Chapter 156

Chapter 156 Hearing there was a reward, Su Bei’s interest piqued: “What kind of resource?” If it was Mental Crystals, he’d pass. He’d already acquired plenty through various means and didn’t need more. No need to put himself in the spotlight for them. “A Skill Book,” the teacher replied. “The type’s uncertain, but even if you can’t use it, it’ll fetch a good price.” A Skill Book was a small booklet detailing how to master a specific Ability technique. Not like in games where touching it granted new skills instantly, but requiring diligent practice as instructed to learn the Ability. Still, this was enough to make Ability users flock to it. Beyond school-taught skills and those easily developed from one’s Ability, further development was tough, needing both luck and strength. Si Zhaohua’s [Holy Judgment], was learned from a Skill Book from the Si Family’s collection. Some Skill Books were written by Ability users to record their skill acquisition methods. Governments worldwide urged skilled Ability users to preserve these books. Others came from certain Ability users’ powers, extracting deceased users’ skills into Skill Books. These were akin to Jiang Tianming’s Ability, often seen as sinister by society. Such Skill Books were typically hoarded by Ability users’ families, bought by the wealthy or governments. For safety, many stored them in private Different Spaces, out of reach from search-type Ability users. Of course, these treasures sometimes surfaced due to an Ability user’s sudden death or a family’s downfall. The Skill Book resource point the teacher mentioned was likely of this type. Undoubtedly, this was a grand offer, and the teacher came with sincerity. Su Bei couldn’t find a reason to refuse: “Deal.” On winning, Su Bei wasn’t 100% confident, but he’d seen Elvis' combat skills—frankly, it was subpar. In their Class S, Elvis' skills would at best tie with Zhou Renjie, who was second-to-last in combat, with Ai Baozhu being the worst. If the rest of Special Track Class 1’s combat skills were worse than Elvis', even with a gauntlet draining his stamina, Su Bei had a shot at winning. He excelled at one-strike takedowns, targeting critical areas like the throat, eyes, or groin. Losing was fine too—the teacher promised the map regardless, and win or lose, the shame wouldn’t fall on him. That didn’t mean the match was cost-free. By agreeing, Su Bei would earn the enmity of Special Track Class 1, openly opposing them. But Elvis had mentioned class-hopping together. Su Bei trusted his status as the principal’s disciple to make him a class-hopper. So, offending the class slightly didn’t matter—he’d soon leave. If Elvis hadn’t mentioned class-hopping, what then? Su Bei would deal with it. Hostility wasn’t new; he’d faced it before. As long as the reward stayed, his choice wouldn’t waver. After discussing details, they returned to the classroom. The buzz-cut teacher stepped to the podium: “Alright, the next class and today’s self-study are mine, per your class teacher. You have ten minutes to decide the order. The match starts after.” The combat classroom erupted. The brown-haired boy questioned discontentedly: “Teacher, what’s the point of this match? So many of us against one—win or lose, it’s disgraceful!” Indeed, but the teacher had his reasons: “I’ve discussed with Su Bei. If he loses, we won’t publicize it, so you won’t be called bullies. But if you lose, sorry—thirty against one and still losing? I can’t cover for you.” Honestly, the teacher didn’t think they’d lose. They were just first-years—how strong could their combat be? Typical school training drained stamina heavily, unfit for gauntlets. But with his keen eye, judging Su Bei’s noon match, even if Su Bei lost, he’d make Class 1 suffer heavily. Being outclassed in Ability and then thrashed in a combat gauntlet should wake them up. If Su Bei won, no issue. A one-versus-thirty victory would expose their training neglect, a lesson to remember. The teacher wasn’t worried about class disgrace. If they lost, Class 1 wouldn’t spread it. Nor would Su Bei, per their hidden agreement. He’d omitted this earlier to give the students urgency. Seeing no room for negotiation, the class gave Su Bei complex looks, then huddled to discuss. Ten minutes passed quickly. After they set the order, the teacher outlined simple rules: no weapons, no Abilities. The first to face Su Bei was a petite girl. Seeing her, Su Bei understood their plan—send weaker fighters to drain his stamina. As expected, she ran to the classroom’s far end, aiming for a war of attrition. Admittedly, against someone unbeatable, this was the best choice. But it only worked on combat novices, not Su Bei. He moved to mid-room, halving her space. Slowly shrinking the range, he cornered her in seconds. Subduing her was effortless—a feint at the groin, then a quick throat grab, easily neutralizing her. “So strong...” His cat-and-mouse ease drew gasps from Class 1. Meant to drain Su Bei, they failed miserably. The first fighter wasted a chance without costing him any stamina. Worse, they had no counter. Their initial plan to slack and exhaust him was futile. Su Bei’s positioning had easily trapped the girl. In the limited classroom space, his method was near-universal. He’d given a vivid lesson: running wasn’t a cure-all. But if running failed, fighting was even worse. The image of Su Bei subduing the girl in seconds lingered. Though she was among the class' weakest, her instant defeat spoke volumes. “What now?” The class looked helplessly to their smarter peers for guidance. No solution. Ian shrugged: “Stick to the order, but fight seriously. Drain him as much as you can.” Their only option. They nodded reluctantly, fighting with full effort. But they soon found even serious effort barely threatened Su Bei. After three were swiftly defeated, even the teacher grew restless. He hadn’t expected Su Bei’s prowess. His techniques were military-grade, aimed to kill. The students couldn’t cope. But with the match started, there was no backing out. The teacher opened his mouth, then sat silently. Elvis, not part of Class 1 or the match, approached the teacher, eyes fixed on Su Bei: “How do I train to reach his level?” The seasoned teacher thought, then said: “With talent, three to five years in a regular army should do.” “Without talent?” Elvis asked. He believed in his Ability talent, but not in combat. Without talent... The teacher didn’t answer, just shrugged at Elvis. Sometimes words were not necessary. Elvis got it: without talent, Su Bei’s level was unattainable. Meanwhile, Su Bei eliminated another. Ian realized their approach wasn’t working. They weren’t even fodder—pure time-wasting. “Sorry, can we discuss strategy again?” Ian asked. “Just a bit.” Su Bei nodded indifferently, arms crossed, leaning on the wall: “Go ahead.” Ian wasn’t lying. In under five minutes, the next fighter stepped up. Unexpectedly, this one was stronger, trading blows with Su Bei before fleeing, lasting three minutes. Three minutes wasn’t long, but in a heated fight, it was significant, especially compared to the earlier instant defeats, showing some skill. The next few lasted three to four minutes. Su Bei thought they’d switched tactics, sending the strongest first, then the weak. But after seven or eight, the easily defeated returned. Interesting. Ian hadn’t fought yet. Clearly, with his popularity in a martial school, Ian’s strength was notable. If he hadn’t fought, stronger fighters likely remained. Su Bei understood: their strategy was to use strong fighters to drain him, giving weaker ones breathing room. Then, the strong would finish him. A solid, feasible plan—if their skill gap wasn’t vast. Unfortunately, Su Bei was stronger pre-academy, trained a semester under combat master Meng Huai, making their gap like an Ability user versus a normal person. The earlier strong fighters drained some stamina, but not enough to weaken Su Bei against the weak, whom he still dispatched instantly. He even recovered stamina during these fights, as the teacher hadn’t set time limits per match. He hadn’t delayed earlier because defeating them took little effort. But the stronger ones posed challenges, and to avoid upsets, he used time wisely. Seeing him forgo instant kills against weaker foes, leisurely recovering, the class' faces darkened. They saw his intent. If Su Bei regained stamina, their efforts were for naught. A girl shouted: “Go, don’t let him recover!” The boy on the field realized the issue, abandoning escape to charge Su Bei with fists. The next second, Su Bei subdued him effortlessly. No choice—their strategy failed. The next few, though weak, attacked aggressively, denying Su Bei rest. Their tactic worked slightly. Su Bei felt his stamina drain rapidly, with no respite as opponents kept coming. The match progressed quickly. In fifteen minutes, only five remained, Ian among them, likely the finale. The next was a girl, 1.72 meters—tall for a girl. Her eyes burned with resolve: “Su Bei, I admit you’re strong. I can’t beat you, but I’ll do my utmost to hinder you!” She charged, bare-handed but like iron, each strike was heavy. Su Bei was impressed. She was among the class' most diligent combat students, her moves practiced and precise, far better than the earlier amateurs. The final few were indeed leagues above the rest, causing Su Bei notable trouble. Not enough to defeat him, but his stamina took a hit. The teacher hadn’t lied—their skills were below Elvis'. If Elvis fought, it’d be close. After twenty-plus opponents, even minimal stamina loss added up. Facing Ian last, Su Bei was panting, forehead sweating. Seeing this, Ian grinned brightly: “Not bad, huh? Our strategy worked!” “Decent,” Su Bei wiped sweat, eyeing him. “But not enough.” He didn’t wait, striking first. Seeing his sudden burst, Ian’s face changed, hastily blocking. Su Bei smiled, unleashing a triple combo, forcing Ian back. They planned to drain him—did they think he didn’t know to conserve? Soon, Su Bei flipped Ian over his shoulder, slamming him down. Ian couldn’t rise. Su Bei, exhausted, sat beside him, leaning against the wall to catch his breath. The teacher didn’t renege, announcing: “Su Bei wins.” Looking at the disheveled class, he said little, concluding: “One against thirty in a gauntlet, and he won. Reflect on that. Class dismissed!” The teacher left, but the class lingered, complex gazes on the calmly seated Su Bei, unsure what to say. Ian, recovering slightly, spoke first: “Impressive. I see now how vital combat class is. Can I train with you later? Your fighting’s better than the teacher’s.” Su Bei was blunt: “A month won’t make much difference. Train diligently with the combat teacher.” “True,” Ian exhaled. “Lesson learned. Your Ability and combat outclass mine—I’ve got no chance against you.” Others nodded, having undervalued combat as Special Track students, thinking their skills decent. This was a real slap. Su Bei glanced around. Seeing no strong resentment despite their defeat, he added: “It’s not too late to start. Ability users’ physiques grow fast. If I stop training, I’d have to restart.” This wasn’t just consolation. Combat relied on physique; as strength and speed changed, timing and techniques needed adjustment. Standing, he brushed off dust: “I’m out.” He left the classroom. It was the last class, and with no others, he needed a shower. The boys’ dorms were shared, so Elvis walked back with him. “Today’s matter stays quiet,” Su Bei said casually to the black-and-white-haired boy. The teacher had agreed with him but forgot to confirm with Elvis. Likely, as the principal’s disciple, Elvis wouldn’t shame the class. Still, Su Bei spoke to avoid slip-ups. “Of course,” Elvis nodded, as expected. The gauntlet had briefly shocked him but didn’t dampen his mood. With the afternoon free, he shook his phone: “Game tonight?” Su Bei glanced at him, then his phone, chuckling: “Not reflecting with them?” “I reflected after our noon fight,” Elvis huffed, feeling underestimated. He’d realized his combat needed work then—no reflection needed now. Su Bei’s one-versus-thirty feat didn’t surprise him. If Su Bei couldn’t do it, Elvis would’ve been shocked and annoyed. After all, Su Bei hadn’t held back against him. His combat was clearly superior. The stronger Su Bei proved, the less shameful Elvis' defeat. Back at the dorm, Jiang Tianming and Si Zhaohua were already there. Their last class lacked Class 1’s arrangement, so they returned early. “Su Bei? Did you just fight the teacher?” Jiang Tianming asked, shocked at Su Bei’s state. Su Bei wasn’t disheveled, but his damp bangs clung to his forehead, his braid loose on his shoulder. His usually neat uniform’s collar was unbuttoned, slightly open, exuding casual charm. Handsome, but unlike his usual image, it felt oddly striking. Su Bei nodded vaguely: “Sort of. Last class was combat.” Fighting thirty students felt like fighting a teacher—maybe easier, with a chance to win. But more tiring, unlike losing quickly to a teacher. He wouldn’t share the match’s truth. Having promised the teacher secrecy, even classmates were excluded. They likely wouldn’t leak, but why risk it? Better to keep quiet. Though sensing his omission, Jiang Tianming didn’t press. Respecting his friend’s silence, he changed topics: “Go shower. Heard about a well-reviewed cafeteria window. Want to try it tonight?”