Super Soldier

Chapter Seven: The Devil's Bargain

The moment Lin Fei heard the words from the so-called God of War System, he realized that the figure striking a dramatic pose across the arena—clad in pristine white kung fu attire—was none other than his opponent. Yet he was still grappling with the meaning behind the ominous phrase: “This training will repeat endlessly.”

Then came the countdown from the combat arena.

“Ten... nine... eight... seven... one... zero. Combat initiated.”

Before Lin Fei could react, his opponent—an eerily lifelike replica of himself—lunged forward with terrifying speed. A sweeping kick sliced toward his head. Lin Fei instinctively dodged backward, narrowly evading the attack. But the doppelgänger pressed on, driving a straight punch into Lin Fei’s chin, then followed with a savage left hook.

“Ah—!” Agonizing pain seared through him. Lin Fei collapsed to the ground.

“Combat training failed. Restarting in ten seconds. Ten... nine... two... one... zero.”

Whole again, Lin Fei reappeared in the arena. Only now did he grasp the cruel truth: if he failed to defeat himself, this infernal training would repeat forever.

His mirror image charged once more. This time, Lin Fei turned and bolted, but to his dismay, the clone was even faster. Moments later, he was elegantly yet mercilessly knocked out once again.

“Combat training failed. Restarting in ten seconds...”

After fleeing five or six more times with the same outcome, Lin Fei realized there was no escape. No matter how far or fast he ran, the clone would always hunt him down.

Resolved to fight back, Lin Fei began mimicking the doppelgänger’s techniques. He struck first, landing two punches and a kick—only to be immediately outmaneuvered and killed again.

Ten seconds later... the battle resumed.

Countless defeats followed—perhaps in the hundreds—before Lin Fei started to sense the rhythm of the fight. He could now trade blows with the clone, holding his ground longer than before. But still, he couldn’t land a single decisive hit. Each round ended the same way: him, lying broken on the floor.

On that mountain-top arena, Lin Fei had tried everything—throwing himself off cliffs, attempting suicide. But death offered no release. Every time he died, he was forced to start again. His tally of deaths had long entered triple digits, and yet he could not triumph. Not even the solace of oblivion was his to claim.

Each time the mechanical voice counted down to restart, Lin Fei felt his sanity splintering.

Driven to desperation, he honed his skills through relentless imitation of the clone's combat techniques. At last, he managed to cripple the doppelgänger’s left arm—only to be caught in a brutal chokehold. The clone crushed his windpipe. Darkness claimed him once more.

When Lin Fei was on the brink of a complete mental collapse, the only fragment of consciousness that remained was the compulsion to fight... and to win.

After what must have been thousands—perhaps tens of thousands—of cycles, something within Lin Fei began to shift. His body grew more agile, his instincts sharper, his strikes more precise and deadly. He had become a mirror of the doppelgänger’s lethal elegance, each movement driven by sheer combat intuition.

With a resounding c***k, Lin Fei landed a final, fatal blow. A desperate, sacrificial strike that shattered his clone’s skull. His own chest, however, was crushed in the process, caved in by a parting strike from the dying replica.

But for the first time... Lin Fei had died after his opponent.

“Congratulations, trainee. You have completed the introductory combat tutorial. You will now be restored to consciousness in ten seconds.”

The words floated faintly into Lin Fei’s awareness. He felt more joy than he ever had in the presence of a beautiful woman.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself lying on a cold iron cot. Nearby, by the steel door, was a glowing food container and a bottle of mineral water—presumably tossed in by prison guards during his days of unconscious training.

His stomach growled with a ferocity that bordered on pain. He counted the number of containers. Eight.

God… I’ve been in that state for three days…

Lin Fei shuddered at the thought of what might have happened if this had continued. Would he have died from hunger or dehydration? Or worse—been discovered by a guard and kept alive through IV drips, doomed to fight in that nightmare realm forever?

No. Enough. The nightmare’s over, he told himself. Life had to go on.

Cursing the creator of that damned God of War System, Lin Fei pried open a container and dug into the sticky, synthetic meal. It was revolting, but after three days of starvation, he could’ve chewed bark. He devoured three full boxes and drained several bottles of water before collapsing back onto the cot.

Exhausted, he fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. A fragile reprieve for a mind pushed to its limits.

The next morning, over a dozen fully-armed prison guards opened the door to the isolation cell. They even brought a stretcher—three days of silence had made them think Lin Fei had gone mad or died.

What they found instead was Lin Fei snoring peacefully, dead to the world. The stretcher was promptly shoved aside.

“Lin Fei,” the lead guard barked, “your three-day solitary punishment is over. You may now proceed to the canteen for lunch.”

Clutching his metal sphere, Lin Fei was escorted back to the mess hall, the sound of his chains echoing ominously with each step.

As soon as he entered, the entire cafeteria fell silent. Hundreds of inmates paused mid-bite, their gazes fixed on him with a mix of awe, fear, and disbelief—like condemned men awaiting a judge’s final verdict.

Lin Fei scanned the room. Of the five or six hundred present, at least two hundred were bandaged to varying degrees, as though they had collectively auditioned for a mummy film.

The guards dropped him off and left, likely to enjoy meals far superior to those of prisoners. Lin Fei muttered bitterly at the thought.

He spotted his rotund cellmate—the gang’s so-called “ace enforcer”—cowering beneath a table.

Lin Fei strode over and said pleasantly, “Mind holding this iron ball for me? I’d like to have a decent lunch.”

The man sprang up like a startled cat. “Ah—no need, no need! I haven’t touched this lunch yet. You take mine—I’ll go grab another.”

With trembling hands, he pushed a full tray of synthetic food toward Lin Fei and bolted.

Lin Fei had barely eaten a third of the meal when the system’s voice thundered once again in his mind.

“Due to your failure to achieve total dominance in your previous group battle, and to test the results of your three-day neural combat training, you will now reengage.

New mission objective: every inmate in this mess hall.

Victory condition: you must be the only one left standing. Every other living individual must be down.

This time, the temporal ratio will be adjusted to 1:3, and no visual simulation will be provided. We hope you will prove yourself the strongest.”

As the voice echoed in his head, Lin Fei cursed the treacherous system thrice over.

Then, with no alternative left, he flipped the table—and launched himself into yet another all-out war.