The Revenge of the Reborn Supreme Sovereign-Chapter 282 - 278: Tell Me, Are You Trash? (5)

No creation without destruction! One must be broken to be rebuilt!

This was Qin Fan's assessment of this group of losers. With only one month, given their current mindset, they could never escape last place unless they were completely broken down, let alone take the crown. That was not the outcome he wanted.

"Come on, you trash! Direct all your anger at me! Let me see just how furious a bunch of losers can get! Come on!" Qin Fan beckoned again and again, the disdain on his face reaching its peak.

"Get him!"

"Fuck him up!"

"Motherfucker!"

"I'm going all in! Even if I get kicked out of the army for this, I'll make this bastard pay!"

"Waste him!"

The repeated provocations finally worked. Reason was utterly defeated by impulse. That youthful, handsome face—adorned with a mix of mockery, disdain, contempt, and ridicule—suddenly became the most hated thing these soldiers had ever seen.

Fists howled through the air. Kicks whistled past.

No matter what, these were elite soldiers from the Northwest Military Region. Even at their worst, they were far from weak. More than a dozen of them attacked in unison, kicking up clouds of dust and sand.

Yet, at the center of the siege, Qin Fan just shook his head with an unconcerned smile. He gave them no chance to get near him. His figure blurred, darting sideways and leaping up. He raised his right hand high, his palm swinging down!

It swept viciously across a soldier's cheek.

SMACK!

Blood sprayed from the soldier's mouth. His vision swam as he was sent flying, landing with a heavy thud. His brain buzzed and he saw stars.

"One!"

With a wicked smile, Qin Fan's figure zipped around.

The same move, the same action, the same result.

"Two!"

SMACK!

"Three!"

SMACK! SMACK!

"Four and five!"

Every slap sent a soldier flying, spitting blood. From start to finish, Qin Fan never changed his technique—just a simple leap and a simple slap.

In less than twenty seconds, all seventeen soldiers were on the ground, their minds blank and buzzing in a daze.

Even now, they couldn't comprehend what had just happened.

Seventeen of us surrounded him, but not one of us could even touch him? More importantly, that guy defeated us just by slapping us? Seventeen slaps, and all seventeen of us were annihilated! How can someone so young be this terrifying?

"Was I wrong to call you trash?" Qin Fan asked with a faint smile, standing with his hands clasped behind his back as he looked down upon the seventeen dazed soldiers on the ground.

No one responded. One second passed. Then three. Then five. Ten seconds went by, but there was still not a single sound.

"Not talking, are you? Fine. I'll make you talk."

As his voice fell, Qin Fan unfurled the Hemp Vine Whip. Striding forward, he brought it cracking down!

"ARGH!!!" A pained howl ripped from a soldier's throat.

"Tell me, are you trash?!"

Completely ignoring the man's cry, Qin Fan whipped another soldier.

"You psycho! You're a fucking lunatic! ARGH!!!"

"Tell me, are you trash?!"

"This is abuse! You're torturing us! Damn you, AAAAAH!"

"Tell me, are you trash?!"

No matter how they wailed, Qin Fan remained unmoved. With every crack of the Soft Whip, he repeated his question. The whistling of the whip became their nightmare.

Just as they'd screamed, he was a psycho, a lunatic, a torturer! A textbook case, at that! An instructor? Was there any instructor in the world this depraved? This guy wasn't sent by the old guard to help them shed the shame of last place; he was clearly sent here to torture them! At this rate, they'd be tortured to death before the Martial Arts Tournament even began! If they had guns right now, they would gleefully unload a full clip into this maniac!

"Tell me! Are you trash?!"

After whipping each of them from the first man to the last, he started over again from the end of the line. Qin Fan kept repeating the same question. In response, the seventeen soldiers were now covered in bloody wounds.

Miserable was an understatement.

"No! I'm not fucking trash! I'm not trash!"

Everyone knew the answer Qin Fan wanted to hear: an admission that they were trash. But for these iron-willed elite soldiers, admitting that was a fate worse than death.

The thought, I'd rather die than be trash!, surged through one soldier's mind. He glared at Qin Fan, his face a mask of fury, and roared hysterically.

"What was that?" The Soft Whip paused. Qin Fan licked his lips and shot the soldier a playful smirk.

"I am not trash! I'm not fucking trash! You just want us to admit we're trash, don't you? NO! In your dreams! If you have the guts, kill me! KILL ME! ARGH! You bastard! If I had a gun in my hand right now, I'd blow your fucking brains out!" The soldier's voice went from hysterical to heart-wrenching in an instant as he screamed madly at Qin Fan.

"Hahaha!"

"He says he's not trash. What about the rest of you? Are you trash?" Amid his laughter, Qin Fan snapped his head toward the other soldiers and demanded sternly.

How did it feel? To be proud, elite soldiers, tortured with a whip and asked if they were trash by a boy who looked barely twenty? It was, without a doubt, a wave of humiliation that washed over them from head to toe. If they admitted to being trash now, they would never be able to hold their heads high in any corner of the army again. Lost in their pain and hatred, the soldiers completely forgot to wonder why Qin Fan could act so brazenly, or why no one had stepped in to stop him.

"No!"

"NO!"

"NO!!!"

Hysterical shouts tore out through gritted teeth, one after another. Seventeen pairs of eyes, burning with endless hatred and explosive rage, locked onto that young, fair face.

"Very good! Knowing you aren't trash is enough. It seems your fighting spirit is back! Heh," Qin Fan said with a genuine, hearty laugh as he put away the Soft Whip.

The abrupt shift in his demeanor made the soldiers momentarily forget the dual torment of body and soul. They stared blankly at the young man, who looked several years their junior.

Is this psycho also schizophrenic?

Ignoring the glares that looked ready to tear him apart, Qin Fan took a few steps back, clasped his hands behind him, and said with grave solemnity, "Allow me to introduce myself. I am Qin Fan, and from this moment on, I am your instructor. Now that I am here, you will shed the shame of being ranked last. Now that I am here, you will settle every last debt of humiliation from previous Martial Arts Tournaments. This year, the title of King's Army will belong to the Northwest Military Region, and no one else! I don't expect you to say anything now. First, treat your wounds."

With that, Qin Fan pulled several small bottles of powder from his pocket and tossed them to the soldiers.

Before he could explain how to use them, a mocking, passive-aggressive voice, dripping with resentment and indignation, came from behind him.

"Hahaha! I thought they'd hired some kind of master. Turns out, it's just a wet-behind-the-ears brat. And what's even more laughable is that the so-called elite soldiers of the Northwest Military Region got taken down and lectured by this little kid? Tsk, tsk. No wonder you're dead last every year! You deserve it, you really do! Thank goodness I didn't have to take over this batch of losers, or my reputation would be ruined! How fortunate, how very fortunate!"