Chapter 128: Observation

The room was plunged into silence. After a dozen seconds, Kamiyama Osamu frowned.

Li Wensheng was unfamiliar with the characteristics of the Shinkage-ryū style, which relied on "momentum" and counter-attacking defense. Kamiyama’s sharp, piercing gaze was his way of seizing that momentum. Under such a cold, intense stare, anyone lacking a firm will would typically feel a sense of dread, causing their spirit to falter.

Yet, Li Wensheng paid no heed to Kamiyama’s glare; he simply studied and observed him. As for the counter-attacking defense, since Li Wensheng refused to strike, Kamiyama had no opening to counter.

A few seconds later, seeing Li Wensheng still motionless, Kamiyama took a deep breath, his eyes shifting from sharp to murderous.

"Hah!"

With a loud shout, Kamiyama lunged forward, his feet landing on the planks of a fallen bookshelf. He swung both hands downward, a flash of cold light erupting as his blade slashed rapidly toward Li Wensheng.

Clang!

Kamiyama’s technique was swift, but Li Wensheng was faster. He raised his katana horizontally, blocking Kamiyama’s strike. Kamiyama immediately retracted his blade, stepped to the left onto another shelf plank, and swung his sword diagonally at Li Wensheng.

Clang!

Blocked again. Kamiyama did not withdraw; he twisted his wrists, turning the blade sideways to swipe at Li Wensheng’s right arm.

Clang!

Blocked once more. Kamiyama stepped further to the left and slashed again.

Clang! Clang! Clang...

For a time, the sound of clashing steel rang out incessantly.

Clang! After another block, Kamiyama lost his composure and roared in anger, "Baka!"

He had swung over a dozen times, yet no matter the angle, Li Wensheng was always there to block him. More frustratingly, Li Wensheng had not launched a single offensive move; he was merely parrying. It was maddening—it felt as if Li Wensheng were the true master of the Shinkage-ryū.

With another roar, Kamiyama stepped forward, raised his sword high with both hands, and brought it down with all his might toward Li Wensheng’s head.

Faced with the chilling blade, Li Wensheng’s eyes transformed, filling with murderous intent. Through the previous dozen exchanges, he had fully gauged Kamiyama’s strength. His force was far beyond that of a normal man—not something gained through mere training, but clearly the result of drugs.

However, compared to Li Wensheng’s own strength, it was still vastly inferior. He hadn’t even used half his power to parry the longsword. As for his reaction speed, it was slightly faster than an average person’s—likely the result of years of sword practice. Even instructors at the Military Statistics Bureau training camp could achieve such reflexes.

Having tested that the drug only enhanced physical strength, Li Wensheng stopped holding back. Instead of dodging or parrying the incoming blade, he lunged forward to the right.

Where Kamiyama’s lunge was an exaggeration, Li Wensheng’s was a masterclass in motion. He moved like a fired arrow, reaching Kamiyama’s side before the blade could descend. With a long stride, he moved to Kamiyama’s flank, twisted his wrist, and brought his sword up in a graceful arc. With a backhanded thrust, he drove his blade into Kamiyama’s back.

Li Wensheng put his weight into the strike. Piercing Kamiyama was like cutting through thin paper; in an instant, the tip of the blade emerged from the man’s chest. He gave the hilt a slight twist, withdrew the blood-soaked katana, and turned toward the others.

Kamiyama turned his head with great difficulty, staring at Li Wensheng’s back in disbelief. "Not... human!" he murmured.

With a dull thud, Kamiyama collapsed onto the bookshelf.

As Kamiyama fell, Li Wensheng swung his sword, lopping off another man’s head.

Clang!

Faced with several incoming blades, Li Wensheng raised his sword to block. The attackers felt their palms go numb; it felt as if they had struck solid iron. Though their hands were tingling, there was not a hint of pain on their faces. They twisted their wrists and swept their blades toward him again.

Li Wensheng retreated a step, then swung his sword, carving a long gash across the chest of a man who had just raised his weapon.

"Huh?"

Li Wensheng hadn't paid much mind to it at first, but out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the man continued to swing his sword with a blank expression. A thought occurred to him. He retreated another step, waited for the man’s blade to fall, and then swung his own. This strike severed the man’s right arm entirely.

Splurt!

Hot blood sprayed, splashing onto Li Wensheng. He ignored the blood, staring intensely at the man’s face.

"Damn it!" Li Wensheng cursed. The man still showed no sign of pain; his face remained wooden.

He had sensed their strength when he first blocked their blades: they were slightly stronger than ordinary soldiers, which didn't matter much on a battlefield, but their inability to feel pain was terrifying. If they could not feel pain, they would fight at peak efficiency until the moment they died, provided they weren't decapitated or crippled.

With countless flashes of cold steel, Li Wensheng stopped overthinking. He retreated two steps, dropped his katana, and pulled two pistols from beneath his raincoat—or rather, from his system space—and opened fire rapidly.

Bang! Bang! ...

These men feared neither pain nor death; they did not know what terror was. Faced with bullets, they didn't dodge but charged straight into them. Li Wensheng could only fire while retreating.

Aiming for their heads, he emptied both magazines in a dozen seconds. Only two men remained. Faced with their swinging swords, Li Wensheng dodged, waited for the blades to pass, and grabbed the right wrist of the man on the left. With a forceful twist—*snap*—the wrist shattered.

But the broken hand still gripped the hilt tightly.

"Damn, forgot about that," Li Wensheng cursed. He kicked the other man, who was preparing to strike again, sending him flying.

The man with the broken wrist swung a left-handed fist at him. Hearing the air whistle, Li Wensheng dodged, moved behind him, and twisted the man’s head with both hands.

He then lunged at the other man, who had just scrambled to his feet. He grabbed the man’s right arm and snapped the forearm at a ninety-degree angle.

Though the man’s right hand still gripped his sword, he could no longer swing it. Li Wensheng began his "experiment" in earnest.

As the man with the twisted neck collapsed onto the bookshelf, Li Wensheng punched the remaining man in the throat. He pulled his punch, using only the force of a normal adult male. The man staggered but seemed unfazed, throwing a left-handed punch at him.

The speed was too slow. Li Wensheng moved half a step to the side and, as the fist swung past, grabbed the man’s left arm and snapped it—*snap*—just like the right.

He released the man and stepped back, frowning. Despite having both arms shattered, the man continued to charge at him with a wooden expression.

"Don't tell me they have no consciousness?"

He dodged the man’s charge and turned to look at his back, shaking his head slightly. "No, if they had no consciousness, they wouldn't have wielded blades against me earlier."

The man stopped, turned, and charged again.

"They must have consciousness, just very little," Li Wensheng muttered to himself.

Bang! Li Wensheng didn't dodge this time. The man collided with him, the recoil sending the man stumbling back two steps. He steadied himself and charged once more.

With both arms broken, the man was no longer a threat. Li Wensheng ignored him and began to ponder. "They must have low cognitive function, which is why they didn't use guns. Using a blade is simple, but using a firearm requires aiming—they can't manage that. In that case, they aren't very useful on the battlefield, only in melee combat."

"But if they are only useful for bayonet charges, the Japanese surely can't afford to use them widely. This drug must be rare, or they would have mass-produced these soldiers already."

"I wonder if they can be controlled after injection. If they can be mass-produced, and the Japanese use this drug on captured Chinese people, that would be a catastrophe."

"But what about Kamiyama? His consciousness was perfectly normal. Is he like the villains in the movies, where the boss survives the side effects and becomes incredibly powerful?"

"Or perhaps there are two types of drugs: one for these drones that removes pain and dulls the mind, and another, like the one Kamiyama took, that grants power without side effects? But that version must be so precious that Kamiyama was the only one sent to deal with me."

"Too many possibilities. Forget it, I'll think about it later. I need to get Ma Long out of here."

With that, Li Wensheng grabbed the man still charging at him, dragged him to the wall, and slammed his head against it repeatedly.

Bang, bang, bang...

After several impacts, he confirmed the man was dead and let him drop. With a dull thud, the body hit the floor. Li Wensheng turned to Ma Long and frowned.

Ma Long had fainted at some point. That wasn't the issue, though; the issue was that even through his mask, he could smell the stench of urine. Glancing at Ma Long’s wet trousers, Li Wensheng picked up the katana he had discarded earlier, cut the ropes binding Ma Long, and used the severed cord to bind his hands and feet together. He slung Ma Long over his left shoulder, drew a loaded pistol from his system space with his right hand, and headed for the exit.