Infinite Fighting

The blazing sun hung overhead, its heat baking the earth.

Below stood a somewhat dilapidated gatehouse, with figures moving to and fro within.

Outside a shop called Wang’s Roasted Duck Rice, a young man was slumped in a shadowed corner. He sniffed the fragrant aroma drifting out, his stomach growling with hunger, but all he could do was watch powerlessly.

Zhang Ji was exhausted, his head groggy.

Anyone who had walked for over ten kilometers in flip-flops under this sun would be in no better shape.

The fact that he’d walked this far without getting heatstroke was a testament to the health of his new, inexplicably younger body.

Zhang Ji’s gaze was fixed on the writing inside the distant shops and on the pedestrians passing by.

He recognized it all; none of it was strange. He could even understand what the passersby were saying.

But this place was completely different from where he used to be.

He had a sinking suspicion as to where this place was.

Before arriving here, he remembered playing a hodgepodge fighting game at home.

He called it a hodgepodge because, while it was a fighting game, its content was incredibly rich: dungeons, an open world, superpowers, martial arts, cultivation, Magic, Alchemy, cyberpunk, aliens, transmigrators, Cthulhu...

Basically, it was a Frankenstein’s monster of a game.

But it was stitched together well, and new elements were constantly being added with each update.

Hodgepodge games were a dime a dozen these days, so it wasn’t anything special.

The problem was, it seemed he was now inside the game.

’All because I used a script to grind levels?’

’The leveling system in this game was so stupid; how could anyone play without cheating?’

But none of that mattered anymore.

The key thing now was that he seemed to have been transported into the game—and onto a fringe map from one of its earliest versions.

Shanli Island.

Zhang Ji had overheard passersby mention the name.

If he remembered correctly, this was a penal island belonging to the Eastern Extreme Country from the ancient version 1.0 of the game.

Yes, an island specifically for exiling criminals.

A place teeming with over a million convicts.

According to the lore, the island was created because of severe social inequality and high unemployment in the Eastern Extreme Country. Corporations and the government were unwilling to handle the resettlement and re-employment of criminals, so they established this island.

In later updates, as the plot advanced, the island ceased to be a penal colony. It was brought back under the governance of the Eastern Extreme Country and transformed into a unique island city.

But right now, it was clearly still in its initial version.

That would explain why he hadn’t succeeded in begging for a bite to eat.

The chances of anyone here showing charity were indeed slim.

He was lucky he hadn’t been robbed or worse since arriving.

Although, there wasn’t much to steal from his getup of shorts, a T-shirt, and sandals anyway.

’So hungry!’

Zhang Ji pressed his lips together, his breathing deepening.

He wanted to snatch a bite of food. He didn’t care if he got beaten for it, or even if he died.

’At least I wouldn’t have starved to death.’

Just then, a group of men strode down the road. Their leader was a middle-aged man, about six-foot-three, dressed in a black suit. A lit cigar was clamped in his mouth, and everyone they passed bowed respectfully and cleared a path.

"Kratos!"

"Greetings, Kratos!"

Zhang Ji looked over curiously as well.

The middle-aged man known as Kratos sharply turned his head, his gaze landing on Zhang Ji.

Their eyes met. An inexplicable pressure bore down on him, but Zhang Ji had no intention of looking away. ’My life is worthless. I’ve got nothing left to fear.’

"Interesting."

Kratos smiled, beckoned one of his men over, and gave an order.

The man listened, then walked into the roasted duck rice shop. He emerged carrying a large basin of roasted duck rice. Meeting Zhang Ji’s fervent gaze, the man sneered and dumped the entire portion into a bowl belonging to a fierce German Shepherd outside the shop.

A look of disbelief filled Zhang Ji’s eyes.

Kratos stared at Zhang Ji, seemingly anticipating his reaction.

However, Zhang Ji lowered his head.

He came from a civilized society; he didn’t know what he should do.

They were humiliating him. There was no doubt about it.

’Fight them?’

’Could I win?’

’What can I do, then?’

’I’m not actually going to fight a dog for its food, am I?’

Kratos sized him up for a moment, then turned with his men to leave.

One step, two steps, three steps...

"WOOF WOOF WOOF... WHIMPER-HOWWWL~"

"My dog!!!"

Kratos turned back to see the German Shepherd twitching on the ground, knocked senseless by a rock. He also saw Zhang Ji, clutching the dog bowl and desperately shoveling in another mouthful, even as the shop owner beat him with a stick.

He wasn’t sure he could beat the men, but he could definitely take the dog.

Kratos took a deep drag on his cigar, a hint of approval in his eyes. If the boy didn’t have at least this much fight in him, he wouldn’t have been worth a second glance.

"Xiaowu, when he’s finished eating, take him to Cheng," Kratos said to a young man in a gray jacket beside him.

"Understood," Wu Chen nodded.

Kratos left with his men, and Wu Chen strode over to the front of the roasted duck shop.

The shop owner was still beating Zhang Ji with a stick. It wasn’t too thick, about two fingers’ width, like a rolling pin. The owner wasn’t holding back, but while the blows hurt, Zhang Ji suffered no broken bones.

With swift reflexes, Wu Chen shot out a hand and caught the stick as the shop owner swung it again. "Kratos wants him," he said flatly.

The shop owner froze, then immediately forced a smile and scurried away, not even sparing a thought for his injured dog.

Zhang Ji paid them no mind. He was starving. He just clutched the dog’s bowl, cramming food into his mouth, one bite after another. He even crunched up the duck bones and swallowed them whole.

Wu Chen said nothing to Zhang Ji. He just leaned quietly against a wall, watching him eat.

Many people had been exiled to the island over the years, but he had rarely seen anyone like this.

In that brief moment before, he had seen it clearly: the wild, almost hysterical determination in the boy’s eyes as he’d lowered his head—a vow to achieve his goal at any cost. Even he had been slightly taken aback.

’This is a man driven by obsession,’ he thought. ’Or perhaps, resentment?’

Unwilling to accept his circumstances, with a goal he desperately wants to achieve, and willing to do anything to reach it.

A person like that, as long as they don’t die, is bound to make a name for themselves.

Soon, the large basin of food was wiped clean. Zhang Ji even picked up the last few grains of rice from the bottom of the bowl and put them in his mouth.

"Full?" Wu Chen asked.

"Seventy percent," Zhang Ji said.

It was the truth.

Before, he could have eaten a third of that basin at most. But now, for some reason, his appetite had grown immensely.

’Is it because this transmigrated body is different?’

"Want another helping?" Wu Chen asked, then added, "My treat."

"No, thanks." Zhang Ji shook his head. "So, what do you want from me?"

He may have abandoned his dignity for a meal.

But he didn’t think this was an equal exchange.

At least, their attitude suggested otherwise.

"This place might be different from the outside world, but it still follows some basic rules," Wu Chen said, taking out a pack of cigarettes and offering one to Zhang Ji. "If you want to survive here, you need to find work to make a living."

"Thanks, but I don’t smoke," Zhang Ji declined.

He didn’t like to smoke.

"Come with me." Wu Chen lit a cigarette for himself and took a drag.

He then started walking off, seemingly unconcerned whether Zhang Ji would follow.

After a moment’s hesitation, Zhang Ji chose to follow.

He wanted to ask something. "Is this Shanli Island?"

"Didn’t the people who dumped you here tell you?" Wu Chen retorted.

Zhang Ji’s heart sank. He gave up on any lingering hope.

"Is Kratos the boss here?" Zhang Ji asked.

"The entire Kui District is under Kratos’s control," Wu Chen said, his eyes darkening. "Even our lives are his."

Zhang Ji got a rough idea of the size of Kui District. It was probably this entire block-like fortress, housing a few thousand people.

Shanli Island had no single, large, unified power—nor could it. The Eastern Extreme Country would never allow it.

Everything was decentralized.

There were scattered settlements, villages, and fortified districts like this one.

Each territory had its own boss.

They cooperated sometimes, and other times they fought over resources and profits.

It was like a miniature version of feudal warlords carving up their territories.

Zhang Ji observed his surroundings as they walked.

Some of the things here showed a surprising level of technology.

For example, a man was moving heavy objects while wearing a simple exoskeleton.

He easily lifted an object that looked to be over a hundred pounds with a single hand.

Others, however, were still hauling things by hand. Clearly, not everyone here had access to such equipment.

’After all, this is a penal island, and we’re in the territory of just one small faction. How many resources could they possibly have?’

Wu Chen led Zhang Ji to a warehouse where several men were unloading goods from a rickety old truck. An old man stood to the side, taking inventory.

"Mister Cheng," Wu Chen said with a hint of respect.

"Spit it out," Cheng said without looking up from his writing.

"Kratos sent him," Wu Chen said, gesturing to Zhang Ji.

Cheng glanced at Zhang Ji, then said to him, "Go help."

Zhang Ji paused for a second before walking over to the other porters.

They appeared to be moving crates of food.

Zhang Ji copied the other workers, hopping into the truck bed, grabbing a wooden crate with one arm, and quickly carrying it out to stack on a pallet.

The crate weighed about sixty pounds, but he lifted it without much effort.

Watching Zhang Ji work, Cheng said to Wu Chen, "You can go. I’ll keep him."

Wu Chen gave a slight nod and left without saying a word to Zhang Ji.

After they finished unloading the truck, Zhang Ji found himself staring blankly at the writing on the crates. One of the other workers spoke to him, "Not bad. What’s your name?"

"Zhang Ji," he replied.

"I’m Gu Ming." The man extended his hand to Zhang Ji.

Zhang Ji shook it, a friendly gesture.

Before long, a new truck arrived with another load.

They immediately got back to work.

Zhang Ji didn’t get a chance to rest until nightfall.

They were provided with a meal.

It wasn’t as good as roasted duck rice, but it wasn’t bad, either. There was meat and vegetables, they didn’t skimp on the grease, and you could eat until you were full.

While he was eating, Cheng walked over and handed him a key. "Follow me."

Zhang Ji followed, still holding his bowl.

After they had walked a short distance, Cheng pointed to a shipping container. "This is where you’ll be living. Get up and eat when you hear the whistle in the morning. You get paid every ten days—twenty a day. Someone will come by to give it to you. Right, there’s a set of work clothes on the bed inside. Wear them tomorrow."