Strongest Soldier King

An hour later, several squadron leaders and the political commissar returned. The political commissar briefed a squadron leader and contestants on the competition, then hurriedly left again. Luo Zheng noticed that something was off and glanced at his own squadron leader, whose expression was serious and eyebrows slightly furrowed, which reinforced Luo Zheng's suspicions. He couldn't help but perk up and listen carefully.

The squadron leader's face darkened as he spoke earnestly, "Brothers, there has been a change of plans. The Military Committee has decided that this competition will be unlike any before. Given the unstable situation in the Northwest and the continual terrorist attacks on our borders, this competition will be substituted by actual combat."

At this point, the squadron leader looked around at everyone, noting the calm on their faces—no one was disconcerted by the switch to real combat. He continued with satisfaction, "To put it simply, you will be airdropped into a zone and must rely on your individual and team's strength to fight your way back. Remember, this is real combat, not an act, not a competition, but a genuine anti-terrorism battle. Does anyone have any questions?"

"How is the result of the competition determined?" asked the Scholar calmly, his face unperturbed as the others also looked stoically at the squadron leader. Real combat meant little to them; who among these elite soldiers, who had fought their way out of the military region, hadn't been bloodied before?

"There are two criteria for scoring: enemy kills and time taken to return, each worth fifty points, making a hundred in total. The terrorists have dog tags around their necks—kills are counted based on these tags. Remember, your task is to kill for tags, to fight with all you have to return. Any more questions?" The squadron leader explained.

"Our equipment," the Scholar continued.

"No equipment, no operational uniforms, no weapons, no first aid kits, no food, nothing at all, and you can't bring any personal items with you. After being airdropped to the designated location, everything is up to you. If you die in action and your body can't be retrieved, then you'll be left where you fell. Every participant is to write a will since this competition is also a combat mission." The squadron leader conferred seriously.

"How are the points for evacuation time determined?" the Scholar persisted.

"Fifty points for the time, with the first team back scoring fifty points, the second forty, the third thirty, the fourth twenty, and the fifth ten. Teams arriving sixth or later get zero points. There are eight teams in total for this competition. If one of the last three returns, they'll receive no points. Is that clear to everyone?" The squadron leader advised solemnly.

"Understood," everyone responded in unison.

"There's one more thing I must tell you: this operation has been leaked to the East Turkestan Movement, the terrorists you'll be facing. They'll muster significant force to hunt you down. Considering that it's a foreign border operation, we estimate that nearly a thousand terrorists will be hunting you, perhaps even more. Anything could happen, so you must be mentally prepared. If anyone wishes to withdraw, speak now. The organization will not object. Once on the battlefield, the Military Committee won't be able to control or assist." The squadron leader said.

Everyone remained composed, no one backing down—soldiers consider dying on the battlefield the highest honor. With such an opportunity, nobody would turn deserter; else they'd never be able to raise their heads again. Pleased, the squadron leader smiled and announced, "Fortune favors the brave, honor is claimed on the battlefield. This time it's a competition as well as a combat mission, hence the Military Committee has adjusted the awards: all participants are promoted one rank on the spot, and the top three teams will be promoted another rank upon return, awarded a collective second-class merit once, and an individual second-class merit once. Any more questions?"

"No more questions," they all declared in chorus.

Luo Zheng did not expect the contest to turn into a real combat mission, but he didn't shrink back; on the contrary, he felt a surge of excitement. A competition, after all, is just that—you can't truly fight to the kill, and combat effectiveness is limited. Real fighting is different; it's about prevailing on actual skill, and dying in action would be worth it.

"Write your will now," the squadron leader instructed, distributing paper and pens before the other squadron leaders silently exited the tent to give everyone space and time.

This was the second time Luo Zheng wrote something like this—now without reluctance or feeling it was strange. He swiftly penned a line, folded it neatly, and handed it to his team leader. The others also quickly finished, handed their letters to the team leader in unison, who, without reading, took the letters and stepped out to deliver them to the squadron leader.

"Luo Zheng, I heard you've been in the army for just over a year. Compared with us old soldiers who've trained for four or five years, you're still a recruit. I don't mean to look down on you; I just want to know if you've ever killed anyone. If not, I suggest you back out now. The battlefield is not a training ground," the Gardener said seriously, eyeing Luo Zheng.

"If you count from the start of the new recruits' company, indeed, it's just over a year. But I'm fine. It's just about killing, right? If I die, you guys needn't bother about my body. Mr. Mao once said, 'Loyal bones are buried everywhere under the green hills.' When you're dead, you're dead; no need for fuss. Just don't let me be a burden to everyone," Luo Zheng replied calmly.

"You little brat, still playing tough," the Gardener complained dissatisfied.

"Brothers, after eating and drinking to your fill, get some sleep. We leave tonight at 8 PM, boarding the transport plane to the designated spot. Let's go eat," the Scholar walked in and announced loudly.

The group left the tent, and someone came to guide them quickly to a large tent filled with food arranged in two rows, self-serve style, with collapsible tables in the middle. People were already sitting inside, eating. Everyone, without hesitation, entered and picked up plates, selecting their favorite foods, intuitively opting for meat as the main course since their future meals were uncertain, and loading up on fats seemed wise.

After everyone got their food, they found a place to sit down and eat. While they were eating, more people came over with their meals. Among them, one sneered, "Oh, isn't this the Northwest Group Army's team? Always at the bottom every year, but at least it was a competition, without real intent to harm. This time it's actual combat. Bet you're peeing your pants, huh?"

Everyone glanced at the speaker as if he were an idiot, no one uttering a word, and continued eating. Only a fool or someone trying to provoke would say such things. Either way, engaging would be playing into his hands, better to let him make a fool of himself. Seeing no reaction, the man spoke again with an unpleasant expression, "I heard your team has a filler, who is it? You're already the last place team, and with a filler, that's rough. But don't worry, if we see you in danger on the battlefield, my team and I will definitely come to the rescue."

"I've heard you're the strongest among all the participating teams. With you there to rescue us, I can rest easy," Luo Zheng replied with a laugh, playing along loudly and deliberately. As for who these people were or how strong they were, Luo Zheng had no idea.