CHAPTER 25

FIGHT FOR SURVIVAL

Mark knelt shirtless on the rough ground inside a dimly lit tent, his arms and legs bound with tight, unyielding knots. His captors had stripped him of his armor and even his undershirt, leaving him with just his pants. The coarse ropes dug into his skin, making his wrists and ankles throb. Outside the tent, two guards stood watch, ensuring he wouldn’t try anything. He had no idea how long he’d been stuck here—two, maybe three hours? His stomach growled loudly, and his body ached from the strain.

The flap of the tent was pulled open, and Captain Qin Yang strode in, three men trailing behind him. One of them carried a bucket sloshing with water. Without a word, Qin Yang gave a quick nod, and the man hurled the icy contents at Mark. The shock of the freezing water hit like a slap, jolting Mark fully awake. He clenched his teeth, suppressing a curse.

“Good,” Qin Yang said with a smug grin. “I need you alert.”

“What can I do for you?” Mark replied, his voice thick with sarcasm.

The grin vanished from Qin Yang’s face. He stepped forward and struck Mark across the cheek with an open hand, the force leaving a stinging bruise. “You will address me as Master,” he hissed.

“How about I call you an asshole instead?” Mark shot back, his smirk defiant.

Qin Yang’s knee slammed into Mark’s stomach, knocking the air from his lungs. Mark let out a pained groan, doubling over. “That’s for being a smartass,” Qin Yang sneered. “Let’s see if you still have that mouth after your fight.”

“Fight?” Mark wheezed, glaring up at him.

“General Liao Cheng permits fights in the camp,” Qin Yang said. “Keeps the men entertained between missions. You’ll fight on my behalf.”

“And if I refuse?”

“Then you’ll be of no use to me,” Qin Yang said with a shrug, his tone cold.

“And I’ll die.”

“Sharp, aren’t you?” Qin Yang chuckled, his laughter devoid of warmth. “Let’s hope you fight as cleverly as you talk.”

One of the guards crouched down and untied Mark’s wrists and ankles, while the other two stood nearby, their swords drawn and ready. Mark rubbed his sore wrists, but he wasn’t stupid. Even if he somehow managed to escape this tent, there was no way he could outrun an entire camp swarming with hundreds—maybe even thousands—of soldiers.

“Follow me,” Qin Yang ordered. Mark obeyed, trailing behind the Captain as they stepped out into the bustling camp. Tents stretched out in every direction, far more than he could count. The air buzzed with the noise of soldiers talking, laughing, and sharpening weapons. Qin Yang led him to an open space near the center of the camp. A large crowd of soldiers had already gathered, forming a tight ring around the makeshift arena where the fight was about to go down.

A short man with a booming voice stood in the middle of the crowd, shouting over the noise. “You know the rules, but I’ll remind you anyway! No betting on fights—that’s the General’s orders. The winning officer, however, earns extra rations for his men. Enjoy yourselves, boys! In two days, we march to battle!”

One of the officers, a smug-looking man with a thin mustache, stepped forward, his slimy grin making Mark’s stomach churn. “My champion is Xuan Peng!” he announced. “The best of my men—killed dozens in battle and champion of the last two tournaments. Let’s see if anyone can stand against him!”

Qin Yang stepped up next. “My champion is Mark, a captive who earned my respect during his capture. He’ll fight for my honor.” Turning to Mark, he added in a low voice, “This fight is without weapons—General’s orders. He doesn’t want skilled soldiers killing each other before the real battle. But since you’re not one of my men, the ‘no death’ rule doesn’t apply to you. If you lose and shame me, I’ll kill you myself. Understood?”

Mark gave a firm nod. He stepped into the circle, the eyes of the soldiers boring into him. Across from him, Xuan Peng emerged—a hulking man with broad shoulders, a chiseled chest, and a solid six-pack. The guy looked like he’d been carved out of stone. Shirtless and barefoot, just like Mark, he loomed over the crowd like a force of nature.

Mark sized him up, his gut tightening. This was going to be one hell of a fight.

Xuan Peng came at Mark with a flying kick, his foot aiming high. Mark managed to block it with his right arm, but the sheer power of the blow knocked him off his feet, sending him sprawling to the ground. Before he could fully recover, Xuan Peng landed gracefully and charged forward, his fist cocked and ready.

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Mark scrambled up just in time, sidestepping the punch and delivering a solid blow to Xuan Peng's ribs. The big man let out a sharp cry, the force of the hit making him pause for a moment.

Xuan Peng shook it off quickly and unleashed a flurry of punches. Mark ducked and weaved, narrowly avoiding each one. Spotting an opening, Mark threw a left hook, his fist smashing into Xuan Peng’s cheek. Blood and spit sprayed as the towering man staggered back, momentarily disoriented. Seizing the chance, Mark stepped back as well, putting some space between them.

Xuan Peng spat on the ground, blood streaked in his saliva, his eyes blazing with fury. Like an enraged bull, he charged again, moving with surprising speed. He grabbed Mark around the waist and slammed him hard into the dirt. The impact knocked the wind out of Mark, who cried out as pain shot through his back.

Not wasting a second, Xuan Peng raised his fist and aimed for Mark’s face, ready to end the fight. But Mark rolled to the side just as the fist crashed into the ground, sending a spray of dirt flying.

Mark scrambled to his feet, his instincts kicking in. With all his strength, he launched a kick straight into Xuan Peng’s face. There was a sickening crunch as the giant’s nose broke, blood spurting out like a burst pipe. Xuan Peng roared in pain, staggering back, and Mark followed up with a brutal knee to the groin.

The crowd gasped as the massive fighter crumpled to his knees, clutching himself in agony. Without hesitation, Mark spun and delivered a powerful back kick to Xuan Peng’s face, knocking him out cold. The big man fell to the dirt, motionless.

The gathered soldiers erupted in boos, clearly unhappy that one of their own had been defeated by a mere captive. The only cheers came from Captain Qin Yang’s men, who were hoping Mark would win them the extra rations the General had promised.

Mark stepped out of the makeshift ring, sweat dripping down his face, his body aching from the brutal fight. One of Qin Yang’s soldiers handed him a flask of water, which he downed in one go, savoring the cool relief.

"Good," Qin Yang said with a cold smile. "You didn’t shame me. Yet. Stay ready—you’ll fight again."

Before Mark could catch his breath, another officer stepped forward, his voice booming. “Yi Guiying will fight on my behalf! There’s no one better with kicks!”

Qin Yang didn’t hesitate. “Challenge accepted!” He turned to Mark, his tone sharp. “I don’t care if you’re tired or bleeding. Lose this fight, and I’ll have your head on a spike.”

Mark swallowed hard, stepping back into the ring, his body aching from the last fight. His new opponent, Yi Guiying, was a wiry, slender man—nothing like the hulking Xuan Peng. But his agility was no joke.

The fight began, and Yi Guiying launched a whirlwind of kicks, moving so fast Mark could barely keep up. He blocked the first two, but the third slammed into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Another kick smashed into his face, breaking his nose and sending blood spraying through the air. A sharp kick to the chest followed, sending Mark sprawling onto the dirt floor.

Gasping, Mark pushed himself up just as Yi Guiying spun into a flying back kick. Mark barely sidestepped in time, feeling the rush of air as the kick narrowly missed his head. Yi Guiying landed smoothly and was back at it, throwing rapid-fire kicks that drove Mark back toward the edge of the ring.

The soldiers crowded around shoved him forward, straight into another of Yi Guiying’s attacks. Mark ducked at the last second, the kick grazing over his head.

Desperate, Mark lunged forward, grappling Yi Guiying and throwing him to the ground. He pinned the man, but Yi Guiying responded with brutal knees to Mark’s stomach, each one like a hammer to his gut. Mark knew he couldn’t keep taking hits. In a moment of sheer desperation, he slammed his forehead into Yi Guiying’s face. Pain exploded in his skull, but Yi Guiying cried out, momentarily stunned.

Dizzy and barely able to see straight, Mark summoned his strength and hammered his fist into Yi Guiying’s face, again and again, until his opponent went limp.

Staggering to his feet, Mark’s vision swam. Blood poured from his broken nose, and his body felt like it had been trampled by a herd of horses. The soldiers around the ring jeered, some even spitting at him, but a small group—Qin Yang’s men—cheered loudly.

The world tilted around him, his legs wobbling like they might give out any second. Mark stood there, battered and bruised, but still standing, his sheer willpower holding him upright against the odds.

“Anyone else dare challenge my champion?” Qin Yang’s voice thundered over the crowd. Silence followed, the soldiers avoiding his gaze.

The short announcer stepped back into the center of the ring, raising his voice. “The extra rations go to Captain Qin Yang’s men! Rest up, everyone—we march into battle in two days!”

Mark was practically dragged out of the ring by Qin Yang’s men, his legs barely holding him up.

“You did well today,” Qin Yang said, his tone as icy as ever. “You’ve earned yourself another day to live.”

Mark swayed, his head pounding, struggling to form a coherent response. “Am I… fighting for you in two days?”

Qin Yang snorted. “Not a chance. I wouldn’t trust you with a blade in battle. You’d run the first chance you got. No, you’ll be tied to a leash behind my horse as we march. When we reach the field, I’ll leave you bound at the camp behind the lines. So rest easy—you’re not seeing any action soon.”

Mark’s lips twisted into a grimace. “So, what are you going to do with me? Keep me for the next tournament?”

“Haven’t decided yet,” Qin Yang said with a cruel smirk. “Might sell you off when the campaign’s over. Or maybe I’ll keep you as my personal servant. Who knows? Decisions, decisions…” He chuckled. “Enough talk. Back to your tent. Rest while you can. You’ve earned it.”

Two soldiers hauled Mark back to his tent. Once inside, they bound his hands and feet tightly with rough knots. Moments later, another soldier stomped in, tossing a chunk of bread onto the dirt floor.

“How am I supposed to eat that?” Mark asked, his voice hoarse.

“Like a dog,” the soldier sneered, and the others burst into laughter.

Humiliation burned in Mark’s chest, but he bit it back. Pride wouldn’t keep him alive. Pride would get him killed. No, he needed to endure. For now. He crawled across the filthy floor, his bonds cutting into his skin, and picked up the bread with his teeth. Dirt mixed with the stale bread, making it taste like ash, but he forced it down. After the brutal fights, his body craved any fuel it could get.

The soldiers jeered, calling him “good dog” as they left, still laughing. Alone in the dim tent, Mark lay on the ground, his jaw clenched, his mind churning.

They thought they’d broken him. But Mark knew better. He would survive. He would fight another day. And when the time came, he would make every last one of them pay.