Humanity Forbidden Island [Complete] - 13

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Chapter 180: The Beast Head on the Bayonet

Relying on my memory, I quickly ran to the first pirate sniper I had shot. In the dim moonlight, seeing that the man hadn't been eaten by any wild beast, I felt much relieved. I untied the climbing rope from my waist, plunged the meat hook into the corpse's two collarbones, and dragged the heavy thing back through the dark, hazy woods—a very dangerous undertaking.

Nocturnal carnivores are often venomous snakes and ferocious beasts; if I encountered such trouble, shooting was out of the question, I could only grip my broadsword and hack away. Along the way, I constantly felt something chasing and biting the corpse, but they were small. Even if they held onto the body with their teeth, I was only dragged along.

Back in the grassy crevice between the rocks, I kicked the dead sniper down first, observed the surroundings, found nothing unusual, and then crawled down myself. The moment the long, large rock closed, it felt like a stone coffin covering the corpse. But I wasn't afraid. I'd slept next to corpses far too many times before. My only worry now was attracting wolves and trapping me alive underneath.

I quickly switched on my mobile light source, stripped the pirate sniper of his clothes, and hastily changed into his enemy's attire in the cramped space. His legs were already stripped of flesh, leaving only a pair of bloody shinbones, covered in bite marks.

I took a few deep breaths, chopped off one of the corpse's arms with my broadsword, and poked it through a crack in the large rock overhead to test for any crouching beasts. Sure enough, a steaming mouth pounced on the long rock, biting and pulling at the half-arm. I hurriedly pulled the flesh back with both hands, my heart pounding with panic and anxiety. If I couldn't get out before dawn and reach my designated sniping position, I might be surrounded and encircled by the other pirate snipers.

Although I didn't know what kind of beast was above me, the sheer force with which it tore off my arm suggested it was quite large. I pulled the dagger from my boot, attached it to the muzzle of my Aka rifle, creating a sharp bayonet. The severed arm, pulled back with great effort, was covered in sticky saliva and emitted a strong stench.

So, when I tried to stuff the severed arm back into the crevice, I dared not carelessly stab it with the dagger, lest I be cut by the beast's teeth and get infected by some kind of germ. But the gun barrel was safe; it was hard metal, far stronger than flesh.

The severed arm, dripping with sticky blood, swelled up like a large radish, or like a shadow puppet behind a white sheet, twitching deliberately, before suddenly I felt a gust of wind rush over my head. The beast above, which I couldn't see clearly, pounced on me like a hungry tiger. One of its thick claws even made the wheel of the long stone above my head swing back and forth.

I gritted my teeth, gripping the pirate's severed arm tightly with my right hand, preventing the greedy beast from tearing it away. Forced to crane its neck, it began to devour human flesh from above my head. In the darkness, the beast ate with relish, large drops of wet saliva sliding down the long, narrow stone, worm-like as they crawled along my wrist and into my sleeve.

The skin on my left arm was intact, without any cuts or damage, meaning there was a strong immune system around it. The germs on the beast's saliva could only watch helplessly, unable to enter my bloodstream.

Enduring the stench and the creepy slime, the muscles of my thick right arm bulged. I found an unobstructed opening with my AK-47 rifle, aimed it at the beast's neck, and thrust the long, sharp bayonet in.

"Squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak, squeak..." The creature was engrossed in its meal when the sudden pain caught it off guard, causing it to reflexively shake its head and pull away. The rifle butt was pressed against the beast's neck, the bayonet completely embedded—a fatal blow. Sensing the beast's attack, I twisted the butt of my rifle sharply, further damaging the surrounding muscles and nerves with the bayonet.

The beast, incredibly strong, lunged forward in pain, heading towards the low bushes to the north. Before I could retract my rifle, the bayonet slashed its foreleg again, leaving a deep wound. Having

driven away this unwanted creature, I chopped off the pirate's other arm, held it out of the crevice, and examined it for a while, finding nothing amiss. Then, I gently pushed aside the long boulder and quickly climbed up. The large

, round, yellow moon cast its silvery-gray light slanting into the narrow mountain stream. Insects in the grass, unable to contain themselves, began their collective chorus. The nearby night birds, frightened by the wounded and fleeing beast, hid in the darkness, not uttering a single hoot.

I strained my eyes, carefully surveying my surroundings, then turned and pulled the naked corpse bound to the crevice up, hoisting it onto my shoulder as I ran towards the edge of the peak. At that moment, no one knew that this maimed fellow, whom I had thrown off a two-thousand-meter-deep cliff and into the rushing stream, would ultimately be eaten by whatever animal did, it was none of my concern.

Now, outwardly, except for the weapon entangled in vines, I was disguised as a pirate sniper. The ghost sniper, Chasing Horse, had temporarily disappeared. Carrying my equipment and donning professional sniper camouflage, I ran in a straight line towards the position where I had taken down the first enemy.

If all went well, the five pirate snipers on the left flank peak would be resting and spending the night within a two-thousand-meter radius. I had to break through the enemy's wave-like advance line, maintaining theoretical parallels with them, or remain behind enemy lines to pick them off one by one.

For me, I only had one companion, one teammate, so even disguised as the enemy, I wouldn't suffer from accidental bullets. As for the eight pirate snipers, they absolutely dared not rashly don enemy uniforms, otherwise, it was hard to say which side's guns they would fall to.

Before stripping the pirate sniper naked, I carefully examined every small detail on his body, looking for any markers that might identify teammates. I had tuned his radio to a random frequency, occasionally emitting a crackling, agitated signal.

As long as I didn't use hand signals or speak to the enemy, and relied on the dense strips of cloth draped messily over my head to conceal my face smeared with green grass paste, even if I accidentally wandered into an enemy ambush, they would mostly just curse me as an idiot and laugh at their teammate for being so clueless, confusing the battle situation and the overall strategy.

I kept running, hoping to avoid hearing the flapping of those enormous wings again. At 4:49 AM, I reached the designated sniping position. Using the waning moon, which was about to disappear into the clouds, I moved a few large rocks and lay prone in a patch of higher grass. The scattered rocks all around me, like mythical beasts that hadn't awoke for a thousand years, provided excellent cover. Even if the pirate snipers on the right flank peak reached the other side, they would have difficulty spotting me from the tall trees.

Chapter 181: The Deadly Line Under the Trees

After lying down, I gently poked the camouflaged Barrett rifle barrel out of the tangled grass. The surrounding air was damp, and the wet plants beneath me, though soft, made me very uncomfortable, because without the thick wolfskin for protection, the enemy's camouflage was rather thin.

From this, I deduced that the pirate snipers scattered on the two peaks must not be much more comfortable. At 7:24 AM, I was still lying prone in the deep grass, slightly tilting my head back, observing the trees on both peaks through my binoculars. At this time, the rain had stopped, and the mountain wind blowing was unbearably cold, like walking in short sleeves at dusk in late autumn or early winter.

At 8:32 AM, as a chain snake as thick as a wrist slowly crawled across the barrel of my rifle, the first Soul-Trapping Sniper, 1100 meters away, was hit again, but I didn't notice the direction the bullet came from at all. My ambush position was set up at nightfall. As soon as the sun broke through the pale sky and began to rise, barely showing a hint of dawn, I stopped moving. The enemy couldn't possibly spot me.

The wisest course of action now was to remain still and continue observing. Twenty minutes later, the radio on my waistband started fluctuating abnormally. Clearly, at least one pirate sniper was closing in. I was worried that my disguise concealed a button-type tracking system.

If one or more pirate snipers ran up and mistook me for one of their own, it would be very dangerous. I quickly switched off the radio on my camouflage, keeping my binoculars fixed on the grove of trees at the two o'clock position.

When I spotted a pair of rapidly running feet—the enemy was already 500 meters away—I was startled. He was running from behind me; he must have sensed the signal and was rapidly closing in, hoping to rejoin the formation.

Fortunately, I managed to shut down the scrambled signal in time, forcing the enemy to lose contact with his teammates and run straight ahead like a headless fly. The pirate sniper, thinking it was safe to run within his teammates' sniping range, abandoned his flanking maneuver.

I quickly lowered my binoculars, pressed my eye against the scope, and followed the slowly twisting barrel of the gun with my T-shaped crosshair, quickly spotting two legs rapidly running through the woods. I intended to shoot at the head or chest, but the dense foliage of the trees obscured the target's upper body. Through the circular aperture, the dense understory offered limited visibility; I could only see two legs flashing intermittently, darting about.

"Slow down, slow down, look back at your God..." I murmured, a few soft blades of grass brushing against my writhing cheek. "Whoosh." Seizing the opportunity, just as his running legs suddenly stopped, awaiting the brain's command to change direction, a shrill bullet shot out of the barrel, smashing through the grass in his path, heading straight for the target.

The bullet's flight speed was extremely fast, skimming the ground beneath the trees, drawing a whistling line of fire. The withered leaves, dormant in the dampness, trembled in the gust of wind along the white line, like a seriously ill person trying to sit up suddenly, but lacking the strength.

The pirate sniper, heavily camouflaged, was about to take a run when the bullet struck the ball of his left ankle, causing him to fall heavily, like a galloping horse suddenly tripping over a rope, lurching forward without any chance of avoiding a broken nose, broken teeth, and a split lip. The

wounded pirate sniper lay on his side on the damp leaves, his legs curled up in extreme terror, trying to crawl behind a large tree, seeking cover for his life. Through the sniper scope, rows of trees stood like soldiers in formation. To avoid losing sight of that gap that allowed me to pierce through, I swiftly ejected the spent cartridge from the chamber, my finger on the trigger, my eyes glued to the target, never letting my guard down.

(Full text novel reading, updates, faster, all at 16k Literature Network, PC site: www.16k.cn, mobile site: wap.16k.cn. Support literature, support 16k!) "Whoosh." The Barrett sniper rifle, like a venomous snake, promptly delivered a second bite to its prey. In a very short time, the bullet, still warm from its trajectory, pierced the enemy's abdomen again. But I knew neither shot was fatal. To prevent the enemy from having time to call for backup after being hit, I had to pull the trigger a third time, filling his bleeding abdomen with another bullet.

The pirate sniper was writhing and throbbing in agony beneath the trees. His ankle was badly broken; though his foot was still attached to his shin, even a doctor would have to saw it off.

I stopped firing, my eyes still fixed on the lying target. The pirate sniper's head and chest were still obscured by a large tree, but his bleeding abdomen had soaked through the camouflage strips, the crimson blood clots forming like heavy pomegranate seeds, sliding onto the withered leaves pressed beneath his clothing, swirling endlessly.

Seeing the convulsing enemy gradually stiffen, I finally breathed a sigh of relief. Shooting this pirate sniper was far too risky. The third bullet must have embedded itself in the inside of his spine, damaging his neural pathways and preventing him from adjusting the frequency switch to report the attack to his teammates. I pulled

a piece of dry, hard catfish meat from my backpack, stuffed it into my mouth, and slowly chewed. If the enemy had noticed me because of those three shots, even if I were hit by a sniper's sniper, I'd rather die with a full stomach.

Before I turned seventeen, I had never known the taste of food filling my stomach. The day I joined the mercenary camp, that hunger was replaced by fear. I shot many innocent people, because sometimes, the enemy is innocent too. I was like a child being fought over by both God and the devil, my arms aching with fear and pain, like iron wire binding my heart. But I knew I had to live in freedom.

No one knows the terror of a vibrant life, hiding on the skin of nature, longing for a loved one, only to have its head suddenly blown off. Back then, becoming those seven soul-binding substitutes was like replicating my own life.

The battlefield was like a pool of blood, and I crawled and struggled within it, deeply believing in a certain law. Both sides in combat must fire their bullets at each other, and both sides have a chance of hitting their target. So, I contributed my life to several straw dolls, providing ammunition for the enemy to shoot and hit, thus falling through the funnel of death.

This is an invisible, balancing law originating from the origin of the universe. To try to survive without noticing this depth is to destroy something called "eternity." The wheel of God will naturally crush such existence. The

jerky I'm chewing tastes like mud. I can't even be sure if I'm being targeted by the pirate sniper on the right-wing peak. It's possible they've climbed to the top of a tall tree, waiting to smash my head out.

Chapter 182: The Scapegoat's Smile

The sun has risen, beginning to steam the rainwater from the forests and mountains. The light illuminates the world, greatly expanding the sniper rifle's hunting range. I lie prone in the grass, like a cold-blooded animal continuously receiving the sunlight. The rising, sultry humidity makes me feel like a steamed bun stacked in a steamer.

I remain motionless, time within me like a clogged hourglass. There might be an anthill beneath me, and on the back of my hand gripping the rifle butt, several industrious little black insects are looking around, actively searching for food.

I quickly chewed up a piece of dried catfish meat and spat it into the grass nest to my right. The ant scout perched high on my shoulder immediately waved its antennae, guiding a large swarm of ants to search for food under the messy little plants. Many of the ants that had been making me unbearably itchy quickly disappeared into the massive scavenging task, no longer bothering me.

At 11:27, the sun was exceptionally scorching. Last night it had been bitterly cold, but now my skin was sweating profusely beneath my thick clothing. The three consecutive, rapid shots had indeed stirred a deep fear within me. This worry wasn't unfounded; as a sniper who had killed countless ghosts, I naturally knew the potential risks.

Glancing at the ant swarm for a while, my anxiety subsided considerably. These little creatures, thankfully not the fiery red army ants, would have devoured me alive. I tore off a blade of grass and covered the front of my scope to prevent the lens from reflecting the glaring sunlight. If a pirate sniper were crouching in a tree a thousand meters away, scouting ahead, they would easily spot a round dot of light flashing amidst a clump of weeds.

I had lost all sense of my surroundings; my intuition told me that my current position was likely being scanned by multiple snipers. A careless stand or haphazard movement would mean certain death by bullet.

I dared not activate my radio; there was an even more terrifying possibility: a pirate sniper might have spotted me but couldn't distinguish friend from foe, forced to wait and see.

A wisp of pure white cloud brushed past a gap in the blazing sun. I quickly grabbed my binoculars, observing the peaks to the left and right. The area was quiet, with only occasional breezes; the pirate sniper's shadow was imperceptible.

However, the dandelions growing upright at the tip of the rifle barrels gradually revealed the sun's rising, casting slanted shadows. Although the enemy was also a professional sniper, I sensed an opportunity.

I slowly raised my binoculars, peering through the dense canopy of trees ahead, searching left and right. The sun's angle of inclination, like the Earth's rotation, made the changes difficult to detect without careful attention.

As I peered to the left, a sliver of light suddenly flashed across the right-wing peak. Seeing this, the hairs on my spine stood on end. That refracted sunlight, the instant I observed it, vanished like a flashlight being switched off.

The enemy's treachery—I never imagined it. The sniper I shot down yesterday beneath the trees on the opposite peak, his neck almost severed, couldn't possibly be alive now. If that refracted light had persisted, it meant the weapon beside the corpse was angled upwards. But just now, it suddenly went out—that was enough to tell the story.

The pirate sniper truly lived up to his name; to hunt down his opponent, he actually used a living body to disguise himself as a teammate's corpse, thus deceiving the enemy until he finally shot him. I lowered my head, slowly pulling away the binoculars in front of me, minimizing the movement of the vines and cloth hanging from my forehead to avoid revealing my face.

It was unclear whether that guy had his sniper scope aimed at my head; he was now also using binoculars to scout my position. I rapidly chewed my mouth, which consisted only of my tongue and teeth, pretending to occasionally look down to eat. My eyes, however, gradually moved towards the sniper scope on my weapon.

The instant my left eye touched the scope, I immediately pointed the barrel at him. The pirate sniper, disguised as a corpse, still had his binoculars pointed at me. Seeing me hastily point my gun at him, he wasn't afraid at all; instead, he curled the corners of his green lips, hidden behind the binoculars, into a smile. Then, he made a kill signal, and his smile widened even further.

I understood what that guy meant. He completely mistook me for a teammate. That gesture meant he had noticed me all along. If I were the enemy, he would have shot me in the head long ago. Thinking of this, sweat poured down my forehead and back. This desperate pirate sniper must have found a suitable ambush position and disguised himself, just like me, at the crack of dawn.

His smile suddenly froze because I still had the sniper scope pointed at him. Just as he quickly threw away the binoculars, buried his face in the chamber, and reached out his right hand to lift the scope cap that had just fallen, my finger smoothly pulled the trigger and fired the bullet.

"Bang!" A bullet, extremely bright in the sunlight, shot across the deep ravine towards the eleven o'clock direction. Before the desperate sniper's fingernails could pry open the black scope cap, the bullet struck the green cloth hanging in front of his forehead, becoming a black dot between his eyebrows. The instantaneous pain only caused him to twitch once, and then there were no more signs of life. There's an old Chinese saying, "a scapegoat," and he certainly broke that taboo, choosing an extremely unlucky position.

If he had stood facing a large mirror, observing himself from all sides, he should have quickly discovered the most likely markers for distinguishing friend from foe on his camouflage clothing. Even if the naked eye couldn't see anything, a scan with a signal sensor might have revealed a miniature locator hidden behind that strip of cloth.

That desperate sniper, a top-notch assassin, must have first checked the markings on my clothing, or perhaps he had sensors on him to know the approximate direction of his teammates. But in any case, he was careless.

For some reason, shooting this guy made me feel much lighter. Years of fighting have honed my intuition, a phenomenon that can be explained scientifically. This morning, it took three shots to take down the sniper running through the woods. If I had gotten up and run, changing my sniping position, the person who should have been hit wouldn't have been that desperate sniper.

Clearly, a strong enemy could discern friend from foe by their build and running posture, while I chose to remain prone. When observing the enemy, my binoculars and sniper scope were always separated by sparse grass, meaning enemies on lower ground could only vaguely make out my outline.

This meant there were three snipers remaining on each of the left and right flanks, their ambush range likely far from the summit. I was now certain there were no more snipers nearby; if there were, bullets would have blown my head off long ago.

Slowly getting to my feet, my trouser legs soaked with grass, I crouched for a while to allow my blood pressure to stabilize, then quickly disappeared into a dense thicket of low bushes, running around to the rear of the three pirate snipers on this side of the mountain, hoping to take down one more before sunset.

Chapter 183: The Three Burrows of a Smoked Rabbit

Under the damp, sultry trees, dappled sunlight streamed in. I kept my body low and ran swiftly and rapidly. As the weather improved, the remaining pirate snipers would advance to the location of the camouflaged ship.

Every kilometer I advanced, I quietly climbed a large tree to carefully scout the next kilometer, searching for any snipers hiding there. However, as I climbed a tree for the second time, a thick plume of smoke rose vertically from the distant ravine, soaring into the azure sky.

"Not good!" I immediately thought. The billowing smoke resembled a black dragon, angrily bursting from its cage. I knew immediately that the ship was on fire, and it must have been the pirate snipers. If the ship burned, someone would come out to put it out, and at that time, the pirates' sniper bullets would easily kill their opponents, like shattering practice beer bottles. But

then I thought again, something didn't make sense. The enemy, coveting the munitions in the hold, wouldn't shoot themselves in the foot. One thing was certain: the ship wouldn't spontaneously combust; I had eliminated all fire hazards before leaving. I continued running, and when I was 2,500 meters from the ship, I nimbly climbed into the canopy of a large tree and quietly observed the ship.

This sight confirmed my belief that the Sea Demon far exceeded my expectations. The two Apache helicopters that had airlifted pirate snipers were using smoke grenades; their tactics were utterly unorthodox. Five brown-green yachts, taking advantage of the previous two rainy nights, had quietly surrounded the large ship, which was covered in tree branches.

These guys were huddled on the deck, holding machine guns or automatic rifles, constantly looking up at the towering cliffs. It seemed they had only recently arrived; the steep, sloping rock walls on both sides inspired awe in any first-time visitor.

Three burly white men, their arms rolled up, were carrying camouflage branches cut from the ship's side and piling them towards the cabin door. The damp branches, thrown onto the roaring flames, were difficult to ignite immediately; the billowing black smoke seeped into the ship's interior like ghosts.

A cunning rabbit has three burrows, and hunters without guns are also very clever. When catching a rabbit, they first block one of the burrows' exits, then set up firewood at the entrance of another burrow and continuously pour smoke into it. When the rabbit, its face streaked with tears and unable to bear the agonizing breath, finally bursts out of the last open burrow, only to crash into the hunter's pre-laid net, becoming a tangled ball of yarn. At that point, it can only stare in terror as the hunter approaches, grinning, and smashes its head with a stick or grabs its legs and slams it to the ground.

The pirates surrounding the deck were waiting for their adversary to rush out of the hold, then they would shoot him dead. Their arrogant faces seemed to be telling the defiant ghost that he had messed with the wrong person.

Through the binoculars, the pirates on the deck appeared mixed but orderly. A tall man in a dark blue general's uniform wore sunglasses under his peaked cap, the same kind I had taken from the enemy that day. This guy had a horse-like face, and his mouth, which was clenched around a pipe, stretched arrogantly. His hands, protectively covering his groin, rested on a long military knife; his boots, gleaming black, extended all the way to his knees.

His attire was peculiar, defying description; it was hard to identify which country's military uniform he wore. Perhaps he had deliberately dressed like this. Though incongruous, it was immediately obvious that he was Jason Jody, the captain of the Sea Demon. A pirate leader feared by all passenger and cargo ships.

Even if my Barrett sniper rifle could kill this pirate captain, I wouldn't easily fire. Since they dared to openly line up on the deck, I suspected the Cang Gui hiding there wasn't just arrogant, but possessed a confidence born of power.

Jason Jody, the pirate captain of the Sea Demon, knew there might be enemy snipers on the peaks on both sides, yet he stood exposed on the deck, only holding a military knife, demonstrating his formidable presence among the pirates. That despicable leader, Cang Gui, only knows how to sit back and unleash his power on the ship, using blood-soaked money and innocent women as bait to entice his henchmen to their deaths.

I know exactly where the enemy's confidence comes from. The six pirate snipers chasing us must have reached the peaks on both sides of the ship, forming a sniping network. The real purpose of the ten pirate snipers is to clear the way for Jason Jody's speedboat, eliminate obstacles along the way, and seize sniping positions on the ship's peaks.

In this way, the ship that helped us escape the island will fall completely into enemy hands. Now, I can only crouch in the canopy of a large tree, quietly observing the enemy and actively thinking about new battle plans.

The pirates on deck, after trying to smoke out the ship for half a day, still couldn't get the enemy out, and they themselves had shed a lot of snot and tears, so they stopped adding firewood to the fire by the cabin door. Jason Jody raised a hand, took the pipe from his mouth, and waved it at a burly black man carrying a machine gun.

A heavy machine gun immediately spewed forth, countless fierce bullets swarming into the hatch like a bee. Six men armed with automatic rifles followed closely behind the black machine gunner, methodically rushing into the large ship.

A deafening boom echoed as the blackened hatch suddenly spat out tongues of fire, resembling a chimpanzee opening its mouth to lick termites from its nose. The black machine gunner at the front was riddled with shrapnel, his torn flesh gushing blood.

I had killed many engineers and been wounded by their minefields, so whenever I captured a prisoner of engineers, I would extract useful information to silence them. Therefore, the outcome for many engineers clearing my minefields was predictable.

At that time, I was merely a killing machine being used; failing to complete a mission meant being killed by the next successor. This forced every mercenary like me to risk their lives to fulfill the wishes of their superiors.

But now, the rifle in my hand and the bullets inside fight only for myself, for free will. I will make evil taste the bitterness of raising a tiger to cause trouble, and repay it tenfold for the pain it inflicted upon me. It

's been two days since I said goodbye to Luya and Yiliang that night. I wonder how the two girls' injuries are healing. Chi Chun is wise; she'll take good care of them. Sufficient food and fresh water are God's protection, allowing those hiding in their lair to escape the clutches of evil.

On the night I laid the fishing line minefield, Yiliang stood blankly to the side, her small hands wrapped in bandages, watching me work. Descending the hatch stairs to the lowest level, one would trigger a highly sophisticated detonation wire. Once an attacking enemy detonates a grenade, the eight grenades behind them would explode in succession.

The principle is simple: the first detonating grenade snaps the remaining taut fishing lines, causing the heavy object placed high up to fall rapidly. The eight grenades behind the line setter are then rapidly pulled up, triggering the safety valves before exploding like ripe fruit conquered by gravity. This explosion is carefully designed to increase deception.

The lethality is related to the number of detonating grenades; when setting up the minefield, given the large warehouse of munitions, overkill was not considered. The power of ingenuity is strong; in the blink of an eye, the Sea Demon lost seven lives.

This left Jason Jodie's pirate group with only nine men. The pirates on deck immediately lay down, and Jason Jodie, abandoning his previous swagger, pulled out an FN57 pistol from his back waist, like a frightened Scottish sheepdog, ready to pounce.

This was a golden opportunity. The remaining nine pirates would be focused on the empty cabins of the large ship, mistaking them for opponents throwing grenades. The pirate snipers lying in ambush on the two peaks above the ship were unaware that Jason Jody stood confidently on the open deck; his arrogance had already given them away.

I glided down the tree with lightning speed, seizing the opportune moment, and again circled behind the pirate snipers on the same side of the peak. Twelve minutes later, I crouched behind a pile of rocks and began scouting for positions that offered good cover and firing. I

was certain that on each peak, there was a pirate sniper, prone on the edge, scouting the rock face below each other to prevent snipers from hiding in the branches. Using a triangular approach, I quickly spotted two clusters of dark, fuzzy plants at the ten o'clock and two o'clock positions.

I adjusted my scope; the scale showed these targets were at 1400 meters and 1300 meters respectively. The targets were 500 meters apart. Simply put, the three pirate snipers on each peak formed an isosceles triangle with sides of 500 meters. The apex protected Jason Jody, and the two base angles protected the apex.

"It's you, it must be you, servant of the Lord, your weeping soul should return home..." Silently reciting the Book of Songs, the finger on the trigger gradually tightened. My backpack had plenty of ammunition, and there were many other hidden weapons and ammunition in the nearby mountains, allowing me to resupply at any time. Therefore, firing a few bullets to probe the two suspicious haystacks was necessary.

First, the enemy couldn't hear my gunshots, a major advantage of sniper rifles; second, even if it was a haystack, hitting the target wouldn't disturb the enemy, and if it were living flesh, the thrill would be immense.

"Whoosh!" A bullet shot from the barrel, flying towards the haystacks at the two points. No one noticed the white line flashing past; it disappeared in the dense forest in an instant. The sunlight and shadow on the bullet head alternated at breakneck speed, finally causing only a few blades of grass on the lush green patch to tremble slightly before disappearing into the depths.

A rapid pull of the bolt ejected a golden cartridge case. My eye, pressed against the scope, quickly focused on the haystack at the eleven o'clock position, following the moving barrel. "Whoosh!" Another bullet flew out, carrying my hopes, striking the center of the haystack. If it were a pirate sniper, there would surely be a bullet hole in his back.

The green barrel, entwined with vines, like a tank cannon covered in camouflage, smoothly and accurately returned to the previous position. Through the scope, I carefully observed the first hit haystack, anticipating a melting liquid that would soak into a scarlet spot.

Chapter 184: The Deadly

Pirate Sniper on Yellow Flower Slope. Not naked, if blood were to flow from his back, it would have to seep through layers of clothing, especially the dark green camouflage suit. Silently watching the two haystacks, the target at eleven o'clock trembled slightly first. I knew best the state of dying after being shot; the lingering nerve commands in the muscles, like magic, continuously caused convulsions.

A moment later, blood flowed from the flattened, pointed blades of grass beneath the corpse, making me breathe a long sigh of relief. The target at two o'clock also bled, staining the green grass beneath the corpse's trousers.

Confirming the deaths of the two enemies, my earlier despondency gradually transformed, like a dying lamp being flicked back to life. Now, I must regain control of the large ship and pursue the path that would lead me and the women home.

Slowly drawing my long sniper rifle from the gap between the two large rocks, I hugged it and ran towards the two o'clock position. Eliminating the two base corners of the isosceles triangle sniper formation, and finally taking down the sniper at the apex, would be easy.

I crouched low and made my way to a suitable sniping position, quickly crawling up a small, rocky ridge. Thick, green weeds sprouted from the crevices between the rocks. I gently pulled out my sniper rifle; the scope indicated a distance of 800 meters to the edge of the peak. The ambush point was ideal. On a thin, short locust sapling to my left, two black cicadas, mating, paused briefly as I crouched before resuming their piercing chirping.

The scorching sun beat down on me; inside my thick camouflage, it felt like a sauna. Beads of sweat rolled decisively down my forehead and cheeks, disappearing beneath the tangled grass.

I wiped the sweat from my brow and pressed my eyes back to the scope. I couldn't simply shoot the sniper hidden 800 meters away, as the two peaks were only a hundred meters apart. The sniper on the opposite peak's edge was less than a kilometer away, so I couldn't let him become the predator stalking the prey.

Based on the terrain ahead and the positions of the two pirate snipers' corpses, I quickly deduced the sniper's prone position at the top. The guy was lying prone between two large rocks, his head wrapped in lush green vines, with some small branches stuck in it for camouflage; the leaves were already wilted from the sun.

One bullet would have been enough to knock his skull off, but I didn't do that. I continued to raise the barrel of my gun and scout towards the pirate sniper on the opposite peak's edge. Using geometric principles and considering the opposite mountain's terrain, it took me six minutes to spot a greenish face hidden behind the grass at the edge of a recessed stone pit, as if chewing on something.

I scanned the overgrown stone pit three times without finding anything unusual, but then, when the sniper scope scanned back again, he suddenly tilted his head back and drank water. Professional snipers usually drink from their water bottles using straws. I imagine he probably couldn't drink the remaining fresh water at the bottom of the bottle, but in order to moisten his dry tongue, he had to unscrew the cap and pour it into his mouth.

His body fell into the well, and he couldn't hold on by his ears. I had already focused my reconnaissance on that area, and even without making any small mistakes, he was doomed. But this saved me a few seconds, even a few minutes, which was very important.

The T-shaped sights swayed left and right twice towards the blurry green face behind the weeds, then fixed on the center line, waiting for the finger to pull the trigger and fire the bullet.

"Bang." As soon as the gun fired, the two black cicadas that were happily mating on the locust tree were startled and immediately fell down. The thirsty energy they had just been embracing turned into a desperate escape. Unfortunately, their tails were hooked together, and after flapping their wings for a long time, they finally managed to break off their reproductive organs and fly away in a panic in the direction they thought was safe.

The bullet, like a finger, moved with extremely fast speed, pushing aside the soft vegetation at the edge of the pit and went straight into the right side of the blurry green face. Behind the thin skin and flesh, the molars that were chewing food were broken into pieces, but they could not stop the fierce bullet from continuing to advance. A small hole bulged out of the enemy's cerebellum at the back of his neck. The released bullet was like a mischievous child spitting out the pit after eating a crisp date.

"Bang." Immediately afterward, a second bullet flew out. The pirate sniper with twigs stuck in his head, seeing his comrade on the opposite peak covered in blood, immediately realized the danger behind him. This guy was very professional; he knew the second bullet would definitely kill him, so he desperately sat up and scrambled down the cliff face to try and avoid the fatal bullet.

I had anticipated these emergencies, so before shooting the sniper on the opposite peak, I switched the scope back and forth between his two heads to get used to the feeling. The moment the first bullet hit the target, the barrel was aimed at the green head with twigs stuck in it.

Obviously, he didn't have time to sit up properly, and the bullet pierced through the back of his head. As a result, his grassy skull looked like a manhole cover suddenly flipped up when an underground pipe exploded. Spit-splattered brain matter and blood darted everywhere, clinging to the surrounding leaves and grass stems, swaying precariously.

I put away my sniper rifle and ran for my life, rushing down the slightly higher rocky ridge and plunging diagonally into the depths of the woods. The enemy at the apex of the peak, also in a high position, had two pirate snipers behind him. My diagonal descent into the woods was to avoid their bullets.

After running two kilometers, I looked back at the locust tree on the ridge. The Soul-Binding Doppelganger, leaning against a nearby rock, had been shot down. This grass doll I carried had finally taken a bullet for me; its contribution was invaluable.

One of the two pirate snipers on the peak must have been exceptionally skilled. Upon discovering his teammate's attack at the apex, he swiftly climbed the tree and, in the shortest possible time, hit the Soul-Binding Doppelganger on the ridge. By the time he ejected the spent cartridge and prepared to fire the next bullet, I was already out of their sight.

Emerging from the dappled shadows of the woods, a vast expanse of bright yellow wildflowers appeared before me, resembling dandelions or sunflowers, reaching waist-high, their names unknown. I plunged into them, rolling for over twenty meters, shielding my face, before quickly crawling forward.

The sniper on the opposite peak must have slid down the tree, running towards the summit edge like a leopard chasing a reindeer, determined to fire a second shot at me. I had no teammates; there was no time to retaliate, nor dared I. I could only flee for my life, dodging the pursuing bullets.

"Whoosh!" The relentless pursuer fired a second shot, the bullet striking me a meter to my right. A chill instantly ran through my sweat-drenched body. That guy was insane; how could he have such a small error at two thousand meters?

He would fire a third, a fourth bullet, so I changed speed and posture, running and tumbling frantically. "Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh," that murderous-looking guy kept firing at me, hoping to capture me with his superior skill and luck.

Chapter 185: Will-o'-the-Wisp in the Mountain Stream

I knew that if I held on a little longer and ran out of that hundred-meter-long yellow grass slope, the enemy's hit rate would be even lower. When I finally saw the terrain for a dive, I darted down and disappeared from the smooth line of the enemy's fire, my face covered in mud and yellow petals.

Lying on the soft grass, my body went from fear to exhaustion. The sweat on my forehead clung to my long hair, and after it dried in the sun, it seemed to be ingrained in my flesh. I was still alive, and that was more important than anything else.

I didn't need to rush. Across the deep mountain stream, the enemy couldn't catch up to me in a short time. After resting for a while, I continued running towards the depression in the valley. After dark, I was five kilometers away from the large ship. Using the dim moonlight, I opened the small raft I was carrying on my back, crossed the gurgling stream, and began to climb towards the opposite peak.

If I don't eliminate the remaining two pirate snipers, it will be difficult for me to engage in battle with Jason Jody's nine pirates. Otherwise, I'll be in a precarious situation, like the mantis stalking the cicada,

unaware of the oriole behind. The moon tonight is large and round, hanging starkly against the dark night sky. I cautiously swung three grappling hooks, tentatively approaching the mountaintop. This cliff face was quite steep; it took me considerable effort to climb to the summit. I immediately found a small, grassy hollow, squatted down, and rested, eating some catfish meat and drinking fresh water to regain my strength.

The dense forest, bathed in moonlight, appeared particularly eerie, with large, strangely shaped black shadows resembling countless jubilant demons from hell, swaying and baring their fangs. I gripped my AK-47 rifle in my left hand and a sharp broadsword in my right, hunching over and running towards the large ship.

As I approached, I immediately slowed my pace, using a clump of low trees for cover, and observed the ship's movements. In the deep, dark ravine, will-o'-the-wisps flickered, forming an oval circle. Jason Jody, having finally seen through the empty city ruse, was now brandishing his pipe, directing his men to load weapons onto the yacht.

Torches lit the deck of the large ship, illuminating the path for the pirates plundering the arms. "Come on, look out!" The arrogant, chaotic shouts bounced up the rock walls like ping-pong balls, a cacophony of hellish noise that sent chills down one's spine.

Jason Jody urged his men to quickly load the weapons from the large ship onto the small boats. He knew he was robbing arms for free, knowing that every gun he took was a piece of cake. It was like ancient feudal lords granting fiefdoms, riding swift horses, seizing land and people in a single day—all their wealth was theirs. Both involved the restlessness born of greed, perhaps a strange thrill for them.

My biggest worry was whether the pirates would blow up the large ship after they finished carrying the weapons. Of course, I couldn't go over and negotiate, pleading with the enemy for leniency, even though that would be best for both sides. But I was more inclined to believe they would shoot me dead before I could even give an indication.

The enemy's five small boats, even including the one I had moored at the stern of the large ship, couldn't carry away all the munitions in the cargo hold at once. The pirates on deck had probably lost one or two more, since the small boat I had used also had a minefield under the steering wheel.

The remaining two snipers were nowhere to be found, just as they didn't know I was nearby. I untied the grappling hook around my waist and tried to climb down. If possible, I could take advantage of the darkness and the lack of sniper visibility to ambush the pirates on deck and take out as many as I could. But

that was too risky. After careful consideration, I pulled my legs back and stopped climbing downhill. Since the enemy had lit torches and was so brazenly looting munitions, they weren't doing it for nothing. If the pirates were equipped with night vision devices, they could easily spot a blue-outlined, four-legged animal, its body glowing red with heat, slowly climbing down.

They knew, of course, that this wasn't a monkey. They would pretend not to notice me, secretly chuckling to themselves, waiting for me to exhaust most of my strength before shooting me off the cliff. That would be falling into their trap, a suicide mission.

If they let these guys take the first shipment, by the time they returned to the ship, the pirates would be far more numerous than the few remaining, making them much harder to deal with. Therefore, I had to disrupt the enemy now, delaying their return.

At this moment, I couldn't use any weapons like guns; that would only invite bullets from the darkness. I quietly crouched down in a position that offered a direct view of the ship. By the dim moonlight, I crouched and moved, my eyes wide, searching for football-sized stones to pile up along the edge of the peak.

Five minutes later, about a hundred stones had been piled up. Then, I took off my rifle from my back, picked up my broadsword, chopped some soft vines, wove them into the shape of a straw man, and stuck it behind the pile of stones. Ten meters behind me, a large tree had previously buried a box of grenades. Using fishing line, I quickly stretched out a minefield. I

glanced again at the pirates below the ravine, busy carrying the grenades like ants, completely unaware of the impending disaster. I hugged the large stone, looked up at the moon, and ten minutes later, for a moment, the moon was obscured by clouds. I quickly threw the stones, and in just one minute, the pile of stones disappeared from sight. Soon, a sharp scream, like the wailing of hell, echoed from the dark, deep ravine.

Stones rained down relentlessly; if they hit someone's head or shoulder, the destructive force was no less than that of a cannonball, killing silently. The pirates below the ravine, battered by the rain of stones, fled in terror, some dead, some wounded, too afraid to continue carrying the munitions.

In the past, when I stood on the deck at night, hunting prey in the stream, I would look up at the night sky. Now, those pirates at the bottom of the ravine couldn't even see my position clearly; looking up, I could only glimpse a few stars in the sliver of sky. Moreover, this process of looking up was nerve-wracking; a dark spot might flash before my eyes, hitting me squarely in the face, or my nose might cave in, squeezing out my eyeballs.

It was almost time. I picked up my rifle, crossed the fishing lines stretched along the edge, and dashed into the dark woods. Running about 300 meters, I quickly climbed a large tree and aimed my Barrett sniper rifle at the scarecrow.

Through the scope, my vision was terribly blurry; the large, round moon seemed to blink slowly, casting a silvery glow over the mountains and forests. The T-shaped target line, like a crow flying into a fiery sunset, could no longer be as accurately pinpointed as it was during the day.

I waited quietly. If Jason Jody hadn't been killed by the falling rocks, he would be furious and would have called the pirate snipers on the summit, ordering them to rush here and clear out the enemies throwing the rocks.

My Adam's apple bobbed laboriously in my throat. I felt like a chameleon perched on a branch, intently watching what lay before me, ready to pounce on any insect that darted by with a swift flick of its tongue.

Chapter 186: The Line of Fire Cutting Through the Night

Those hundred-odd rocks probably damaged part of the deck. If we recapture the ship later, I'll haul some wood and make planks to repair it. "Whoosh!" A flash of lightning illuminated the eye pressed against the sniper scope, the pupil dilating rapidly. At the same time, a bullet, a life-saving weapon, was released from the long barrel of my gun.

The straw man stuck in the rocky edge of the summit was quickly felled by the sniper hidden in the darkness. After hitting his target, the man, under the cover of another pirate sniper, tried to sneak over to examine the body. Unexpectedly, just fifty meters from the scarecrow, he stepped onto the fishing line, and five grenades exploded in succession, sending leaves flying everywhere.

The minefield was quite large, and because it was unknown from which direction the enemy would approach in the darkness, the chances of shrapnel hitting the target were small. However, in the flash of lightning, a pirate carrying a long rifle, his body resembling an octopus covered in tentacles, suddenly appeared on my T-shaped aiming line.

"Whoosh!" A bullet, waiting patiently, like a chameleon's tongue, used the instantaneous insight to accurately fly towards its prey. The man was very alert; the moment the grenade exploded, although he knew the shrapnel wouldn't hit him, he still quickly dropped to the ground. He understood that the flash of lightning had revealed his figure in the darkness.

Just like when I infiltrated the Cang Gui's ship to steal their weapons and ammunition, if a grenade had exploded in the hall, my attempt to escape with the box would have been immediately apparent, and I would have been dead for sure.

The bullet's speed gave my opponent no chance. He was about to lean forward and perform a diving roll when the bullet, piercing his left side, stopped him in his tracks. After standing frozen for two seconds, he fell heavily to his knees, his head buried in the fallen leaves, never to be lifted again.

"Whoosh!" A ghost bullet, unexpectedly retaliating, struck the tree trunk I was using to shield my right shoulder, smashing through a piece of very moist bark. Shards of wood flew wildly, hitting my cheeks, burning with pain.

The scorching bullet, flying through the night, resembled a firefly, its high speed and fiery red trajectory making it quite a sight. The crazed pirate sniper, following the line of fire that had killed his teammate, reacted rapidly. The whole process was like a ping-pong ball that I hit, only to have it caught and smashed back by my opponent. You can imagine how terrifying their reaction speed and instinctive reaction were.

I practically fell from the tree; before I could even get up and run, the tree trunk above me was hit by several more shots, and broken branches and leaves rained down on my shoulders. This monstrous sniper must be the guy who chased me during the day.

This time, I used a treacherous scheme to kill another of his teammates, which must have fueled his hatred. Otherwise, why wouldn't he give up even after I'd run two kilometers into the yellow grassy slope, stubbornly continuing to fire? A good sniper never relies on luck instead of a scope, yet I've pushed him to this point.

I sprinted towards the basin depression. I had already memorized this terrain; even in the dim light, I knew which route was the fastest and had the lowest probability of encountering obstacles and danger.

I ran for my life, terrified that the last pirate sniper would blindly fire at me. The probability of hitting me was small, but the possibility still existed. He probably already knew about the six decoys I'd set up earlier. In his eyes, I was a troublesome colleague, like a mosquito constantly biting a lion. The king of beasts, confident in its strength, was difficult to catch; for the lion, this was also a troublesome problem.

This troublesome nature wouldn't inspire awe in my opponent; instead, it greatly fueled his contempt. I knew those cunning ghost snipers well. They were obsessed with fighting their colleagues; killing a sniper was like hunting a porcupine or a pheasant—purely for the thrill. But before shooting, they would never tell their opponent that this was a contest between a tiger and a goat, or more accurately, a massacre.

The stones I threw earlier served two purposes: first, to kill the pirates on deck, delaying their munitions transport; second, to draw the enemy's attention. Once bitten, twice shy, they would naturally be wary, constantly glancing towards the summit. This gave me an opportunity to descend to the bottom of the ravine and ambush the thieves whose eyes were always looking upwards.

After running two kilometers, I quickly untied the grappling hook and climbed down as fast as possible. The sniper chasing me disappeared into the darkness again, filled with resentment, preparing for the next round of combat.

When I reached the bank of the rushing stream, my wristwatch showed 1:15 AM. The water level had risen considerably; the marble I used to run on was now submerged more than two meters underwater. To avoid slipping into the stream and being swept away by the current, I had no choice but to climb higher up the cliff face, grabbing onto horizontal branches and leaning towards the large ship.

It was pitch black before me; if a few large crocodiles were lurking on the bank, I could easily step into their mouths. Although I had a portable light source at my waist, I couldn't use it now. The rushing stream continued to roar. Luya and Yiliang must be asleep in the giant nest, or perhaps they were too worried about me to sleep.

I gripped my broadsword tightly in my left hand, ready to slice off large chunks of flesh from anything that dared to crawl towards me unfriendly. However, when I actually saw a large, unfriendly creature swimming towards me, I didn't dare raise my knife to meet it.

The moonlight, dim and yellowish, magnified the outline of the thing, and the current seemed to offer no resistance as it traversed the stream. Without a second thought, I quickly pulled out my grappling hook, mustered all my strength, and swung it up a tall tree, leaping upwards like a monkey climbing a pole. At that moment, I truly felt like a furry monkey, the hair on my limbs practically pushing up my sleeves and trouser legs. I

climbed twenty meters in one breath before daring to look back. The creature in the water, its massive back arched, had its head and forelimbs resting on the bank. I was both anxious and angry. Normally, I wouldn't care what kind of wild animal it was; even if it were a giant creature from the Cretaceous period, I'd still pull out my rifle and shoot it in the head. But now, I don't even dare to fire my pistol, for fear that the sniper madman from before might actually catch up to the vicinity.

"Gugu'an, Gugu'an..." The cry of the enormous, shapeless water beast, barely registering its form, sent a shiver down my spine, nearly causing me to fall from the tree I was crouching on. The cry sounded like a motherless cub calling for milk or companionship. Perhaps it truly saw me as some kind of kin, pleading for my approach.

I'd rather kill it unjustly than go down and comfort this beast. Nature's creations each have their own hunting techniques; who knows if that cry was a trap?

Chapter 187: The Puppet on the Tree Branch
"Awoo-woo, awoo-woo..." I tried my best to imitate the low growl of a Southeast Asian tiger. The creature lying by the stream immediately stopped calling, its movements fluctuating with the strength of my breath. The tiger is the king of the forest; the saying "a tiger's roar in the deep mountains rustles through the falling leaves" speaks volumes about its power.

In the dim moonlight, accompanied by the gurgling stream, though the enormous reptile was indistinct, its genes surely adhered to the principle of mutual restraint and survival. I clung to the tree, assuming the posture of a predator pouncing, displaying hostility and ferocity with all my might.

The gleaming, oily thing gradually became restless, as if wary of the feline's powerful teeth and claws. It whimpered, twisting its neck, and retraced its path, disappearing back to the opposite bank into the deep darkness.

It seemed that this creature was a mammal; its approach was more obvious and flamboyant than that of crocodiles or anacondas, which resorted to underhanded tactics, stealthily ambushing me. Seeing its massive back float to the middle of the stream, growing increasingly indistinct, I finally mustered my courage and climbed back to the bank.

To make up for lost time, I cut a long tree trunk, gripped it tightly in my left hand, and used it as a kind of crutch to maintain balance while running on the slope. When I was about two hundred meters from the large ship, I took out my binoculars to scout the deck. Although visibility was extremely poor, I could still see five blurry figures timidly carrying things. Two of them limped, occasionally raising their heads to gaze at the distant, narrow strip of sky, wary of another barrage of stones.

I figured Jason Jody must still be alive; that's why the three pirates were being forced to keep working. Using the cover of low trees and rocks, I moved forward another hundred meters or so, and my vision improved considerably.

The torches around the large ship were burning brightly, their light casting long shadows of the remaining pirates. The deck seemed like a face, its lips pursed in sorrow, foreshadowing the fate of these men.

I took the sniper rifle off my back, leaned against a tree, and peered through the scope. The weapon was heavy; the pirates carrying it were hunched over with exhaustion.

My left index finger instinctively hooked onto the trigger; at the end of the scope, it looked like several old men, pacing back and forth on the yellow moon, sighing. I knew very well that these were the enemy.

"Bang, bang, bang." In a mere nine seconds, the T-shaped crosshair was precisely focused on three targets. A pirate standing on a small boat was about to reach for a bundle of brand-new rifles being handed down from the large ship when a red bullet streaked across his right ear.

The light at this moment was far from that of daytime; the blood-red hue mingled with the darkness, obscuring the spray of red smoke. But I knew that the bullet's volume was far larger than a person's ear canal, and it wouldn't meander along the ear hole.

Therefore, the destructive force of the vertical impact was maximized. Not to mention the eardrum and brain matter inside, even the flesh of the outer ear shattered and scattered into the stream, feeding the fish attracted by the firelight.

The second pirate, carrying a bundle of weapons, was in a panic. He had just reached the area between the gun emplacement and the stern when he saw his companion, who was crouching on the yacht roof receiving the goods, suddenly tilt his head and plunge into the dark, rushing stream.

If this guy had reacted quickly, he could have easily let go of the heavy load and flipped backwards to the inside of the gun emplacement. But before he could even turn his gaze from the night sky and find my position by following the sudden burst of fire, a deadly bullet pierced his neck. (Web users please log in to "佗剩?сν to download txt format novels, mobile users log in to wàp.16k.сn)

Perhaps the bullet didn't hit his Adam's apple head-on, but entered from the side, severing a row of nerves and muscles before exiting from the other side. But this pirate who had been shot certainly wouldn't survive. He finally threw away the bundle of guns he was carrying, lay down on the cold, damp deck, and clutched his neck, curling up violently. Pain and lack of oxygen began to make his dying struggle enjoyable.

The third pirate who had been shot, half his body protruding from the ship's railing, cautiously braced his head against the iron railing, worried about falling rocks. That iron bar, as thick as a middle finger... What kind of luck would it take for a club to shield him from a falling rock that shattered his skull? Clearly, every pirate was terrified by the rain of stones.

The pirate crouching before him receiving the cargo, blood spurting from his ear, might have splattered into his eyes. While this guy was rubbing his eyes and pulling himself out from between the railings, preparing to crouch for cover,

I had already shot the second pirate, ejected the spent cartridge from the chamber, and pulled the trigger again. When the third bolt of fire grazed the deck horizontally, like the antlers of a stag, it struck the pirate heavily in the lower back. He didn't seem to be hit by a bullet; rather, he looked like a kneeling executioner, kicked by the executioner before his execution, his hands behind his back, his head rolling, his body never to move again.

"Bang, bang..." From inside the hatch, a long arm shot out, holding an FN57 pistol, firing continuously at me. I had seen Jason Jody's weapon during the day; it was a technologically advanced short-necked firearm with high lethality.

Four or five intermittent streaks of fire flew rapidly towards me. I quickly crouched down, squeezing into a crevice in the mountain wall. The tree I used for sniping wasn't chosen randomly; it was precisely because it had a recessed area beside it that allowed for a safe retreat if attacked by the pirates and there wasn't enough time to escape. I could slip inside and take cover.

I drew my pistol and, by instinct, fired back from my wrist. It wasn't to kill Jason Jody, but simply to suppress his firepower so I could escape as quickly as possible. Engaging in a shootout with this guy would be irrational.

Even if the pirate captain died, the pirates remaining on the mother ship weren't children; they could still sail away from the island in their large ship. If Jason Jody was luckier than me, Yi Liang, Lu Ya, and the others left behind in the basin depression wouldn't have so many options for survival and would be plunged into a miserable world.

"Bang, bang, bang..." I rapidly pulled the trigger, emptying the magazine of one pistol, and crawled backward. Every ten meters, I tugged on the fishing line.

The other pistol, tied to the tree trunk, resembled a puppet, executing its predetermined commands and firing towards the deck with each pull. "Bang, bang, bang..." Jason Jody's shooting skills were superb; I could tell from the sound of his gunfire that he was a fearless fellow, maintaining his composure even now, alone.

But he didn't see through my strategy and continued to return fire at the tree with the pistol tied to it. When I had crawled over a hundred meters, I teasingly gave the fishing line one last tug, snapping the thread just as the tree in the distance, in the darkness, had just fired its last bullet.

Jason Jody had also emptied his pistol magazine, seemingly switching to an AK-47 rifle, and was still not satisfied. Rao fired, rattling, at the imposter enemy.

I got up and ran, using the moonlight to survey the high rock face, searching for a better spot to climb and return to the summit as quickly as possible. In the distance, the gunfire gradually subsided, and dawn was approaching.

That night, I didn't sleep, and neither did the pirates. Now that we were enemies, no one could expect to be comfortable.

Chapter 188: The Cage Upgraded by the Scorching Sun

At 5:23 AM, I laboriously climbed to the summit, surrounded by the chirping of insects and birds. There wasn't a breath of wind tonight; the low trees and bushes slept peacefully, recovering from the fatigue of enduring the storms of the past few days.

I carefully gathered the three grappling hooks and tied them tightly around my waist. In the forest, most of the wild animals that hunted at night had eaten their fill and returned to their dens to rest. I took off my sniper rifle from my back, reloaded the magazine, and headed deeper into the dense forest. Before dawn, I had to find a good sniping position and hold it.

This time, I absolutely cannot circle behind enemy lines again. The last remaining sniper, though ruthless, is incredibly skilled. After these past few days of fighting, he must have figured out my tactics. Whether it's the Soul-Trapping Substitute or the Fishing Line Trap, continuing to use them as before will only lead to being crushed by the time on the life-or-death chain.

When I taught Luya and Yiliang, I profoundly warned them that to survive long on a battlefield where everyone is shooting at each other, they must firmly grasp the theory of relativity—everything is in flux. Since the two Apaches entered this multi-against-one battle, airdropping ten pirate snipers, and now only one remains, it proves the law of survival of the fittest.

Therefore, this last pirate sniper not only possesses excellent tactics and skills, but his understanding of me has also deepened. Clearly, these quantitative changes, once the conditions are right, will lead to a qualitative leap, with only one outcome: the killing of me.

At 7:27 AM, I lay in ambush in a low-lying thicket of bushes. Facing a formidable enemy, avoid direct confrontation unless absolutely necessary. Since we're both ghost snipers, whoever exposes themselves to the first bullet will be the last. Because I must utilize the fishing line to maximize my stealthy tactics.

Last night, the guy who failed to kill me—whether he was furious or clever in a moment of desperation—I must avoid the previous tactics in the upcoming deadly battle and employ a new strategy of turning the tables on him.

The thin, transparent fishing line is almost invisible in the strong sunlight. I used it to attach to a low bush, then weaved through several branches, using a zigzag route to reach my prone sniping position.

I was certain that if the surviving pirate sniper noticed the movement of the branches, he would immediately recognize it, a cold smile playing on his lips, and he would adjust his scope, follow the fishing line to find my body, and blow my head off.

Therefore, when the fishing line was laid flat across the grass, I made it a concealed line, its path invisible on the ground. Before the flesh-red sun rose above the sea, I used a dagger to cut a large pile of grass and vines, arranging them at my chosen sniping position.

A nearby clump of rocks provided the perfect spot for my pre-buried weapon. I pulled out a brand-new Barrett sniper rifle, plunged it into the thick hay, and positioned the barrel forward for optimal sniping of the dense , concealed woods.

Like a sand sculptor, I carefully decorated the trap from an observer's perspective, making it look exactly like a sniper, hidden beneath the vegetation, waiting for his target.

The exposed end of the fishing line passed perfectly under the haystack, then, like a train entering a tunnel, it remained unseen no matter which direction it turned. With a little ingenuity, utilizing nature's bounty, designing such an ambush trap is not difficult.

I cut many Y-shaped branches from the surrounding shrubs, turned them upside down, and stuck them into the soil or gravel above the grass roots. The fishing line, passing through the middle like a slippery webbing between my legs, allowed me to avoid being exposed while still being able to maneuver freely, evading any enemy's attempts to track me down.

The end of the hidden fishing line was precisely my disguised shooting position. Today's sunlight was as bright and glaring as yesterday's. To avoid glare from my binoculars and sniper scope, which could delay my reconnaissance, I deliberately chose an ambush position under a clump of low bushes. No matter the angle of the sun, morning or afternoon, it wouldn't reach more than a meter above my head.

I parted the grass under my chin, pinched a pre-placed piece of dried catfish between my left index finger and thumb, and slowly chewed it. The food in my backpack was becoming increasingly dry and hard, its flavor diminishing over time, making it difficult to taste the deliciousness of Chi Chun's cooking.

At midday, the sun was scorching hot, making it extremely uncomfortable. I buried my head deep in the tall, wispy grass. Luckily, a small patch of umbrella-shaped green shaded my face, preventing it from looking like a rigid mask.

My buttocks and hind legs remained hidden under the thick camouflage, but because this part didn't enjoy the shade, the skin and pores beneath were already drenched in sweat. It felt like wearing a cotton-padded coat and falling into warm water, the heavy clothing making me feel unusually lethargic and heavy—a very uncomfortable feeling.

I breathed in the sweltering air, using binoculars above my eyes and peering through the camouflage strip hanging from my forehead to cautiously scout the distant woods, but I couldn't see anything. Occasionally, a gust of dry wind blew by, and the wild grass in front of me swayed listlessly, like seedlings in a drought-stricken area. Looking straight ahead, I seemed to see invisible flames leaping.

I knew it was the hot air currents rolling across the grass at low altitude. To prevent myself from getting dizzy, I tried to drink as much water as possible. A lightweight green water bottle rested on my shoulder, a find from the first yacht that plunged into the forest river. I acquired three bottles that day; the other two were given to Luya and Yiliang.

Drinking while sniping in disguise was dangerous, so I'd inserted a plant-based straw into the coin-sized opening. It wasn't coconut juice, but rather spring water I'd collected from a rock face during my climb the previous night.

There were no stagnant water or springs at the summit; even if the last pirate sniper's bottle wasn't empty, it probably wouldn't even fill an eggshell. They landed from the helicopter, needing to complete their mission with lightning speed, then fly back to the mothership to enjoy what I didn't yet know about.

Therefore, each pirate sniper lacked not only sufficient fresh water but also essential climbing equipment. The rain had stopped for two days, and yesterday's scorching sun had dried up every mountain peak.

Perhaps at night they could stick out their tongues and lick the damp leaves covered in dew, but right now, the importance of water was unprecedented. If the shooting between me and that guy were a race, fresh water was each other's gasoline.

Every five minutes, I would tug the fishing line a few times, and the stubble growing alone on the grass at the end would tremble violently from time to time, like a person suffering from malaria. As long as the pirate sniper, driven to desperation by the lack of fresh water, noticed this strange movement, whether he fired at the stubble or at the pile of grass under the thick soft vegetation with the gun barrel protruding ten centimeters, I could catch his figure within three seconds and take out the last fellow assassin.

Chapter 189: The Ghost Stepping into the Dawn

The cunning of that pirate sniper far exceeded my imagination. I originally thought he would hold the advantageous position of high ground, looking down to observe the enemies running in the grassy slopes and woods below. Unexpectedly, just as I was concentrating on scouting the woods ahead, a scorching bullet, its friction sending sparks flying through the air, flew from behind me and embedded itself in the haystack at the end of the exposed line.

Had I continued with last night's tactics, I would surely be lying dead beneath the haystack, and that bullet, like my ambush of the two snipers at the base of the isosceles triangle formation, would have severed the target's spine, killing him instantly.

"Whoosh!" Another bullet, whistling sharply, struck beneath the trembling bushes. Faced with this unforeseen situation, my hot, damp lower body instantly broke out in a cold sweat, a chill running from my head to my toes.

The sound came from the third step of the stone slope, the sloping section behind me. Before dawn, while I was setting up camouflage traps on the second step of the summit, that crazed pirate sniper hadn't been idle either, choosing an obscure and tricky sniping position, specifically targeting me.

It seemed he was well aware of my tactics, knowing my skill in flanking and sniping from behind. So, he played along, circling even further into the night, positioning himself so his back was directly in front of his gun.

The haystack disguised as a sniper, the moment it was hit, the fishing line in my hand stopped. That fishing line seemed to hold the life of that haystack. If I had tugged the line even slightly after the haystack was hit, the likelihood of a third bullet heading straight for me would have increased dramatically. Even if it was just a probing shot.

The enemy's sniper scope might still be focused on this area. Now, I dared not move an inch, not even to suck on the straw in my water bottle. If he appeared in front of me, prone in the same spot, firing twice in quick succession, I could easily deliver a fatal bullet to his forehead.

But I was at a significant disadvantage. All I knew was that this guy was camouflaged on the lower slope behind me, but I couldn't see his exact location. I could only roughly estimate his position based on the trajectory of the bullets. Even the most foolish sniper wouldn't turn around to look back or slowly move to try and turn the gun back at this moment.

Because before he fired, he had already memorized the exact shape of this low bush. The enemy's brain, like a computer, was flashing and calibrating. Therefore, any slight change in camouflage position was equivalent to telling the enemy: Shoot me.

I could only lie motionless and pray silently, fearing that the crazed guy would test fire at the surrounding dense grass that resembled camouflage. Otherwise, I would surely lose my life to him within ten bullets.

My sniping position was good, but the waiting enemy suddenly appeared behind me, which put me in a difficult position. Before dawn, he, like me, was calculating tactics to kill the enemy while actively preparing the necessary conditions.

At that moment, our distance was well within bullet range, yet we couldn't see each other. While lamenting our failure to kill the enemy, we were also grateful for the darkness protecting us. As dawn broke, we retreated into our nighttime sniping positions, like ghosts afraid to step into the morning light, cautiously camouflaging ourselves. Like gladiators, the sound of a clear bell signaled the start of the next round.

Only Jason Jody and two remaining pirate henchmen remained on the large ship. The three of them would struggle to operate six small boats; if each piloted one, towing another, the return journey to the mother ship would be significantly delayed. The streams and forest tributaries were currently experiencing flooding, making the current highly unstable. Coupled with numerous bends and dead ends, transporting two overloaded boats back was extremely dangerous.

I couldn't escape now; otherwise, I would have chased these three along the mountain peak, ensuring they didn't return alive, sending a message to the Sea Demon: those who dare to offend will die. The large ship was our territory, our lifeline. Losing it meant not only being unable to return, but even surviving on the island would be incredibly difficult.

That crazed pirate sniper was unexpectedly insane, or rather, his audacity stemmed from overconfidence. He had already seen through the false information received by the mothership, no longer believing in any sniper formations on the island, convinced he had only one opponent, and the rest were mere straw men.

He carried his sniper rifle and actually ran down the three-tiered stone slope at the summit. Of course, this process was deliberate, unlike a hunter excitedly running towards a target after hitting a game. Every time the enemy advanced a certain distance, he would raise his gun to observe the target, comparing the surrounding environment to what he had memorized. I knew this well and dared not move blindly.

A few minutes later, a man clad in green camouflage, carrying a long sniper rifle, ran past me on the stone slope fifty meters to my left, heading towards the thick clump of wormwood and vines. Tangled strips of green cloth hung loosely from the tall, muscular pirate, swaying back and forth with his movements.

My heart nearly stopped. Just moments before, my sniper opponent was a kilometer away, and now he was fifty meters to my left. Before my brain could register it, my eyes instinctively pressed against the scope, my arms rapidly rotating the barrel to aim at the ten o'clock position.

This madman possessed first-rate accuracy and strategy, but he was severely dehydrated and needed to end the fight quickly. Taking down a troublesome opponent like me would also relieve his psychological pressure.

With each step he took closer to the haystack, the trap became easier to spot. I dared not be careless, concentrating all my energy to seize this hard-won opportunity and a stroke of luck. My T-shaped crosshair quickly focused, locking onto the ghostly assassin right before me. He held a

Barrett sniper rifle, its barrel wrapped in green cloth and vines, pointing diagonally downwards, inching closer to the haystack. However, when he poked the barrel inside and didn't feel anything resembling a human leg, his green face instantly changed color, as if a layer of white powder had been applied before camouflage paint.

In that instant, he instinctively straightened his back, resembling a heroic martyr, waiting for the enemy to fire a shot from behind. My trigger finger was like a fully drawn bow, ready to pounce on the target at the slightest sign of flinching. In truth, the pirate sniper knew he was already locked on; there was no possibility of dodging, and therefore no need.

"Bang!" The bullet grazed the grass, not flying far before piercing the back of the enemy's head. I saw this shot with unprecedented clarity at such close range. The bullet struck his cerebellum behind his right ear, and the instant it cut into his skin, the stimulated nerves constricted sharply, causing the tattered cloth hanging in front of his forehead to flutter upwards.

The pirate sniper died unwillingly, as if only realizing he'd been tricked when he suddenly understood and regretted his carelessness. In truth, he wasn't careless; he simply couldn't keep up with the speed of the life-or-death chain.

The brain matter and blood from his bullet wound, covered by thick strips of cloth, didn't spurt out much, like a pot of red and white porridge splashed onto a cotton curtain—only the impact was felt, not the splattering liquid. He fell heavily, landing squarely on the slightly dried grass.

Confirming the target was dead, I quickly got up, grabbed my sniper rifle, and crouched down in front of the crazed sniper's body. I searched his pockets but found no bags of food or radios.

This guy was incredibly clever; he'd hidden food and anything containing important information before approaching, ensuring that even in death, he wouldn't benefit his opponents or betray his comrades.

The crew of the Sea Demon possessed such discipline and loyalty; Jason Jody was clearly no ordinary man. He not only won over his men, but also won their hearts.

This, compared to Cang Gui, immediately highlighted the quality of their team. Cang Gui's defeat was inevitable; they indulged in debauchery and brutality, using it to maintain their mutual respect.

The chaotic infighting and suspicion of Tanmujing hastened the demise of Cang Gui's band of robbers. No wonder the Sea Demon was so domineering, coming straight to seize this arsenal, utterly disregarding them.

They concealed the sniper's weapon, and in a very short time, pushed him into a crevice in the rocks, covered the pile of withered grass and vines, and then threw in some pebbles to protect the body from wild beasts.

Sometimes, becoming adversaries isn't determined by either party's subjective will, so mutual respect is essential. Regarding the Sea Demon's raids, I only heard rumors from the sailors; I never witnessed them firsthand.

Conversely, a peculiar logic emerges: if Cang Gui killed me and continued to persecute innocent women, reveling in his evil deeds, then the Sea Demon's forceful strike would be avenging me.

While the Sea Demon's actions might be seen as blatant double-crossing, devoid of morality, and thus unjustly deserving of praise, objectively, they were indeed cracking down on the wicked Cang Gui. Materialistically, I should thank these pirates; idealistically, I should despise them.

Like using poison to cure disease, this treatment is accepted because it restores health. Materialism or idealism, humans are inherently driven by self-interest and the desire to avoid harm; there's no need for elaborate arguments. Reasonable and humane desires should be satisfied, while unreasonable and unrealistic wants should be prohibited.

This is why I gave this crazed pirate sniper a simple burial; I always felt that if he were to kill Cang Gui and his gang, he would be ruthless and cunning.

After a brief regrouping, I grabbed my sniper rifle, faced the summit of the large ship, and sprinted away. If Jason Jody hadn't left the ship yet, and the reinforcements from the Sea Demon hadn't arrived in time, I would nail the three pirates I hadn't managed to kill last night to the high pillars of atonement, ensuring none of them escaped the ravine alive.

Chapter 190: Cutting Off the Fleeing Enemy's Tail

The birds in the forest couldn't bear the heat and flocked to the bottom

of the ravine to drink and cool off by the stream. Only the black, hard cicadas, sucking moisture from the bark with their mouthparts, chattered incessantly with smug satisfaction. I ran swiftly, my figure flashing through the shade of the trees. The sniper rifle I carried was long, its barrel and stock constantly rattling the drooping branches and saplings.

Reaching the summit above the large ship, I crouched beside a large rock on the edge, quietly parting the grass to peer down. Below, only the silent ship and empty deck remained. Jason Jody, with his two men, had indeed sailed away in six yachts laden with weapons.

Though I didn't know how long they'd been gone, I quickly rose and gave chase along the summit. If the remaining enemies hadn't gone far, I might be able to snipe them when I reached the ravine's entrance.

To increase my pursuit speed, I had to avoid the trees, running close to the edge, thus exposing myself to the sun and avoiding the dappled shade. Kicking at the tall grass, I tiptoed to avoid slipping on small stones and twisting my body.

When encountering low bushes, instead of slowing down, I sped up and leaped, my legs tucked together in mid-air, my thick military boots making a sharp swishing sound as they brushed against the green leaves at the top of the plants. The long sniper rifle allowed me to maintain my balance while airborne. Once my center of gravity touched the ground, I took a large step forward, incorporating the momentum of the dive into my run, relentlessly pursuing the six small boats.

Reaching the entrance to the ravine, I crouched behind a large rock, raising my binoculars to scout the target. The distant, lush, and vast forest, bathed in intense sunlight, had lost its previous mystery; the swirling white smoke and mist had long since evaporated.

The river water, still heavily murky at the end of the flood discharge, was much calmer. Six snow-white yachts, their color strikingly conspicuous, were turning along the S-shaped tributary.

Due to overloading and insufficient manpower, these small boats seemed to float slowly on viscous chocolate sauce, unable to move forward. I immediately lowered my binoculars, grabbed my sniper rifle, propped it against a chest-high rock, and eagerly aimed at the target.

The six small boats were tightly linked, resembling six train carriages strung together. The markings on my sniper scope indicated a target distance of 1,300 meters. This meant I had to eliminate them all before they exceeded 2,100 meters.

Jason Jody's squadron kept their engines at minimum speed as they navigated bends, making the boats move like tractors—slow but powerful. Only after a smooth transition did the boats accelerate slightly and continue forward. As the

six boats approached the bend, the three pirates in the cockpit, from back to front, shifted gears, slowing down and cautiously maneuvering across the less than 80-degree bend.

This presented a good shooting opportunity: firstly, the enemy's slower speed reduced bullet error over long distances; secondly, the boats' sideways position exposed the pilots behind the windshield.

Jason Jody piloted the lead boat, while the other five swayed behind like snake tails, severely obstructing my sniper's view. But at the stern of the convoy, we lingered longer on the bend, and the second-to-last yacht's port side window increasingly faced my gun barrel.

The T-shaped crosshair in my scope gradually focused on the slowly emerging human figure. A streak of white fire shot from the peak, just like when I shot down the white patrol yacht. Inside the yacht's window, a tall, thin man, wearing dark sunglasses, was carefully maneuvering the boat, a cigar dangling from his lips, while cautiously maneuvering the course.

His demeanor had returned to its arrogant self, a far cry from the pathetic state he had displayed the night before, cowering on the deck.

The yacht's clear glass shone brightly in the sunlight; the moment the bullet pierced through, the shattered glass didn't even have time to dissipate before the tall, thin man with the cigar exploded, his head splitting open. A gush of thick, pungent blood, which should have been scattered on the deck in the firelight, now gushed forth, splattering the bridge and the bulkhead behind, highlighting the glaring red.

The bullet entered the enemy's left shoulder at the angle to the base of his neck. Though the exact wound was invisible, the bullet, like a scalpel, severed countless nerves, blood vessels, and cartilage.

The pirate shot through the window didn't slump over the steering wheel after death, but his clenched hands loosened, causing the steering wheel to spin rapidly, pulling the last two yachts out of sync with the first four. Using the momentum of the skid, they drifted to the shore and became stuck in the woods.

The leader, Jason Jody, quickly noticed through the rearview mirror that the last two fully armed yachts had fallen behind. He now fully realized that all the snipers on the peaks were dead, and control of the high-altitude sniping had been regained by the enemy.

The four yachts that had turned around were now obscured by the forest divide; if the snipers wanted to spot two more survivors, they would have to wait until the next bend. Jason Jody must have been heartbroken at that moment, gritting his teeth at me. He couldn't tow back the two separated yachts. The weapons, painstakingly loaded, were right there, yet we could only watch helplessly as they ran aground on the shore.

The enemy knew perfectly well that on the nearby peak, a ghostly sniper was aiming his rifle to take their lives. If the two yachts laden with weapons were likened to a treasure trove, I was the guardian beast, ready to devour the heads of the greedy.

Jason Jody was very rational; he knew the power of my sniper rifle, so he simply anchored the four yachts behind the trees, refusing to appear. This delay wasn't going to work; I hadn't seen Luya and Yiliang for days, and I wondered how those women were doing.

But I only had a small raft on my back; even if I rowed as fast as I could, it wouldn't be as fast as the yachts. As I racked my brains for a solution, two black dots suddenly appeared at the river's mouth, flying low in the sky through my binoculars.

In an instant, my brain sent a command to my legs: run. I grabbed my sniper rifle, turned abruptly, and dashed into the dense depths of the forest. No wonder Jason Jody hid behind the forest after the attack; he was waiting for air support.

I knew perfectly well that the two military Apache helicopters, dubbed "Air Humvees," had come from afar not just to offer some comfort to the pirate leader, but to pounce on the mountaintop where I was lying in ambush.

If they were equipped with thermal imaging systems, no matter how fast I ran through the woods, I would be riddled with bullets from the helicopters' heavy machine guns in the blink of an eye.

The tall trees on either side of my eyes whizzed past. At this point, there was no time to use the grappling hook to descend the mountain, unless I jumped directly into the stream below, which would be tantamount to suicide. Even if I landed directly in the water, a slight misstep would shatter my internal organs, not to mention the impact with other objects.

Chapter 191: Cooling the Killing Body

The Apache, like an eagle soaring over the forest, flew at incredible speed, searching for its prey beneath the green canopy. During my mercenary career in Thailand, I was once chased by enemies driving Humvees. Fortunately, the lush subtropical jungle blocked every barrage of bullets, giving me the chance to escape to the riverbank and dive in to survive.

I think that was probably the fastest I've ever run in my life, but now I have to break that record and push my speed to unprecedented levels.

Moreover, this is far from running on an open plain; I have to rapidly observe and assess the terrain, choosing the most advantageous path to avoid being blocked by dense vegetation or accidentally slipping into a half-hidden crevice in the rocks.

Therefore, in this process, my thoughts are like the shuttle on a loom, not only needing to be dazzlingly fast but also having a clear line, correctly weaving through each thread.

The branches on both sides, like fences rushing past the train window, are beginning to blur and darken from their original colors. Clutching a long sniper rifle, I leaped over low trees, rocks, and crevices, soaring through the air, my body half-flying, like a cricket with wings but unable to fly for long.

I knew perfectly well that this was an escape, far from the easy task of winning a championship. Two helicopters equipped with heavy machine guns were probably near the entrance to the ravine. Once they spotted me not nearby, they would immediately realize I was running westward through the woods.

If only one helicopter approached, the sniper rifle I held would have a chance to break the rotor shaft, causing it to crash and kill everyone on board. But these were two Apaches flying side-by-side; no matter which one I fired at first, the Vulcan machine gun on the other would instantly obliterate me.

After crossing the highest point of the peak, the mountain sloped downwards. Several times during my run, I tripped over seemingly fragile but unbreakable vines, my body curling up like a hedgehog, rolling forward for more than ten meters before quickly getting up and continuing to run for my life.

My cheeks, parched from the green grass juice, stung with pain; the bloody scratches were from some soft yet sharp plant.

I ignored them, gripping the sniper rifle held diagonally across my chest, charging into the clumps of green vines that blocked my path. If I couldn't break free, like an insect caught in a spider's web, I would draw my broadsword and hack wildly, severing the tendrils and branches of the plants.

The Apache helicopter was incredibly fast, further confirming my suspicion that it must have a thermal imaging system. Otherwise, it would be difficult to cover such a large search area so quickly. The enemies in the helicopter continued their pursuit as long as they couldn't see any red, hot outlines of human figures in the woods, wasting not a single second.

As I sprinted down the slope, my rapid breathing almost emptied my chest and abdomen, a truly unpleasant experience. The view ahead gradually sunken, revealing a bright lake – a basin depression.

Seeing the vast expanse of water, I felt like a lost soul, thirsty for two days in the desert, and ran towards the water without hesitation. After descending the hill, I ran while reaching into my pocket, pulled out two condoms, bit open the packaging with my teeth, and quickly wrapped them around the barrel of my rifle, tightening

them. By then, I was already stepping into the soft reeds on the bank, my feet making a squelching sound. When I was about fifty meters from the lush green reeds, I glanced back at the two pursuing Apaches, took a deep breath, bent my knees, and plunged into the lake, disappearing into the sweltering air.

Swimming underwater in the icy water, my clothes felt awkward, my body felt like lead, and my movements were heavy and sluggish. I didn't have time to take off my clothes before entering the water; doing so would have given me a chance to escape if the helicopter caught up with me. In this urgent situation, I couldn't care less about the wild beasts and insects underwater; I had to grit my teeth and push forward.

The forest was hot, but the water was chillingly cold. It was pitch black all around, and

my eardrums and nasal passages were filled with icy water. I felt like I had entered another world, temporarily losing my sight, hearing, and smell. A surge of air churned in my lungs, like a burning fire. My blood, like a litter of baby animals fighting for their mother's milk, desperately gnawed at my heart, sucking out the oxygen.

Before, when I dived down along the anchor chain at the stern of a large ship to remove the anchor hook, I had experienced the same excruciating pain. I had a diving mask then; in the darkness, even if I couldn't see anything, the feeling of groping around with my eyes open was far better than having them closed.

Because, in that highly stressful and stimulating environment, opening two windows to the soul, even if it only slightly alleviated the fear, was a tremendous joy. Just like at that moment, I wished I could exchange a bag of gold for a sliver of security.

I can't open my eyes now; I must be wary of microorganisms damaging my vision. To avoid being spotted by the helicopter hovering above the lake, I need to dive at least three meters, using the deep lake water to cool my body and blur myself off the enemy's thermal imaging devices until I disappear completely.

The two rifles on my back, once underwater, will significantly reduce my buoyancy. I'll have to exert more force and speed to safely transition towards the reeds, but this will further deplete the remaining oxygen in my chest.

Especially the rifle slings—I must avoid snagging on anything, because it's dark and cold all around. Even if I draw my dagger and cut the entanglements, it will still waste a lot of time. I absolutely cannot surface for oxygen until I reach a point under the reeds that can cover my head; you can imagine how many bullets await me outside.

When my head bumps against countless thin reed tubes, I know I've finally made it to the edge of the reeds. With a burst of energy, I plunged a few more meters deeper, emerging vertically from the water along the slender roots of the reeds to minimize the ripples. By then, I was at my limit of oxygen deprivation and utterly exhausted. Even a dragonfly lurking on the surface, waiting to land on my head, could have made me choke.

But the enemy's Apache helicopter was fast; its technological sophistication wouldn't allow primal running speed to give it an advantage.

Pushing my nose out of the suffocating lake water, I took a deep breath, filling my deflated chest and restarting my almost extinguished heartbeat. Ripples spread out, carrying away the waves. Four or five slender reeds stood straight before me, their slender blades like brushes, rustling against the verdant stalks.

I took two quick breaths, stopping to avoid making any noise, and only dared to relax and look around once my breathing had calmed slightly. In that instant, I felt like a small bird, surrounded by a cage woven from reeds.

I gently lowered my legs, letting my heavy military boots sink into the river mud, but I remained in a half-squatting position, only my head above water, the damp cloth covering my head dripping with water droplets.

"Thud-thud-thud-thud..." came the sound of a helicopter engine and rotor behind me. Clearly, the enemy was hovering above the lake. The two pilots and their machine gunner were undoubtedly gloating, waiting to see how long I could hold my breath underwater. The moment I surfaced, they would pull the trigger and kill me on the lake.

As I plunged into the lake, I deliberately made myself visible to the two Apache helicopters that had reached the hilltop, then took a deep breath and angrily submerged, intending to fight the enemy in stealth. It was risky; I couldn't shake off their pursuit, but I had to do it.

I needed to cool down while remaining unseen by the enemy, otherwise they would likely fly to the woods on the opposite shore to search. These pirates, wielding formidable firepower, could easily spot the ten giant nests suspended in the woods. Whether they would fire hundreds of bullets at these bizarre creatures was anyone's guess.

Chapter 192: The Floating Counterattack

Five full minutes passed, and the enemy suspended on the lake still hadn't seen anyone surface to breathe. From the moment I plunged into the lake, they had been watching the surface intently, and even with the greatest lung capacity, it was impossible to swim across to the woods on the opposite bank in one breath.

So, these cunning pirates immediately adjusted the propellers, making the helicopter glide like a soaring eagle, its body angled as it leaned towards the lush, wide reed bed. By this time, I had already whittled a reed tube with my dagger, anticipating their next trick.

"Put-put-put, put-put-put-put-put-put, put-put-put-put-put-put..." Two Apaches with their tails positioned were like two harvesters driving onto a wheat field stalk, ready to sweep through the reed bed. The two machine guns beneath the helicopter roared, spewing flames. Their powerful, loaded bullets, like scattered seeds or fingers sweeping across a piano keyboard, rained down from one end of the reed marsh to the other.

The marshland was vast; even with the enemy's dense firepower and astonishing range, they were powerless. I was like a willow catfish in a bathtub, poking it with a bamboo stick for hours without breaking a single scale, despite the stick's menacing appearance. But, if the blind man got lucky, he might accidentally pierce the fish's body. So, even with the low probability of being hit, I was terrified of the enemy's indiscriminate machine gun fire.

While the enemy fired fiercely, they certainly hoped for such good luck, but they weren't ordinary bandits. To be precise, this was intimidation, a threat, like a lion roaring at an antelope perched in a tree, unable to devour it whole.

I gripped the pre-cut reed tube in my mouth, quietly submerged my face underwater, and pulled vertically upwards, holding onto the reed roots with both hands. This prevented the reed from swaying excessively and allowed my body to slowly sink, like a frog at the bottom, until I knelt and lay prone on the river mud.

Two Apache helicopters, one on each side, continued their course side-by-side. They fired a volley of bullets and reloaded. The earlier intimidation was a warning not to retaliate rashly, or else the shattered reeds and countless splashes of mud would be my fate. Meanwhile, the pirates could proceed with their next move.

I crawled out of the hellish battlefield, a man who wanted to forget the killing but was instead reignited by it. Faced with the enemy's treachery, I could naturally foresee their every move. They wanted to fly their helicopters low, using the powerful wind from their rotors to blow aside the vast reeds, exposing me to the machine gunners' line of fire.

"Toot-toot-toot-toot..." The noise of two helicopters gradually increased in volume from the edge of the reeds at the foot of the mountain, heading towards me. They were coming. I knelt and lay prone in the water, a meter and a half deep in the reeds, trying to curl up my body to minimize the area vulnerable to being hit. Apart from a few faint breaths, everything was pitch black; I had no sight or smell.

But above the water, I could clearly feel the powerful sonic vibrations and the wind from the rotors causing the water to sway from side to side. Two Apache helicopters, searching for me, were about to fly past my back.

Thick sniper camouflage wrapped around my body, the strips of cloth resembling floating seaweed, making me look like a large clump of waterweed. If the enemy only used their eyes, without thinking or reasoning, they would have no chance of realizing that I was their target.

The sound waves grew louder, and the ripples on the water became more intense. Although it was difficult for the enemy to spot me, I was still under their machine gun fire. If they were cautious enough to fire a few bullets at the slightest suspicious shadow underwater, I would truly be a corpse lying in the mud.

Just thinking about this sent chills down my spine, making me feel hot and cold, extremely uncomfortable, and I couldn't help but shiver a few times. Moreover, I could feel something sticky and gooey, vigorously sucking at the wounds on my face.

My hands, gripping the bottom of the reeds, couldn't free one to pull at the terrifying thing on my face, fearing that if I wasn't careful, my frog-like body would suddenly pop to the surface like a cork. For me, it was another long minute, a feeling that lingered like a lifetime.

It was a kind of pain unimaginable and unfeeling for most people, a mutated kind of suffering. It was like having your head shaved and then being coldly touched by the skeletal claws of death. Even if the person who fainted from fright woke up and found themselves alive, the lingering terror would be unbearable. So, it was easier to convince oneself that one was dead and had entered another world. This was also the taste of my growth, numbing another kind of pain by chewing on the pain itself.

Two Apache helicopters, hunting me, brushed past overhead and flew into the depths of the reeds. My heart, which had almost leaped out of my mouth, recoiled slightly, barely managing to stay inside and crash into the soft mud, impossible to retrieve.

I had to retaliate. The enemy wouldn't give up until they had killed me and obediently returned to the mother ship. In fact, instead of fighting me, they might as well go to the large ship and unload some weapons and ammunition. The two transport helicopters could at least carry away some valuable treasure.

On the battlefield, the thought of compromise is the most taboo. I once used this thought in the enemy to lure them out to make peace, and then unexpectedly killed them. Once you step into the battlefield, humanity is stripped bare. In the face of survival, any morality is worthless, and can even be exploited, thus greatly devalued. This is a kind of madness, so God uses a way to calm them down: death.

At this moment, if I don't shoot the pirates down from the Apache and silence their helicopters, the enemy should silence me. Two planes with their propellers whirring, resembling a pair of large kites floating on green waves, are intently searching for their missed targets, persisting in a direction where there is no result.

I loosen my grip on the reed roots, letting my body float naturally and slowly on the water's surface. I straighten my legs and lightly step into the river mud below, maintaining a crouching posture. I pull over the sniper rifle behind me, pull down the safety cap on the barrel, and clip it into the swaying reeds, holding it obliquely upright, pointing it at the two iron eagles 1,100 meters away.

The bullet trajectory of the gun barrel might have been slightly damp, but it certainly didn't have any mud, sand, or other debris inside causing the bullet to deviate during firing.

Condoms are very effective; when used on a person, they can prevent the invasion of germs and even viruses; when used over a gun barrel, they can similarly prevent mud and sand from entering, whether in rivers or at sea. These small packets were obtained from the members of the Sea Demon that I killed.

Carrying a few condoms is an essential precaution when fighting in water. This shows that these pirates were far more professional than the rabble of Cang Gui, whether it was killing or enjoying women. In other words, the pirates on the Sea Demon had strict discipline and a strong sense of danger.

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