unlocked when it all ended.
The initial training targeted the stragglers. Now, it focused on those with average endurance and combat skills. Later, even those with sufficient stamina or combat prowess would face stricter demands until everyone was thoroughly crushed—the true purpose of this intensive training.
Afterward, they headed to dinner.
Fang Jianchen, on the verge of collapse, felt stomach acid churning. But he had to eat heavily to maintain energy, so he alternated between gagging and shoveling food into his mouth. The others lost their appetites and abandoned him for other tables.
After eating, they went straight to the training room. Students who hadn't recovered yet sat on the floor, adjusting their condition. The room was littered with exhausted bodies.
Soon, the instructors arrived to line them up. Seeing this spectacle, they were quite pleased.
"Remember the rules? Evening session continues," the instructor said. "The top hundred from noon, step forward! Follow the instructor in the middle for sniper training."
For them, two identical sessions were enough to gauge the students' abilities. Letting these early finishers rest too comfortably wasn't in the training's spirit—it was time for the next round of targeted torment.
"Me! I'm a sniper!" Fang Jianchen nearly wept upon hearing this. He raised his hand. "Give me a chance, Instructor! I want sniper training too!"
The instructor glanced at him, thought for a moment, then smiled and nodded. "Then go with them."
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Yikes what challenges have they prepared
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