Counterfeit Hero
Chapter 159: Volume 3, - 48: Living, That’s the Victor.

Chapter 159: Volume 3, Chapter 48: Living, That’s the Victor.

Fatty didn’t choose anyone, he waved impatiently and said, "All of you, come together."

The Freedom Fighters had already found this annoying Fatty unpleasant, and upon hearing him court death like this, they were about to charge forward, when Fatty leisurely called out again, "Wait..."

"Oh, shit." The crowd of onlookers was almost driven mad by Fatty. People were all ready to beat him up, and now he called for a halt. What tricks was he up to now? Could it be that he used to sell fake medicine, all talk and no action?

Fatty stretched his muscles and bones, and said with a smile, "Fighting, I’m afraid it might hurt everyone’s morale."

The Freedom Fighters were on the verge of collapsing. What did this Fatty mean, not fighting and just spitting at each other? You can’t out-spray our thirty mouths with your one mouth!

Fatty leisurely said, "How about this? This is my first time coming to this base, you all know the environment better, I don’t want to bully anyone. Let’s play a game, street fighting, you know it, right?"

This is a training exercise where one holds a pen like a dagger and wins or loses by marking the opponent in close-quarters during chase and hide. For the Freedom Fighters, this is one of their essential trainings. Their future combat environments are in high-rise city rebellions.

Upon hearing Fatty challenge this, and one versus thirty at that, the Freedom Fighters all thought this Fatty was really seeking death! In a fight, it would be impossible to gang up on someone under the watchful eyes of the crowd. After all, they were Algarfar’s students, and even if they found him unpleasant, no warrior dared disobey the orders of a student sent by Algarfar given his reputation.

Seeing a warrior bring over the training simulation daggers, Fatty randomly picked one and said, "Let’s start." He bolted as soon as the Freedom Fighters picked up their simulation daggers. By the time they had done so, Fatty had already vanished without a trace. The crowd on the field was astonished, knowing that the distance from where Fatty stood to the nearest building was dozens of meters, and the field, corridors, and stairs were all crowded with people. Under such watchful gazes, many had their eyes fixed on Fatty as he ran. But the moment he dove into the crowd, he was nowhere to be found.

A captain waved his hand, and the Freedom Fighters scattered in the direction Fatty had run. They didn’t coordinate with each other, after all, it was thirty against one. If they still grouped together for a melee, it would be a disgrace.

The Freedom Fighters dispersed into the scattered buildings within the base. Because the crowd concentrated outside, the buildings inside appeared relatively empty.

All the spectators understood the rules. They remained calm, without any change in their expressions. The Freedom Fighters didn’t know that behind them, two observers could barely contain their laughter.

A Fatty in the crowd, just like an ordinary spectator, watched the direction the Freedom Fighters went with great interest. Only two people noticed him, even a middle-aged man standing next to him didn’t realize that everyone’s target stood right beside him. He even stepped aside at Fatty’s request.

The only two people who noticed this Fatty pretending to be a spectator did so unintentionally. When they saw this person who had somehow been standing there, they almost cried out. In their subconscious, they didn’t even know when this guy had started standing there, as if he had always been there. It seemed as though the one challenging the Freedom Fighters in the middle of the field was his twin instead.

To avoid affecting the rules, the two observers shifted their gaze away. In just a moment, Fatty disappeared. They couldn’t help but look around but couldn’t find him anywhere. Meanwhile, some others were almost laughing out loud. A Fatty like a plump mouse, stealthily sneaked along the corners and gaps in the crowd towards the rear of the Freedom Fighters. His movements were exceptionally agile, always choosing the most suitable route without alarming the crowd or making way for him.

The observers saw clearly, lazily walking at the end, those six Freedom Fighters who felt this kind of competition was unfair and were somewhat distracted, were stabbed in the back by the simulation daggers in an instant. Too fast, Fatty’s speed was like lightning, his chosen route extremely precise. From suddenly bursting out from the crowd to take down the first person to the sixth, it took no more than three seconds!

Enough! Sanjad exchanged glances with the two observers. He almost wanted to call a halt. This skill was unmatched in this base! This student of Algarfar was not an idiot at all; he was a seasoned Professional Soldier. His techniques were absolutely honed amid gunfire and life-and-death struggles! Cunning, decisive, ruthless. It was almost impossible to describe such a sneaky Professional Soldier who roamed in the shadows!

No wonder! No wonder Hopkins died at his hands. Sanjad regretted not briefing the Freedom Fighters about this person’s profile beforehand. Now, he could only stand here in silence! Half out of curiosity, the other half because he believed Algarfar’s students knew what they were doing. These fearless warriors indeed had an indescribable obsession.