Chapter 43: Mutual Destruction

The silver Strider abandoned its forearm, becoming a one-armed Strider with only most of its upper arm remaining. With its intact right arm, it picked up the blade that had just been discarded on the ground.

“He’s very strong. Although his hand speed may not be as fast as yours, he doesn’t need to wait for instructions, so his reactions are much quicker. I can’t fully predict his next move. I’m afraid we’ll lose this match,” Chen Ming’s voice echoed in Li Daoran’s ear.

Chen Ming’s assessment, once spoken, had to be converted into sound by David, and then further delayed by the transmission between Aquamarine Star and Daoran’s world. Even with Chen Ming’s already impressive anticipation, this tiny delay became fatal when facing a master like Leng Feng.

Unable to respond directly to Leng Feng’s actions and forced to wait for Chen Ming’s instructions, Li Daoran was at a disadvantage. If Chen Ming himself were playing, he might have reacted instantly to Leng Feng’s downward strike—perhaps pulling back or switching a hook to a straight punch—but by the time the command was relayed and acted upon, it was already too late. This was what placed Li Daoran in grave danger, as he lacked true combat experience.

“There’s only one way left that might win: you must rely on your own responses, Daoran. I won’t give any more instructions this round. It’s up to you now. Since we’re likely to lose either way, we might as well gamble on the option with the highest chance of success. Do your best!”

Li Daoran bit his lip, knowing Chen Ming was right, but the immense pressure bore down on him, making it hard to breathe. If he’d known Leng Feng was this strong, he’d never have agreed to any wager. Now he was in real trouble.

Suddenly, the sound of a BGM played in his ear. David, feeling some encouragement was necessary, played “Rise” as a show of support and said, “Go for it! No one can beat you when your BGM is playing.”

Li Daoran’s face darkened at that—how many people have died with their own BGM playing? David must have had something wrong in his head. Still, as the music swelled, Li Daoran felt lighter, a fire igniting within him.

Since he couldn’t win, he might as well be dazzling. After all, style was for life, and this match was just a fleeting episode—he couldn’t lose both the fight and his dignity. With a hundred billion viewers watching his live stream, there was no way he could show fear.

The black Strider tossed aside its arm and picked up a blade, gripping it with both hands. This wasn’t to give Li Daoran an advantage; in fact, Chen Ming could control one blade far better than two.

This stance meant Leng Feng was finally fighting with all his strength against Li Daoran—not just toying with him, but taking the match seriously.

There was no more idle chatter. At this moment, Li Daoran had earned Leng Feng’s recognition; the trash talk ceased. Both hands gripping his sword, Leng Feng leapt high. As the name “Strider” implied, his mech’s jumping ability was extraordinary, and he activated the auxiliary thrusters at the peak of his leap.

The two were more than ten kilometers apart, yet in just two seconds, the black mech was upon the silver Strider, blade in hand.

Li Daoran’s pupils contracted. Too fast.

The black mech struck downward, and Li Daoran, with desperate speed, performed a classic “lazy donkey roll,” tumbling behind the black mech. If Chen Ming were commanding, he would never have chosen such a move, but even Chen Ming had to admit it was a good call. Leng Feng, having leapt and struck from above, had power and momentum but lacked flexibility.

If Li Daoran had dodged left or right, Leng Feng would have had responses ready. But no one expected the masterful, composed Li Daoran to suddenly drop and roll—a move so unorthodox it nullified Leng Feng’s follow-ups.

Instead, Li Daoran found himself behind Leng Feng’s wide-open defenses, and Leng Feng realized in a flash he was in danger.

Li Daoran too had a flash of inspiration. Lying on the ground, seeing Leng Feng’s back to him, he knew that if he tried to match blades, he’d be doomed. But if he could force Leng Feng into close combat, relying on his superior hand speed, he might win.

Besides, he’d just realized Leng Feng didn’t seem very familiar with ground techniques.

As Chen Ming had said, mecha combat could be seen as a larger-scale form of real fighting, so ground moves weren’t out of the question; perhaps they’d yield unexpected results. But using submission holds with mechs would be foolish—striking the sensors directly was far more effective. With Li Daoran’s left arm gone, forty-three keys on his console were red, indicating they were unusable.

These thoughts flashed through Li Daoran’s mind. Without getting up, he fired his auxiliary thrusters and charged along the ground toward the black mech, leaving Leng Feng startled at this wild, unconventional approach.

Leng Feng hadn’t turned yet, but saw on his screen Li Daoran’s blade before him, left arm on the ground, body angled, thrusters blazing, a deep furrow in his wake.

He couldn’t fathom what Li Daoran was attempting, but quickly responded by leaping high again. Li Daoran was taken aback—he’d forgotten the key difference between mechs and people: humans can’t fly.

Though the mechs’ flight was only a brief hover from auxiliary thrust and not true flight, ground techniques clearly had little real combat value. Li Daoran had been too optimistic.

After the silver Strider charged forward, he cut the thrusters, rolled, and stood up.

Now another six keys lit up red; this assault had cost him dearly with little gain.

Li Daoran felt a bit disheartened, but his expression remained calm.

Leng Feng felt something was off. The pressure Li Daoran had exuded at the start, where a single misstep meant utter defeat, was gone. It was as if he had become a different person.

Li Daoran was desperately searching for a way to break the deadlock, but Leng Feng’s relentless attacks gave him no room to breathe.

Several fierce offensives in a row—Li Daoran, relying on his remarkable hand speed, blocked each with his single large blade, but only just.

This couldn’t go on—he would lose.

Li Daoran’s mind raced.

“Your left arm is your chance,” Chen Ming’s voice whispered in his ear. “He’s neglected guarding against your left side. Trade injury for injury; victory hangs on this moment.”

Li Daoran’s eyes lit up. He still had a fragment of his left arm, with a few sensors remaining—enough for limited control.

The silver mech deliberately exposed a flaw on its right side. Leng Feng’s eyes flashed; finally, after waiting so long, his opportunity was here. The black mech lunged forward, stabbing its blade straight at Li Daoran’s cockpit. Blocking with his own blade was no longer an option.

But Li Daoran didn’t try to block. Instead, he turned and crashed into the black mech, shifting the blade just enough off target to avoid a direct, fatal hit. In reality, had this been real life, Li Daoran would have lost. But in the game, he wrapped his half-left arm around the black mech, trapping its blade, and with his right hand, drove his own blade backward into the black mech’s critical core. Both moved with astonishing speed.

But Li Daoran’s attack struck first, winning him the bout. Had this been reality, it would have ended in mutual destruction—both pilots lost.

And so, the match concluded.