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Chapter 30: The Uproar in the Barracks
"Stop right where you are!" The young private playing darts was like an overstimulated gland, ready to burst before even reaching his peak. Unable to contain himself any longer, he shouted, "You disrespectful piece of shit! I’ll teach you a lesson on behalf of our platoon leader!"
The private dashed forward with lightning speed, closing the distance to Tang Fang in just a few strides. He reached out to grab Tang Fang by the shoulder, but Tang Fang didn’t even bother to acknowledge him. Instead, Arroz, standing behind Tang Fang, swiftly raised his arm, trapping the private’s wrist in a vice-like grip. With a quick turn, Arroz drove his elbow back into the private’s ribs.
Crack.
"Ahhh—"
The sharp sound of breaking ribs echoed almost simultaneously with the private’s blood-curdling scream. Arroz crouched slightly, gripping the private’s arm and yanking it forward with force.
Thud.
The poor soul hit the ground hard on his back, his eyes rolling up into his head as he gasped for air, nearly meeting the Grim Reaper face-to-face. Meanwhile, Arroz’s left hand swept downward, catching the dart that had fallen from the private’s grasp. Without looking back, he flicked the dart behind him with precision.
Whoosh.
Thud.
Two streams of cold sweat trickled down the face of a corporal standing in front of the dartboard. Behind him, the dart Arroz had casually thrown struck dead center, its tip buried deep into the target, quivering and humming with residual energy. The dart had grazed past the corporal’s neck by mere millimeters—if it had been off by half an inch, the sharp point would have pierced his carotid artery, unleashing a gushing fountain of blood.
A wave of fear washed over the corporal, who stood at an imposing height of six feet three inches. Yet, as he stared at Arroz, who was a full head shorter than him, his expression betrayed a look of sheer terror, like a mouse cornered by a cat. Moments ago, he had considered stepping in to help the private, but now, even if someone offered him two extra sets of guts, he wouldn’t dare take another step forward.
Thump.
A dark figure flew sideways through the air, crashing into a pile of clutter with a loud crash. Bits and pieces scattered across the floor.
Housen delivered a powerful right hook, sending his opponent flying. He quickly raised his left arm to block a punch from another soldier—a wiry first-class private covered in freckles. Feinting with ease, Housen landed a straight right punch squarely into the man’s abdomen, followed by a swift left hook to the head and a final right cross to the nose. Blood sprayed like blossoming flowers, painting the scene in vivid hues.
The private’s eyes rolled back, and he collapsed onto the ground with a thud.
All of this unfolded in merely just a few short seconds. As the groans of the three men on the ground merged into a chorus of agony, everyone in the rest area—including Kim Youngho—turned deathly pale.
"How is this possible? How?!"
"Angelo and Thor, both taken down by one man in a two-on-one fight… This is unbelievable!"
"Who is this guy? Who is he?!"
Kim Youngho’s face twisted in frustration, looking as though he were constipated and unable to relieve himself. In just one encounter, three of his soldiers lay injured, and another was so frightened that cold sweat poured down his face. Just who were these two companions of Tang Fang?
It was important to note that the reconnaissance company was the elite unit of the First Armored Brigade. Whether it came to armored vehicles, fighter jets, shooting competitions, or hand-to-hand combat, they were among the best in the entire 3789th Division. Any single soldier from their ranks could be considered a top-tier fighter in other units.
Private Ivan, during his time in boot camp, had won third place in a free-fighting competition. And yet, here he was, felled by a single blow from that cigar-chomping old man, his ribs broken. Naru, the towering soldier, stood frozen in fear, too terrified to move. And then there was Housen, the lanky man with a knack for boxing, who effortlessly took down Angelo and Thor—their well-coordinated duo reduced to writhing heaps on the floor.
This humiliation reached far beyond the barracks; all dozen or so people in the rest area were left speechless, utterly intimidated by those two men. And keep in mind, these two were merely Tang Fang’s subordinates. Perhaps… perhaps Tang Fang’s earlier warning—"Don’t provoke me, or you’ll regret it"—wasn’t just a bluff.
Tang Fang continued walking toward the room at a leisurely pace, not sparing a glance at the chaos behind him.
As for Housen’s background, he had once mentioned it himself. After finishing his military service and leaving the army, he squandered his meager savings within a year. Desperate and without means, he turned to underground boxing, where he fought for survival. His resilience was remarkable. Over three years, he fought countless matches, gradually building a reputation and honing his skills. Take this scene, for example—not to mention two-on-one, even if the number of opponents doubled, he could still send them running with their tails between their legs.
As for Arroz, Tang Fang knew little about him. The man nearing forty seemed interested in nothing except cigars. Forget introductions or tales of past exploits—he rarely spoke of such things. However, his marksmanship was undeniable. Back on Planet 5, in the dim, narrow caverns, Tang Fang had witnessed Arroz shoot a Rock Bug from eight hundred meters away without even aiming.
"What’s going on here?" Powell Taylor barked as he strode into the room. Seeing the three men writhing on the ground, his expression darkened. "Who did this?"
"It… it was him," stammered a soldier with a teardrop-shaped mole near his eye, pointing at Tang Fang, who was already at the dormitory door.
"Tang Yan, was this your doing?" Powell asked grimly.
Tang Fang paused mid-step, turning to look at him with a calm gaze. "They started it. If you want to know why, ask First Lieutenant Kim Youngho—or, if you prefer, we can ‘play a couple rounds’ together."
At those words, Powell immediately pieced together the situation. The phrase “play a couple rounds” was infamous in the lower ranks of the military. No doubt, Kim Youngho had attempted to extort Tang Fang, who refused, leading to the current debacle.
To be fair, bribery and corruption were rampant in the military, almost a normalized yet shameful practice. In an empire constantly embroiled in warfare, both junior officers and enlisted soldiers lived with their lives hanging by a thread. What else did they have to show for their years of service but status and money? Most junior officers skimmed benefits from their subordinates, and as long as they didn’t go overboard, higher-ups often turned a blind eye.
In Powell’s view, Tang Fang was a seasoned veteran who should have understood these unspoken rules. But what shocked him was that Kim Youngho hadn’t managed to squeeze anything out of Tang Fang—in fact, he’d ended up humiliated instead. While bribery might be common behind closed doors, bringing it into the open was undeniably disgraceful. Even if Powell wanted to side with Kim Youngho, the circumstances left him powerless.
"Take these three to the infirmary. Kim Youngho, as a platoon leader, you failed to stop your soldiers from fighting. You’re fined half a month’s pay."
"As for you three—" Powell turned to Tang Fang and his companions—"you’re confined to the dormitory for three days."
Tang Fang said nothing, simply turning and continuing on his way. On the surface, Powell’s ruling appeared fair, splitting the blame evenly. But in reality, whether Kim Youngho’s fine would actually be enforced remained uncertain. As for being confined to the dormitory, Tang Fang found it acceptable. He had no interest in mingling with those men anyway, and some peace and quiet suited him just fine.
"Hmph." After Tang Fang left, Powell shot a glare at Kim Youngho before storming out of the room.
---
Meanwhile, 450 kilometers north of the First Armored Brigade’s encampment, inside an office in the command building, Colonel Francis George of the 3789th Division was quietly conversing with a stern-faced middle-aged man on a communications screen.
"Francis, my dear cousin, I leave this matter in your hands."
The man on the screen was Wei Dongfang, the son of Francis’s maternal uncle’s cousin. He currently served as the deputy chief of staff of the Wei family’s Southern Cross Fleet and enjoyed the trust of Marquis Wei Hongguang of the Empire.
"A trivial matter, Cousin. Rest assured."
"Good. Then I await your good news." With that, the communication ended.
Francis swiped his finger across the desk, and a profile appeared on the terminal screen.
"Morrison, inform Lieutenant Colonel Sanjay Roshan of the First Armored Brigade to come see me."
"Yes, sir." The sound of footsteps faded as someone hurried away from the office.
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