As a young marshal, it's reasonable for me to have 300,000 private troops, right?

The moment the signal for the final assault was given, the battle was completely out of control.

What was originally expected to be a fierce assault turned into a close-quarters melee by Qi Fan. The thirty-meter distance was covered in an instant, and the students of the Second Squad rushed up the Xiaogushan position like tigers pouncing on their prey, shattering the defensive formation of the First Squad.

The positional advantage that the First Squad had relied on was completely lost in close combat.

Led by Qi Fan, the trainees of the Second Squad were in high spirits, each one as fierce as a wolf or tiger, their battle cries echoing through the valley.

On the other hand, the fighting spirit of the first squad was almost completely extinguished the moment they stepped onto the battlefield under the enemy's rapid offensive. Many of them were tackled and subdued by the enemy before they could even react.

It wasn't that the students in the first squad were unwilling to fight to the death; it was simply that the situation had become completely clear.

After all, this was just an exercise, not a real battlefield. Knowing that resistance would be futile and would only lead to more embarrassment, the point of resisting was lost.

In the blink of an eye, the battlefield became a one-sided, crushing situation.

Yang Qinglin, watching this scene from the hillside, had bloodshot eyes and was still making a final struggle.

He roared as he moved through the battle lines, desperately trying to organize the students to fight back, but it was all in vain.

The Second Squad's offensive was unstoppable, and more and more First Squad members were subdued, obediently raising their hands to indicate defeat.

Yang Qinglin knew in his heart that he was destined to lose this exercise.

But he couldn't afford to lose too badly. On the viewing platform, all the high-ranking officials of Fengtian were watching, and his cousin Yang Yuting was also looking forward to his performance.

Even if he loses, he must show the backbone of a soldier and never show the slightest sign of cowardice.

Thinking of this, he took a deep breath, grabbed the Hanyang rifle beside him, and strode towards Qi Fan.

At this moment, the panic on his face was gone, replaced by an unyielding stubbornness.

"Zhang Hanqing!" Yang Qinglin stopped a few steps away, his voice hoarse but filled with a hint of gritted teeth and anger.

"You're really cunning, using this feint to scheme against me?"

Qi Fan was raising his hand to signal the students to go easy on him when he heard this, and slowly turned around.

He looked at Yang Qinglin, who was covered in dust and had a stubborn look in his eyes, and said calmly.

"On the battlefield, strategy and tactics are a game of strategy; winning is the only true measure of victory. What, you disagree?"

"I lost, but I, Yang Qinglin, refuse to accept this!" Yang Qinglin said, his neck stiff and his eyes sharp as knives.

"Winning through trickery doesn't count as real skill! Do you dare to have a one-on-one duel with me? Let's fight fair and square and see who the real hero is!"

As soon as these words were spoken, the fighting around them stopped instantly, and everyone's eyes were focused on the two of them.

Upon seeing this, Zhang Xuecheng immediately stepped forward, blocking Qi Fan's path, and glared at Yang Qinglin, shouting angrily.

"Yang Qinglin, stop showing off! You just want a fight? Come on, I'll fight you!"

"you?"

Yang Qinglin glanced at Zhang Xuecheng, a disdainful sneer curling at the corner of his mouth.

"You're not qualified. I want to settle this with Zhang Hanqing!"

These words completely ignited Qi Fan's anger.

He originally thought the exercise was over and there was no need to cause any more trouble, but Yang Qinglin's persistent attitude piqued his interest.

Since the outcome is already decided, and the other party wants to play, I'll play along and make him accept his defeat wholeheartedly.

Thinking of this, Qi Fan patted Zhang Xuecheng on the shoulder, signaling him to move aside.

Then, he stepped forward and stood facing Yang Qinglin, speaking with a cold gaze.

"Alright, since you want to have a go, I'll play along."

"Brother!" Zhang Xuecheng, who was standing nearby, hurriedly grabbed Qi Fan, his face full of worry.

"If he wants to fight, I'll fight him. There's no need for you to go and fight yourself! It's not worth getting hurt."

"What? Didn't you realize he was coming for me? Or are you afraid I'll lose to him?"

Zhang Xuecheng was speechless for a moment, then immediately shook his head and said no more.

He knew in his heart that Qi Fan's close combat skills were no worse than his own; it was just that Qi Fan had always been low-key and didn't like to show off easily.

Qi Fan was trained by various teachers hired by Zhang Zuolin from a young age. Among them, the one who taught him fighting was the last martial arts champion of the Qing Dynasty.

That old champion's kung fu was unparalleled. It was said that he could split a tree as thick as a bowl in half with a single palm strike, and his strength was unfathomable.

With such a renowned teacher to guide him, Qi Fan's skills were naturally quite good; however, he kept them well hidden, and no one knew his true abilities.

Qi Fan said no more, took two steps forward, casually threw the rifle in his hand aside, and stared directly at Yang Qinglin.

"I'll fight you. But since it's a one-on-one match, it would be too much of a rip-off for me to use weapons against you. I want to see just how much your so-called real skill really is."

Stop pretending to be generous!

Yang Qinglin's eyes hardened, and he suddenly bent down to grab the Hanyang rifle at his feet, gripping it with the butt facing down in his hand.

"Today I'll show you that real skill isn't about empty talk!"

Before he finished speaking, Yang Qinglin grabbed the Hanyang rifle and charged forward, the butt of the rifle whistling through the air as it struck Qi Fan squarely in the face.

Having served in the military, he was already well-trained in close combat and bayonet fighting. Now, fueled by anger, his attacks were even more ferocious and ruthless, each strike aimed directly at vital points.

The surrounding trainees held their breath, and Zhang Xuecheng clenched his fists and couldn't help but take half a step forward.

Zhang Zuolin, standing on the viewing platform, sat up straight, squinted at the center of the battlefield, and muttered something under his breath.

"These two kids are even starting to fight hand-to-hand. Can Xiao Liu handle it?"

Despite Yang Qinglin's fierce offensive, Qi Fan remained calm and composed.

He moved with light steps, as if strolling in a garden, and dodged the gun butt that was about to hit him with a sidestep.

Yang Qinglin missed his attack and immediately changed his move, swinging his Hanyang rifle horizontally to sweep Qi Fan's waist with a smooth and swift motion.

Qi Fan twisted his waist and easily dodged again. At the same time, his right hand shot out like lightning, his fingertips brushing against the barrel of the Hanyang rifle and accurately grabbing Yang Qinglin's wrist.

Yang Qinglin felt a numbness in his wrist, and the force he was using to grip the gun instantly weakened. He hurriedly tried to break free, but found that Qi Fan's fingers were as firm as iron clamps.

"Is that all the strength you have?"

Qi Fan spoke calmly, but suddenly increased the pressure on his hands.

"Ugh!"

Yang Qinglin groaned in pain as a piercing pain shot through his wrist, and he could no longer hold the Hanyang rifle. With a clang, the rifle fell to the ground.

Before Yang Qinglin could react, Qi Fan took a step forward, gently pressing his knee against Yang Qinglin's lower abdomen, while his other hand gripped Yang Qinglin's shoulder. With a little force, he forced Yang Qinglin to kneel on one knee, unable to move.

The whole process was clean and efficient, taking only two or three rounds, so fast it was dazzling.

"Are you convinced now?"

Qi Fan looked down at him, his tone still calm, yet carrying an undeniable air of authority.

Yang Qinglin's face turned bright red, and the veins on his forehead bulged. He struggled a few times but couldn't break free at all.

"I refuse to accept this! You..."

"You have to submit whether you like it or not!" Qi Fan tightened his grip slightly, and Yang Qinglin let out another muffled groan.

"On the battlefield, no matter what means you use, winning is the real skill."

These words struck Yang Qinglin like a heavy hammer blow.

Looking at the Hanyang rifle on the ground and feeling the oppressive force emanating from his body, he finally lowered his head helplessly, and the stubbornness on his face was gradually replaced by frustration.

The students from the Second Squadron around them erupted in cheers, which echoed throughout the entire Xiaogushan position.