Chapter 84

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Chapter 84: A Time of the Strong Preying on the Weak

The soldiers of the Red Scorpion standing guard around the camp looked on indifferently at the impending brawl between the two factions inside the camp, as if this were a perfectly normal occurrence. It seemed that fighting in the camp was as commonplace as daily meals; no one dared to step in and stop it.

Other factions leisurely made space for Machete and Lone Wolf, setting the scene for a fight—just like sitting back to watch a show.

"Old Yakov, that Lone Wolf of yours is getting old and should retire! Let all your men belong to me, Machete!" Machete’s scarred face twisted as he tightened his fists, the sound popping like bursts of thunder. With a wave of his hand, he shouted, "Charge!" and rushed towards Lone Wolf Yakov.

Machete’s henchmen let out eerie howls and charged in barehanded. Who says fists can’t kill? The Red Scorpion organization turned a blind eye to the fighting among the freshly recruited thugs, hoping that in the process of survival of the fittest, some elite warriors would emerge. As for the eliminated weaklings, there was no need to waste food on them.

The Red Scorpion welcomed long-time bandits for their own reasons, and when the First Squad of Night clashed with an armed smuggling team, their unusual combat strength stemmed from this unspoken rule.

The two groups collided, sparing no punches as the sounds of flesh hitting flesh filled the camp, intertwined with screams and the heavy thuds of bodies hitting the ground.

The two leaders faced off, the young and powerful desert bandit Machete against the seasoned ex-KGB operative Yakov, ready to risk their lives. This was no children’s fight; neither showed any intention of holding back.

Dust swirled around them as they wrestled and grappled, the combatants biting, scratching, and stomping without any formal techniques, relying solely on raw brutality in their tactics.

Aimak and Shadin closely guarded Lin Mo, hesitant to join the fray themselves. They trembled slightly, clearly eager to jump in and have some fun. Their responsibility was to keep Lin Mo out of the brawl, kicking away anyone who got too close. They shouted encouragement for their partner as well.

However, Machete’s men were not significantly fewer than Yakov’s, and within the chaos, some had their eyes on Lin Mo, who stood by the sidelines watching the fight. Although Yakov’s men initially focused on helping Lin Mo hold their ground, as the battle escalated, they lost focus on him.

Several burly fighters began closing in on Lin Mo. One scrawny guy, wearing a strange grin, thought Lin Mo was an easy target because he hadn’t attacked yet and charged at him directly, looking to take advantage.

Boom!

With a single punch!

The scrawny man fell to the ground, eyes rolling back, as the surrounding dust kicked up and clouded everyone’s vision. Many witnesses only saw Lin Mo lift his arm without any unnecessary movement. The scrawny chap foolishly collided with Lin Mo’s fist and dropped unconscious, never to move again.

In the midst of such chaos, no one could maintain control. Anyone who wasn’t on their side was fair game. Even though Aimak and Shadin were still somewhat rational, isolating Lin Mo proved difficult as people relentlessly pressed in on him.

Another fool, yelling like a slaughtered pig, lunged at Lin Mo. Without hesitation, Lin Mo delivered a straightforward punch to his forehead, and the impact resonated throughout his skull, leading to instant incapacitation.

Lin Mo didn’t even shift his feet, barely exerting any strength; he absorbed all of the attacker’s momentum. It was as if someone jumped and hit a concrete post—what a foolish mistake to make.

Bang! The third cocky fighter, unable to find a solid opponent, found himself collapsing lifelessly at Lin Mo’s feet, leading many to realize something was off.

No wonder Yakov didn’t let this half-masked guy attack first; he was formidable. One punch from Lin Mo, and he didn’t seem to exert much effort, but he would never need to throw a second punch.

Machete’s men, fierce bandits in their own right, were not easily cowed, but facing such a tough opponent, they swarmed Lin Mo like moths to a flame.

Aimak and Shadin could no longer hold their ground as Machete’s men surged past them and surrounded Lin Mo.

What reckless fools! Lin Mo smirked, completely ignoring these tough guys as he continued to deliver unrelenting punches—one after another.

In no time, a circle of defeated opponents lay around Lin Mo, clouds of dust swirling as onlookers from other factions widened their eyes in disbelief, inadvertently swallowing countless particles of dirt. The Lone Wolf Yakov possessed a previously unseen ace in his hand—Lin Mo.

Despite Machete’s numerical advantage, Lin Mo inadvertently turned the tide, causing Yakov’s men to gain the upper hand. Soon enough, the outcome became clear; apart from a few of Yakov’s severely injured men, Machete’s crew scattered like headless chickens, their morale in shambles.

Seeing his men defeated, Machete grew anxious. This anxiety exposed a gap in his defense, and Yakov, being the former KGB agent that he was, seized the opportunity to deliver a powerful punch right to Machete’s stomach, causing the man to regurgitate his last meal. Yakov twisted Machete’s arm behind his back in a painful hold, rendering him powerless to resist.

"Heh heh, haven’t you heard that the older a tree gets, the taller it grows? Machete, are you ready to surrender?" Yakov spat a mouthful of blood on the ground, breathless from exertion. If not for Machete’s slip-up, capturing him would have been quite a challenge.

Looking around, all of Machete’s men lay incapacitated.

"Roar!" Yakov let out a victorious howl, echoing like a wolf in the wilderness.

"Roar!" His followers joined in, announcing their triumph.

"Roar! Roar! Roar! Roar! Roar! Roar!"

The camp resonated with the roars of the Lone Wolf Yakov’s men. For a moment, the other factions fell silent, watching as Yakov and his men demonstrated their strength.

Although Machete’s group was no small fry and had some clout within the camp, the overwhelming power of the Lone Wolf’s faction earned them respect from everyone present. Particularly impressive was Lin Mo, who remained silent and mysterious, half-masked, exuding a strength that put fear into the hearts of other tough gangs present.

"Hmph!" Noticing Machete’s stillness, Yakov snorted coldly, releasing Machete and casting him heavily onto the ground. In this world, the victor takes all, and the loser is labeled a rogue. Machete lay gasping for air, his scarred face contorted, blood pooling as his defeated demeanor became painfully obvious. But losing was losing, and no amount of curses from him could change that.

Machete was filled with resentment, unable to express it.

Once he released Machete, Yakov suddenly swayed; the adrenaline rush from the fight wore off quickly, and the pain in his body reminded him he was no longer as young. He looked enviously and jealously at Lin Mo.

"Morin, are you alright?" Seeing the defeated Machete’s men sprawled around Lin Mo without a single groan, Yakov finally realized Lin Mo’s capabilities were formidable. Had he witnessed Lin Mo’s prowess in overcoming opponents with one punch, his jaw would have surely dropped.

With the victory of the brawl, Lone Wolf Yakov established a place for himself in this camp. However, he and the other leaders soon found themselves less pleased than before. A row of AK-74s threatened all the leaders, causing their henchmen to scatter and merge into the ranks of the Red Scorpion.

Those lucky leaders might still find themselves as minor squad leaders; the less fortunate were demoted to grunts wielding AKs with little authority. Overall, their forces had noticeably shrunk. Even as squad leaders, they might command no more than fifteen men, which was minuscule compared to the over five thousand properly trained soldiers of the Red Scorpion. Any thoughts of rebellion would summon only futile attempts.

As for the defeated fighters from the camp skirmish? Sorry, but nobody ever saw them again. The laws of the desert are ruthless to the weak.

It was truly an era of the strong preying on the weak.

Those who joined the Red Scorpion were seasoned bandits. Their combat abilities and discipline improved naturally through regular training. There were disobedient individuals, but those met only one fate: dragged into a corner and executed. There were no military courts here, no holding cells; make a mistake, and you either received brutal lashes with a whip or faced execution.

Lin Mo was assigned to a small squad. The rookie training posed little challenge, comprising routine drills in formation and attacking. Nonetheless, Lin Mo didn’t take it seriously; he seized every opportunity to cut corners. The burly squad leader turned a blind eye, for even after nearly a year with the Red Scorpion, he sensed Lin Mo’s low profile meant he was a difficult character to handle. In both the desert and the grasslands, the quietest dogs bite the hardest.

The Red Scorpion’s organizational structure differed from that of other nations; the smallest unit was a fifteen-man squad. Above that was a company, then a battalion, and at the top was a regiment, organized in groups of four.