stjorthotic Chapter 272 You're pretty good
Chapter 272 You're pretty good
Chapter 276 You're Pretty Good (Requesting Double Votes)
The game continues.
After the appetizer of three vine whips, it's time for the leather whip.
This is amazing; it feels like every strike is trying to pull a person's soul out of their body.
In a moment of distraction, I could even see my deceased great-grandmother waving in broad daylight.
Several people couldn't take it anymore and withdrew, leaving only four contestants lying steadily on the wooden frame.
Especially the leatherworker, who didn't move at all from beginning to end; the whip seemed to strike him as if it were hitting an old cowhide.
He himself deals with this, and seems to know how to apply force and deflect it.
He was whipped several times, but he didn't even flinch. The audience on the sidelines had already started giving him nicknames.
Some call him "Iron Butt Tom," while others call him "Old Bullhide."
After enduring three more lashes of the leather whip, they switched to a thinner whip, which was a completely different thing.
The impact area is very small. As long as the force and angle are right, the blow will leave a straight line, and it will hurt for a long time.
After the thin whip lashed down with a sharp whistling sound, Old Niu Pi's body finally stirred.
Suddenly, his whole body tensed up, the muscles in his buttocks hardened like an iron plate, and his whole body trembled slightly.
The laughter from the sidelines subsided a bit; everyone could tell that it really hurt.
After digesting the excruciating pain, Old Niu Pi shook his head and said, "Continue."
The soldier in charge of drawing his finger immediately gave him a thumbs up.
Old Niu Pi chuckled and said, "Your strength is alright, but it's nowhere near as good as my wife's."
This remark was overheard by another contestant on the nearby wooden frame, who was still grinning and grimacing. He burst out laughing.
After laughing, he was whipped again and let out a miserable howl. His expression of crying and laughing at the same time was more exciting than the competition on stage.
The audience burst into laughter again.
Someone shouted at him what kind of whip his wife used, and someone else started a commotion, saying that he should bring his wife to be the whip-wielder tomorrow.
For a moment, everyone was talking at once, creating an incredibly lively scene.
In stark contrast to the old cowhide was the skinny bamboo pole next to him.
His body was so thin it looked like a clothesline pole, making you feel that if the next whip fell, his bones would crack and shatter on the spot.
From the very first lash, he remained completely silent, like an old oxhide.
But with each lash, his body would convulse violently, as if he had been electrocuted.
To keep himself from screaming, he bit his lip until it bled, and beads of blood seeped from the corner of his mouth.
When the whip was replaced with a thin one, he trembled even more violently. This was no longer endurance; he was risking his life to resist.
He lay face down on the wooden frame, remaining motionless for a while, with only the abnormal rise and fall of his back indicating that he was still breathing, which made the person watching feel uneasy.
Even though the duck that conceded defeat was still rubbing its rear end at the edge of the field while cursing the referee.
But the laughter from the sidelines grew fainter and fainter.
Many viewers were on tenterhooks, fearing that this stubborn, skinny guy would just give up here.
Those who are still holding on and haven't run away, clinging to the bar tightly and carrying it without uttering a sound, are truly admirable.
"come on!"
Suddenly someone shouted, though it was quickly drowned out by the noise, it was like a hand catching someone who was about to fall.
Immediately afterward, a spectator waved his fist and shouted, "Hang in there! Only three more lashes left!"
His voice inspired more audience members to join in, and they all shouted along.
"Soldiers, hurry up and draw your prizes! Don't dawdle! Don't delay them from receiving their awards!"
"The first 100 people will receive a silver coin, a chiffon cake, and meals included. Don't miss out!"
"You're all great!"
The referee frowned, walked up to the skinny guy, and unusually refrained from using his usual insults. Instead, he asked in an almost gentle tone, "Kid, are you alright? If not, just say so and go get treatment. It's not shameful."
The thin bamboo pole didn't raise its head.
He buried his face in his arms, and after a long while, he said in a trembling voice, "Don't stop, it's almost finished, keep going!"
The referee stared at him for two seconds, and finally something different appeared in those eyes that had seen so many deserters and bastards.
He stepped back a few paces, gestured with his chin towards the soldiers, indicating that they should continue.
By the seventh lash, he was no longer trembling. It was unclear whether he had become numb from the pain or if his body no longer belonged to him.
On the eighth strike, he raised his head, his eyes fixed on the front. His gaze didn't seem to be that of someone being beaten, but rather that of someone staring at a destiny that only he could see.
When the last lash fell, he even leaned back slightly, as if to swallow the lash whole.
Although he was in so much pain that his scalp was throbbing, he was proving something to everyone in the most clumsy and primitive way.
We can hold on!
"good!"
A spectator outside the stadium let out a roar.
Immediately afterwards, applause and cheers erupted like a flood bursting its banks, sweeping across the entire stadium!
Old Niu Pi propped himself up from the wooden frame, wincing in pain, but still waved to the audience, eliciting another round of laughter and cheers.
The thin bamboo pole slowly stood up.
His legs were shaking like leaves, but he managed to stand up, then raised his head and straightened his chest.
His thin face still bore traces of blood, but his eyes shone with an astonishing brightness.
Thunderous applause and cheers soared to the heavens!
The sound was no longer for entertainment or to stir up trouble, but a heartfelt tribute to these most ordinary yet most resilient people.
This is dedicated to them!
The referee silently took the water pouch from his waist, handed it to the skinny man, patted him on the shoulder, and praised, "You're very good."
The skinny guy paused for a moment, took it, tilted his head back and gulped down a large mouthful, then gave him a smile that was more like a grimace.
At this moment, a young woman rushed in from outside the field, hugged the thin bamboo pole and wailed loudly. Judging from her mouth movements, it seemed that she was cursing him for being stupid, but the strength with which she grabbed his arm was tighter than anyone else's.
The crying was heartbreaking, and in the end, they had to drag him off the field.
In the stands, Lucy clapped softly, turned to look at Richard, and reflected in her icy blue eyes the figures in the stadium who swayed but remained standing.
"Now I think I understand why you organize so many strange and unusual competitions."
Richard smiled slightly, his gaze falling on the contestants who were receiving cheers, his voice carrying a rare seriousness.
"You see, all they need is a tiny, insignificant reward and an opportunity to prove themselves."
After saying that, he leaned back in his chair, raised his glass, toasted the figures in the room, and drank it all in one gulp.
Lucy beckoned backward with her finger.
A Frost Knight stepped forward.
"Go down and ask that skinny guy if he wants to join the army."
"Yes, ma'am."
Poor physical fitness can be gradually improved, but this kind of tenacious willpower is not something everyone possesses.
Even without extraordinary talent, they are still rare talents to join the reserve force.