Chapter 3

The barrel of the rifle extended slightly, revealing it to be an enhanced and modified version of an old bolt-action rifle. The rifle had undergone a simple solidification modification, allowing it to fire more powerful bullets, and a steel tube had been added to the barrel to increase its range. However, the rifle had no advanced sights from the new era, not even the old-style rear sight, only a primitive front sight. The straight-line distance from the muzzle to the lead wolf exceeded 1,500 meters. Even if the old rifle had sufficient range, hitting the target would rely on luck, and not just any luck, but extraordinary luck.

"Looks like it's all down to luck again..." The rifle's muzzle moved slightly with the lead wolf's movements, almost precise to the micrometer.

Bang! The loud and brutal gunshot echoed throughout the valley!

The lead wolf's thick chest almost exploded, and it lowered its head, seeing its terrifying wound just before collapsing to the ground.

With the lead wolf down, the pack of rot wolves immediately fell into chaos. Most of the rot wolves were enraged, running back and forth through the valley, searching for the culprit who dared to challenge the entire pack. However, apart from the smell of gunpowder from an unknown source, there was no unusual scent in the valley. The most sensitive-nosed rot wolves had already rushed up the ridge, but it was already empty. Dozens of enraged rot wolves charged towards the cave where Turner and his team were hiding.

Such a charge was tantamount to suicide. Over forty strong rot wolves, the farthest of which only approached within ten meters of the cave entrance, were mowed down by the dense hail of bullets. The only result was the consumption of a third of the team's ammunition.

After another half hour, the pack of rot wolves began to show even greater agitation and unease. A strong male wolf began to frequently howl and roar, attempting to take over the position of the lead wolf. Seeing this, the warriors of Turner's team became tense again. Although this wolf was much stronger than an ordinary rot wolf, it did not possess the clear intelligence of the original lead wolf. However, no one knew what would happen once the pack had a new leader.

Bang! Another heart-stirring gunshot rang out, and the new lead wolf fell.

This time, Berg finally saw a wisp of smoke rising from the opposite hill. He immediately took out his binoculars and looked over, but saw only a stretch of mountain rocks, with no sign of a person.

"What's the shooting distance?" Turner, who had somehow moved to Berg's side, asked.

Berg estimated the distance and whispered, "1,400 meters." His voice was a mix of jealousy and admiration. Hitting the target accurately at this distance, and hitting it twice, meant that the shooter was at least two ranks higher than him, and had undergone at least three genetic evolutions.

The gunshot was rough and heavy, with the unique metallic gunpowder smell of an old firearm. Whether new or experienced, the members of Turner's team were all experts in firearms. To them, the sound of the gun had a special charm. A firearm that could hit a target at 1,500 meters was clearly designed for range at the expense of other features. However, the high-rank sniper hidden in the shadows was clearly skilled in movement and concealment. Even the rot wolves could not find his trail. With his extremely long range and terrifying accuracy, even if his location was exposed, it wouldn't matter much. Surviving under the sniper's gun really required luck.

The valley returned to silence, and the afternoon sun became even more intense, making the rot wolves restless. Although they had evolved to become stronger and more cunning, their aversion to and tolerance of sunlight had not improved much.

Without the lead wolf's restraint and leadership, the pack of rot wolves reverted from a disciplined army to a group of beasts acting on instinct. An hour before dusk, they lost their last bit of patience and began to leave the valley in small groups.

The warriors in the cave all breathed a sigh of relief, and even Turner felt his tense nerves relax. For three days, all the warriors in the team had been living under the shadow of death, physically relaxed but mentally extremely tense. If the worst ways to die were ranked, being eaten by rot wolves would probably be second only to being devoured by zombies.

As dusk approached, a figure appeared on the opposite hill. A yellow-brown hooded cloak made him almost blend into the surroundings. The rifle on his back, almost as tall as he was, was clearly the weapon that had killed the two lead wolves. The few rot wolves still patrolling the valley immediately roared and charged at him. With a few loud gunshots, several rot wolves fell to the ground, moaning and convulsing, unable to get up again.

He did not use the rifle on his back but instead held a powerful, modified pistol in his left hand. The automatic rifle needed two bursts to bring down a rot wolf, but he only needed one shot. This was not just the power of the firearm; it was the result of hitting the rot wolf's vital points with consecutive shots.

The sound of the pistol and its power were equally impressive, almost as loud as the sniper rifle on his back. It was rough, thick, simple, and direct, like a strong man with a full beard.

After killing six rot wolves in succession, he flicked his finger, and the pistol's drum opened, dropping six hot shell casings. Six more bullets were quickly loaded into the drum by his skilled fingers, and with a click, the drum was back in place. Without aiming, he slightly raised the muzzle, and a long tongue of flame spewed out. In the gunshot that echoed through the valley, the seventh and last rot wolf to charge at him was thrown into the air, flipped over, and fell heavily to the ground. It whimpered, blood gushing from its body, but the position did not reveal the wound, making it unclear how this shot could bring down a notoriously tough and resilient rot wolf.

There were still over ten rot wolves wandering in the valley, but with the crisp and dense sound of automatic rifle fire, none of the remaining rot wolves escaped the hail of hot metal.

Turner's M3A let out a brisk roar, shooting down the last rot wolf trying to escape halfway up the hill. He then pointed the muzzle at the ground, crossed the valley, and walked towards the mysterious figure on the opposite hill. Turner's hand loosely gripped the rifle's handle, and with a slight wrist movement, the M3A's muzzle could spring up like a startled rabbit. The soldiers behind him spread out casually, and if needed, each one's firepower could immediately cover the mysterious figure.

It could be said that almost the entire team's lives were saved by this person, but caution against strangers was a survival instinct. Although the person had put the pistol back in his waist, the pistol was still memorable, and almost everyone remembered that there were still five bullets in it. Given his agility in reloading in a second, if he had ill intentions, he could fire at least three shots before Turner's team could shoot him. From his previous shooting, three shots meant three lives.

Turner stopped ten meters in front of him and carefully examined this strangely dressed person. In the bright sunset, under the thick yellow-brown cloak, most of his face was hidden under a dense bandage, with a black eye patch covering his right eye and light grayish-gold hair covering most of his forehead. Although only his left eye was visible, the long, strong, slightly curved eyebrow, the green-gray iris, and the lines that outlined his eye formed a nearly perfect picture.

Turner suddenly felt his throat dry. Despite the person's apparent male form and the uncertainty of whether the body under the bandages was human, in this era of survival, desires had lost their constraints, and sex and violence had become most people's instincts. Men and women, adults and children, humans and non-humans, all boundaries were rapidly blurring in the eyes of those seeking stimulation and climax.

Years of experience on the brink of death made Turner calm down, and he was relieved to see no hostility in the other's green eye.

After a moment of hesitation, Turner released his grip on the M3A and extended his hand to the stranger: "I'm Turner."

In a group of first-time meetings, this was a rare gesture of friendliness. The stranger was clearly surprised but smiled, his eyes slightly curved, and shook Turner's hand: "I'm... Su."

Su's hand was also wrapped in bandages, with no skin exposed. Through the bandages, Turner felt the hand was more delicate and softer than a normal person's, yet it seemed to hide explosive strength. This contradictory feeling made him feel as if he was not shaking hands with a stranger but gripping the sharp teeth of a stone dragon.

Turner's hand trembled slightly and quickly, somewhat rudely, pulled back. Su did not seem to mind.

Turner waved his hand, making a subtle gesture of safety, and the team's warriors relaxed, dispersing to check the wounded rot wolves and collect the bodies needed for the mission.

Turner stood with Su, took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, carefully pulled out two, and offered one to Su: "You saved all our lives! Want one?"

Su smiled and said, "This is good stuff. Why not?"

After lighting the cigarette, Su deeply inhaled through the gaps in the bandages, and after three or four minutes, he exhaled a light puff of smoke. It was clear he knew how to enjoy tobacco.

While watching his warriors skillfully cut the rot wolf bodies, Turner casually asked, "There doesn't seem to be anything here besides rot wolves. How did you end up here?"

"I've been tracking some unusually behaving rot wolves, trying to see what changes they've undergone, and then I found you trapped in this valley. It was just good luck that I killed the lead wolf." Su's voice flowed like water.

Mutated species, whether living or dead, could fetch a good price in many large bases or settlements. Their genes were the source of new gene-enhancing drugs. Therefore, there were professionals who specialized in hunting mutated species and selling them for money—hunters.

"Are you a hunter?" Turner asked.

"First-class hunter and junior mercenary." Su replied.

"Which company issued your license?" Turner asked.

Hunters or mercenaries were professions anyone could pursue, and they were ranked based on past performance, with licenses issued accordingly. Licenses could be issued by various organizations, scattered bases, large companies, or even federations. Holding a license from a particular organization meant recognition and certain privileges in that organization and its allies. However, any organization could refuse to recognize licenses from other organizations. Therefore, a first-class hunter license from a large company was often more useful than a fourth-class license from a small organization.

"Paine Company."

Turner was somewhat surprised, and his voice carried more respect: "That's a big name!" But thinking of Su's skills in sniping, shooting, concealment, and movement, it was understandable that he had such a license.

Thinking of the lead wolf Su had shot, Turner's eyes twitched, and he took a deep drag on his cigarette, saying gloomily, "I never thought rot wolves would be almost as smart as humans. What a damned world!"

Su watched the warriors pack the rot wolf bodies onto their backs and sighed, "There will be more such lead wolves in the future."

Turner cursed fiercely and then called out loudly, "Guys, move faster! We need to travel all night to get home!"

After giving the order, Turner turned to Su, "You look like you've been out for a while. Come to the base and rest up!"

Having a license meant having a background, no longer a dangerous stranger. Besides, Paine Company had significant influence in this area.

At dusk, Turner's team set off under the cover of twilight. It would take two days to reach the base, and although the night was dangerous, this area was even more so. At the end of their group, a Su moved like a ghost.

Berg intentionally or unintentionally lagged behind, walking alongside Su. In the dim green light of the night, he occasionally glanced at the large, modified rifle on Su's back. What puzzled him was that the rifle only had a very simple optical sight, and even a layman could tell that it was far inferior to the SVD sniper rifle in Berg's hands.

Berg, clearly a shy person, blushed and said in a low voice, "Sir, no, sir, may I ask what rank you are in sniping?"

Su remained silent.

Berg became even more nervous and stammered, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be disrespectful. ... You know, I'm only twenty, just a first-class sniper, and I've never seen anyone like you."

Psychic domain... simple weapon handling... sniping specialization...

These thoughts flashed through Su's mind, and hundreds of data points changed rapidly. After three seconds, he finally reached a conclusion.

"Third-class." Su smiled in response.

Berg was even more excited. Su was indeed a third-class sniper, as he had imagined. Each rank increase doubled the evolution points required, and third-class meant at least seven evolution points had been spent. For Berg, whose lifelong wish was to become a second-class sniper, Su was enough to be his idol.

The shy Berg even felt hesitant to speak to Su, and Su, who was mostly silent, made the back of the team quiet again. Ten people moved quietly and quickly through the night.

The crude, rough, and outdated modified rifle on Su's back, in Berg's eyes, became a rugged, simple, and violent work of art.

He did not know that Su had not spent even one evolution point on sniping specialization.