In the infirmary they kept me for an extra day. Not in the pod, but in a room with an actual bed. I hadn't even known they had those here.

Not that I spent much time lying on it, because the room also had a treadmill and a multi-purpose exercise station for bodyweight training: pull-up bar, parallel bars, wall bars. Zola made me work up a sweat on both, just to make sure my body had fully recovered and responded the way it should. All so I'd be ready for the fight.

Tariq knew about my defensive amulet. After Harn's death, everyone who shouldn't have known knew. The demons certainly knew, so this time I expected Tariq to make some smart move — like neutralising the shield. As I'd tested on the arena more than once, the easiest way to deal with formations, amulets, and shields was to get inside their range and make physical contact with the opponent's body.

Simply put, I expected Tariq to try and grapple.

Novak was expecting it too.

Although I hadn't spoken to the big boss directly, Bulsara had passed my words to him, and from him to me came another high-tech bracelet amulet. Now I had two: one against poisoning, the other a simpler model for delivering stimulants. Because of its design, made for concealed wear, the amulet could hold only three doses and didn't take standard ampoules. I had no idea how to reload it. But when Bulsara handed it over, he promised to load it with my choice of drug. I could pick only one, since Hill Giant's Strength Elixir and a painkiller were already in it.

I didn't think long, I picked Iron Shirt, but Bulsara said the Palm Qi defence would be provided separately.

Choice number two was War God's Fist, a reliable, proven drug.

Once Zola had finished playing doctor, it was Adam's turn. Adam went full general, well, at least colonel, giving a briefing to an operative before a special mission. I was the operative.

According to Adam, over the next day or two, one of Novak's disciples would always be nearby. The closest would be Lina, though I wouldn't recognise her even if I looked straight at her.

My orders: don't play the hero — one; stall for time — two; survive — three. Yes, in Adam's priority list, my survival came third. And I still had to take the fight to Tariq and not back off until I got the go-ahead. The team would need time to identify the demon, and our brawl was meant to give Novak's men that time.

The plan was, to put it mildly, less than perfect, but I'd seen other Novak plans work before. Naturally, I was given only the bare minimum of details, with plenty kept off-stage.

From Adam I also got other gear: a flexible composite shirt with a formation against Palm Qi, thin knee and elbow pads, and most importantly — a groin guard.

All of it could be worn discreetly under my usual jumpsuit.

One way or another, I left the infirmary charged for the coming fight. The trick would be not burning out before it happened.

Most likely, that would be tomorrow evening. I was scheduled for cultivation in the Chamber. Just like last time, the perfect time marker for the bastard to set up an ambush.

Maybe even on the very same stairs where I'd beaten him last time?

All in all, I'd spent seven days in the infirmary — a full week. I'd missed two cultivation sessions and had nearly burned through all my saved shifts. Only one remained, but anticipating another, possibly lengthy, visit to the infirmary, the first thing I did was book a few shifts in advance, and the following day until evening as well.

After all, I had no intention of making Tariq's job easier. The decision also helped Novak's team work out the most likely route and ambush spots.

Kim messaged me on the second day, before lunch. He confirmed my suspicions entirely — the attack would be in the same place as last time. Only this time there would be more attackers.

I forwarded that to Adam.

That evening I faced an interesting question: should I drink Clear Thoughts?

On one hand, I wasn't planning to cultivate. The chances of getting through unscathed were slim, unless the demons had left the entire operation's planning in Tariq's hands. In which case, there was a solid chance of a major cock-up.

Clear Thoughts was invaluable for meditation, but last time it had done me plenty of good in a fight, so I brewed a cup again. Who knows, maybe a clear head would help me avoid serious injury and shorten the recovery time.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

I was as ready as I could be: put on my protective gear before anyone else came into the room, drank my tea, and quietly called Adam.

Marlon was already in the room, so I didn't tell him anything, just made sure he could hear me.

"Wish me luck," I said to Marlon.

"Break a leg," he muttered lazily.

"Luck's got nothing to do with it," Adam said to my ear. "It's all will and determination."

That guy seriously underestimated luck. Where would I be without it?

This time I expected to meet Tariq in the corridor, but the thug had enough brains not to step on the same rake twice. He sent some other cadet to do it — not from our block. I already knew all our lot by sight.

The lad was quite the 'master of stealth.' As a lookout, he was about as subtle as I'd be as a ballerina, and I'd probably have done better. Every movement gave him away, and his eyes even more so.

This new player led me to the stairs.

I couldn't resist glancing up over the flight above.

Last time, the thugs had surrounded me as soon as I'd gone down one flight. On the landing below, the ginger and the dark-skinned one from Tariq's gang had been waiting, gauntlets and maces in hand, bloodthirsty grins on their faces.

Kim, also in gauntlets and armed with not one but two maces, had been waiting another floor up. At Tariq's signal, he'd descended and handed the weapons to the then-leader.

This time I expected something similar, even rolled my shoulders a bit, trying to loosen them without making it obvious, but the landing below was empty.

I actually faltered and glanced around.

The cadet assigned to tail me was right on my heels, freezing in fright when our eyes met.

What were they up to?

"They're all hiding behind the doors," Adam told me. "Looks like they're planning a mass grapple the moment you step down. Inject the Strength Elixir, and stop scaring the errand boy!"

I gave the command. A needle pricked my right wrist and liquid surged into my veins.

I went down another flight…

The doors to the floor burst open as if kicked.

I Monkey-leapt straight to the wall, from the wall to the railing, from the railing down to the opposite wall, and from there to the landing below.

I nearly bowled over some girl who started to bark at me, but her attention was snatched away by the first bully tumbling down the stairs without any effort from me. He'd just grabbed empty air where I should have been. With nothing to stop him, he shot forward uncontrollably and went down like a bowling pin.

Not exactly like a bowling pin, bowling pins don't crunch.

The crunch should have been followed by a scream, but instead there was the sound of pounding feet. An entire horde of cadets charged down the stairs.

Chain Punch! Shield!

Like last time, I aimed for the legs. Then, I'd barely made Tariq stumble; now, my projections were breaking bones. I hit one cadet in the shin just as he put all his weight on it, and saw his trousers tear. Out popped a sharp white shard of bone, which fell and stabbed through his own shoe.

Bowling pins.

The cadets went tumbling, and I had to repeat the same trick — dropping to the landing below to make space and open the distance. I had no intention of letting them grab me, even though my arms already felt strong enough to tear through armour with my bare hands.

Clear Thoughts kept me from making mistakes.

The bullies, however, kept making them, charging me in a stream. I'd already dropped eight! And there were still just as many left. They cursed, fell, and crunched, but they kept coming.

That kind of focus and disregard for pain could mean only one thing — they were pumped full of drugs to the eyeballs.

I kept working the Chain Punch into their legs.

Bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam-bam!

A machine-gun burst of projections cut down a few more pairs of bullies, and I was about to use my Monkey manoeuvre again, when one of them leapt at me from the landing above, using some movement technique.

I knocked him off course mid-flight, but his body still slammed face-first into my shield. Blood and snot splattered from his nose, smearing across the shimmering field.

The collision lasted only a moment, but it was enough. I'd lost time, and four bullies closed in from all sides, trying to break through, to push my shield back.

Tariq was among them, but without his usual cronies, and with even less intelligence in his eyes than normal. He pressed himself against my shield like a zombie, trying to crush the energy field with his bare hands.

Speaking of hands — this time the bullies had ditched the sticks but kept the gauntlets. All of them wore them, yet none used techniques. Except jumper. That was odd.

Even Tariq, his face twisted with rage and glaring at me through the silver haze of the shield, was a Fist cultivator.

It was as if they'd all been programmed for a single action to grab me and they were trying to complete that task at any cost. Not just the four still on their feet. The broken ones were trying to crawl towards me too.

That whole zombie horde was starting to get on my nerves, so I snapped and switched to Hooks.

That technique could do damage enough to ruin complex composite armour, never mind a human body, even one enhanced by cultivation.

Tariq was first.

The detonation crumpled his left side and sent him flying onto the stairs. Mid-air, he took out one of his mates, sending the guy into an uncontrolled, crunchy tumble down the steps.

The next cadet I hit in the stomach; he folded in half in mid-flight before smearing across the wall. Only with the last one did I hold back, dropping him with two precise Chain Punches to the head.

I was free, if you didn't count the zombies crawling along the floor. And crawling didn't mean they were slow. These bastards pushed themselves like extras in a Korean horror flick.

Right! No better time or reason for déjà vu than a stairwell brawl!

The crawlers were fast, but I had the advantage of the shield they couldn't get through, so I methodically knocked each one out with a projection to the head. One by one, until none remained who could cause me any harm.

Movement stopped. And what little movement didn't stop was so feeble it wasn't worth worrying about.

I was the last man standing in the middle of a scene of pure carnage.

Blood from broken legs, noses, and busted heads soaked the stairs and kept running down, forming whole streams of red.

Damn!

Now that was an adventure.

Sharper sensations than on the arena!

I hoped it hadn't all been for nothing. I hadn't broken contact with Adam, but through the entire fight I hadn't heard a single word from him.

In fairness, the whole scrap had lasted maybe thirty seconds. No more.

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