Chapter 27: Gravely Wounded!

Night had fully descended, yet even above the battlefield, stars glimmered in the night sky. The heavens were adorned with a river of stars, their radiance dazzling, giving the impression of a sky so clean and transparent it was almost unreal. The first sight of such a night was awe-inspiring. But Fang Mu had been in the battlefield for more than three months now, and had grown accustomed to this star-strewn sky.

The coming of night greatly impaired visibility. Gazing through his scope, Fang Mu pondered whether he should seize the opportunity under the cover of darkness to retrieve the Storm Tiger's corpse. Continuing to stand off like this was clearly not a solution.

He frowned slightly. It wasn't that he lacked patience—what troubled him most was that he had no way of knowing whether his opponent had already left. If the enemy was gone, then his battle of wits with empty air would be nothing short of foolish.

He scanned the terrain through his scope once more, searching, but as before, found nothing. His frown deepened.

After waiting for the better part of the day, he gritted his teeth. "Enough. Whether he's left or not, I don't care. I'll get the tiger meat first."

He hadn't dared to retrieve the tiger meat earlier because there had been two enemies, and his own rifle had been rendered unusable. Now, with a D-series sniper in his hands and only one enemy left, he had no reason to hesitate any longer.

With this thought, he prepared to rise and depart. But just as he stood, a chilling sensation crawled up his spine—a bone-deep terror seized his heart. At the same instant, a searing pain exploded in his mind without warning—so intense, yet so familiar.

This was the same agony he'd felt earlier that day, when he had tried to retrieve the tiger's body. That pain had made him freeze for a split second, resulting in a bullet aimed at his head striking his shoulder instead—a twist of fate that had saved his life.

Now, the pain was back—accompanied by that heart-stopping sense of dread.

Fang Mu had never reacted so swiftly. The moment he sensed danger and pain, he instinctively flung himself sideways, rolling out of the way.

Crack!

The earth beside him erupted as a bullet struck, sending dirt flying. Simultaneously, the thunder of a gunshot roared in his ears.

A sniper!

Fang Mu's heart lurched. Without a thought, he sprang up, aiming to leap over to the other side of the hillock.

But mid-leap, that dreadful premonition hit him again.

His mind went blank with terror.

A follow-up shot!

He was still being targeted!

At that crucial instant, instinct took over. He snatched up the D-785, raising it to shield his head.

He gambled that the enemy would aim for his head.

Bang!

He was right.

But after the deafening report, Fang Mu felt as if he'd been struck by a speeding truck. The devastating force tore the D-785 from his hands, sending him hurtling three or four meters through the air, about to tumble over the hill's far side—

But that chilling sense of doom struck once more!

A third shot?

Despair flooded him. In that critical moment, every ounce of genetic energy within him surged, unleashing a burst of strength that stalled his body mid-air for a split second.

Crack!

A brutal impact thundered into his back. Blood spurted from his mouth as a gaping wound was blasted clear through his torso. Only then did he tumble down the far side of the hillock.

Boom!

Only then did the third gunshot echo across the battlefield.

Six hundred meters away, a pair of eyes watched the scene unfold, surprise flickering within their depths.

"Such acute senses?"

He marveled at his opponent's sensitivity to danger. The moment he took aim and fired, the target had already reacted and dodged. Frankly, he was taken aback.

At a distance of six hundred meters, with a rifle muzzle velocity of eight hundred meters per second, and the speed of sound only three hundred and forty meters per second, it meant that beyond three hundred forty meters, the bullet would hit before the target heard the gunshot.

Yet this man had reacted the instant the trigger was pulled. What did it mean?

It meant he was not relying on sound, but on something else—an esoteric, uncanny sensitivity to threat, something beyond explanation.

"I've heard rumors of such terrifying abilities. Didn't expect to run into it today..."

He muttered to himself. He'd heard tales, but this was his first encounter.

In any case, it no longer mattered. Though impressed by his opponent's acute instincts, his own reflexes were nothing to scoff at. As the ace sniper of the Wolfbane, after missing the first shot, his next two had found their mark.

Even without employing gun combat techniques, armed with a D-series sniper, his shot was more than enough to finish the job.

With this, he retrieved his communicator and quickly made contact.

"Li Yao, the target is here and badly wounded—he won't last long. I'll leave the rest to you. No problem, right?" he drawled into the device.

Li Yao, who had been anxiously waiting and had already heard the gunshots, felt his spirits lift at Chang Le's words. He exhaled, replying in a low voice, "No problem."

Hanging up, he checked the map sent by Chang Le, noting the specially marked location. Without pausing, he shot off toward it.

Chang Le, satisfied with the confirmation, stowed his rifle, stood up, stretched languidly, and sauntered away, making another call as he went.

"Yeah, I'm done here. Have you guys started eating? Already? Hey, wait for me, save me a couple of skewers... Hey, don't you dare..."

Chang Le had no intention of waiting any longer—he was off to a barbecue. After more than five hours on the move today, he was exhausted.

His foe was gravely wounded and would die before long. If Li Yao couldn't handle him under such circumstances... well, nothing more could be done.

But that was all but impossible.

...

With a heavy thud, Fang Mu crashed to the ground, the violent impact wrenching a mouthful of blood from his lips. He tumbled down the slope, smashing against rocks, his body instantly drenched in blood.

His head swam with dizziness, but survival instincts took over—his hands clawed desperately for purchase. After rolling dozens of meters, his fingers dug into the earth, gouging long furrows before he finally came to a stop.

He forced his eyes open, though his mind was clouded with vertigo.

He was in a pitiful state.

A huge, bleeding hole gaped in his left chest, blood pouring out in streams. He gasped for breath, each inhalation a lance of agony, blood bubbling from his mouth and nose.

That last shot—he had avoided a headshot, but his heart had been pierced.

A pervasive weakness crept over him, as if he could feel his life ebbing away.

Liquid welled up in his throat, and, almost reflexively, he swallowed—blood flowing backward, which, without thinking, he forced down into his stomach.