After three months of grueling training, Luo Zheng's strength had noticeably improved. In hand-to-hand combat, fighting against Ghost Hand, Snow Leopard, and Mountain Eagle one-on-one, they were no match for him; even Lan Xue found it difficult to beat him. As for shooting, during the three months of training by the dark seaside, amidst the noisy waves, under dim lighting, and with the sea surface reflections causing interference, Luo Zheng completed four hours of sniper training every evening. After a thousand shots, over the course of three months, he fired nearly a hundred thousand bullets, and his sniping ability was almost on par with Lan Xue.
With the selfless teaching from Lan Xue, Ghost Hand, and others, he caught up in military skills and combat experience—like helicopter piloting, parachuting, tracking, reconnaissance, computer, infiltration—and even his weakest area, foreign languages, was now at a conversational level. His growth was pleasing, but Luo Zheng was not satisfied; he continued to train tenaciously.
Three months later, Lan Xue left with Ghost Hand, Snow Leopard, and Mountain Eagle for a mission. No one ntioned the specifics, and Luo Zheng didn't ask, focusing all his thoughts on training. According to the agreent with Lan Xue's grandfather, he aid to beco an Ordinary Soldier King within six months. Luo Zheng reckoned that he already had the capability now, achieving the six-month target in just three months. Yet, he dared not be proud. The base was full of strong individuals, and any Elite Soldier King could crush him, not to ntion those above Elite Soldier King level, such as team leaders and the legendary Strongest Soldier King. The gap was still too vast, so he continued his intense training.
With Lan Xue and the squad gone, Luo Zheng adjusted his training plan. In the morning, he continued seaside training in diving and practicing martial arts, adding deep-sea, rapid swimming. Without anyone to assist in Pai Da Skill training, Luo Zheng switched to striking trees and the ground, adding an extra hour of speed running in the jungle.
In the afternoon, Luo Zheng continued to spar with Snow Fox, and at night, he persevered with sniper and stealth training. Another week later, Snow Fox also left on a mission, so Luo Zheng's sparring partner beca Drunk Fist, another Elite Soldier King-level expert and one of Lan Xue's suitors. Over the previous period, Luo Zheng had basically figured out Lan Xue's real suitors. While there were quite a few, they were all sincere and competed fairly. No one played dirty, and all deserved respect.
"Drunk Fist, co out and fight ," Luo Zheng shouted one afternoon after getting enough rest from lunch. He went down to the dormitory where the Elite Soldier Kings lived. With ranks of Captain and above, each had their own room and enjoyed officer treatnt.
His shout attracted many people. The news of Luo Zheng's daily challenges against Snow Fox had spread, and in everyone's eyes, Luo Zheng was a masochistic freak, an indestructible cockroach with a daredevil attitude. But his resolve and guts indeed won everyone's respect—in the military, strength was revered. Luo Zheng might not be strong, but his determination to beco stronger was stirring.
With Snow Fox on a mission, everyone thought Luo Zheng would lay low. Eager to take action, they were ready to seek him out and teach him a lesson. Yet, to everyone's surprise, Luo Zheng directly challenged Drunk Fist—a fighter rumored to be slightly more formidable than Snow Fox. Legend had it that he ca from a martial arts family, his Drunk Fist was transcendental, and the more he drank, the better he fought. Missions in the military usually prohibited alcohol, but Drunk Fist was the exception—the only one in the entire base.
"Clang." An empty liquor bottle was thrown from upstairs, shattering on the ground with a crisp sound.
When Captain Wu, who ca to watch the commotion, saw this, he quickly pulled Wu Miao, who always followed Luo Zheng, back, and motioned for her to be silent with a gesture and a sign to enjoy the show. Drunk Fist never competed with anyone in the base, and Captain Wu was very eager to see the outco of Luo Zheng's provocation.
Luo Zheng glanced at the shattered empty bottle without anger, but calmly shouted, "Drunk Fist, you have the guts to chase after a woman, but no courage to accept the challenge of a rival in love, what kind of skill is that? I think the courage you show when chasing after won is also an act. You're just a cowardly drunkard."
The crowd burst into a commotion—there weren't many who dared to curse a drunk like that. Everyone turned their sympathetic gazes towards Luo Zheng, knowing that offending the Drunk would not end well; he might not die, but he'd certainly be skinned. They all scattered a bit, not wanting to be involved in the fallout. Captain Wu watched Luo Zheng with an amused expression, ready to take this opportunity to evaluate the fruits of Luo Zheng's three months of training.
"Clang." Another empty bottle smashed down, landing right at Luo Zheng's feet. There was no movent from above, and Luo Zheng didn't even twitch an eyebrow, standing completely motionless. Provocation didn't work, so Luo Zheng changed his strategy and called out loudly, "Let's see who can drink more."
The Drunk was known to have the highest alcohol tolerance in the entire base. The crowd erupted once again, looking at Luo Zheng not with admiration but with amusent. Compete in drinking? A person could be arrogant, but not to the point of absurdity.
"Whoosh!" Sothing else was thrown down from above.
Luo Zheng reached out and caught it steadily—it was a bottle of liquor, filled to the brim. He quickly caught on, effortlessly twisted the cap off, tilted his head back, and poured the liquor into his mouth—a fierce, spicy sensation surged up. It was strong alcohol, at least sixty proof, and it was fortified with dicinal herbs.
The fierce liquor hit his throat and reached his stomach as if smoke was about to billow out of his throat, and his stomach felt scorchingly hot, as if molten lava from an erupting volcano had been poured into him. Luo Zheng furrowed his brows, exhaled loudly, and expelled the spicy liquor from his breath. He soon felt a warm current circulating in his body—a strange feeling—as if his strength was increasing. He paused, then quickly realized that this was good stuff, and called out gratefully, "Good liquor!" He raised his head and gulped down another big mouthful.
As a Hunter, Luo Zheng had been drinking since he was young, especially after he started hunting in the forest. It was essential to carry a large jug of ho-brewed strong liquor to keep warm, and to use as dicine for injuries. He had developed a habit of drinking high-proof dicinal liquor from a young age, had a tolerance for alcohol but not a fondness for it, and the army's plain liquor never interested him. He hadn't expected to taste such a nourishing, strong dicinal liquor today. Good stuff was hard to co by, so, of course, he wouldn't be polite.
"Gulp, gulp." Luo Zheng chugged several mouthfuls, feeling as if his stomach was about to ignite from the heat. He stopped and let out a big breath of alcohol, holding the bottle and shouting, "Good stuff, if you don't co down, I'll finish it all!"
The people around were stunned. The legend said that the Drunk's liquor was good, potent, and powerful. No one could drink a mouthful without falling over, not even the Elite Soldier Kings. At this mont, everyone realized that Luo Zheng wasn't just talking big when he proposed to compete in drinking—he truly had a strong tolerance for alcohol, and their perception of him changed once again.
"Ha ha ha, a kindred spirit is hard to find." A dark shadow leaped down from the third-floor window and walked over to Luo Zheng—a tall figure standing at one ter ninety, robust as a young bull, with short hair, a square face, a high nose, and deep and forceful eyes. His face was full of smiles, giving a sense of approachability: it was the Drunk.
"Good, brother Drunk, beat up this ignorant newbie," shouted soone familiar with the Drunk excitedly, egging him on. The barracks were never short of hot blood; fists did the talking, and the strong only respected the strong.
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