Chapter Four: Take Down the Enemy!

In that instant, Qin Feng felt an overwhelming sense of mortal danger. He sensed his enemy drawing nearer; the threat to his life intensified with every passing moment. He told himself to remain calm, to stay composed—especially now, when the situation was most perilous. This was a lesson Old Man Qin had instilled in him, and one he’d learned well from growing up in the jungle: if you lost your composure, death in the wilderness would come swiftly, and you wouldn’t even know how it happened. Now, faced with this grave threat, Qin Feng’s survival depended on his calm.

Flattening himself against the ground, Qin Feng forced himself to think with unwavering focus. Ordinarily, the best option would be to shift to another sniper position, but the enemy was directly ahead. If he moved, he risked being spotted. The enemy was armed and would not hesitate to open fire, making any movement even more hazardous.

Retreat was impossible, too; behind him lay booby-trap mines. In order not to alert the enemy earlier, he hadn’t disabled them. If he tried to withdraw, he might trigger one, and if that happened, he’d be blown to pieces—an equally fatal risk.

Every direction spelled danger. The only safe choice was to stay put and wait for the enemy here. He had to kill the enemy from where he lay. He knew his opponent was formidable—perhaps a master—and dared not let down his guard for an instant. Regulating his breathing with the cultivation technique he’d practiced for years, he calmed his mind and suppressed his killing intent, imagining himself as part of the jungle, melting into its shadows. He knew that true experts were acutely sensitive to the presence of murderous intent; even the slightest trace would give him away, exposing him and sealing his fate.

“There’s only one chance—life or death.”

He surveyed the area before him with icy composure. Qin Feng was acutely aware of his dire straits: either he would kill the enemy, or the enemy would kill him. On the battlefield, it was always kill or be killed—there was no other path. Only one would survive. Steeling himself, he focused all his attention on his surroundings, determined not to miss the smallest detail.

All the while, he adjusted his state, cycling his cultivation technique to keep his strength at its peak. There was no room for error; the slightest lapse on the battlefield could be fatal.

After perhaps a dozen seconds, Qin Feng caught the faintest sound—the nearly inaudible footsteps of someone approaching. His senses, honed since childhood in the wild, picked up on what most would miss. The enemy was almost silent, so much so that had Qin Feng not possessed exceptional hearing and experience, he would never have detected it. The realization sent a cold sweat down his back; he might have been silently killed without even knowing.

When the enemy closed in, it would come down to aim and trigger—an expert could do this in a single breath, a second or less. In that heartbeat, a master could kill.

“So, you’re coming. Come then—let’s see who kills whom first. The enemy has one second, and so do I. We’ll see who claims it.”

A sharp gleam flashed in Qin Feng’s eyes. He scoured every corner, knowing the true life-and-death moment was at hand. Only one would walk away alive.

Qin Feng reminded himself that he must survive—he had to avenge his squad leader, deputy squad leader, and his brothers. He would not let the enemy escape.

His opponent had one chance; so did he. It was all about who could seize that fleeting opportunity.

The footsteps drew closer, every moment fraught with the threat of attack. Qin Feng still couldn’t pinpoint the enemy’s exact location—they might be hiding perfectly. His task was to spot the foe first, then fire a single, fatal shot.

He lay utterly motionless, channeling his cultivation technique to calm his mind, blending seamlessly into his environment. His eyes swept the jungle like a radar, searching for the slightest disturbance. Suddenly, the footsteps stopped. Only the rustle of wind and the faint patter of rain could be heard—the downpour was fading. Qin Feng suspected the enemy had found him.

The next move would be an attack—from anywhere. He needed to kill the enemy before he was killed.

A wave of murderous intent crashed over him, enveloping him in suffocating threat. He knew this was the most dangerous moment; he must remain calm, for composure was the key to survival.

The jungle had fallen silent, an eerie stillness that felt more dangerous than any noise—the calm before the storm, the hush before death.

Clutching his Type-88 automatic rifle, sweat beaded on Qin Feng’s forehead, rolling down his nose and dripping onto the earth. Yet he did not move an inch. He knew just how perilous his situation was; there could be no relaxation, not even for a moment—he had to focus all his energy on the enemy.

“Die.”

A surge of lethal intent swept over him, and a voice, cold as death, rang out with spectral chill. Suddenly, a figure sprang from the trees to his left—swift and predatory as a leopard—and fired.

Bang!

Two gunshots rang out almost simultaneously, but Qin Feng’s sniper rifle was faster. In that instant, his shot struck the enemy squarely between the brows. Blood and matter sprayed as the enemy toppled lifeless to the ground. The bullet from the enemy’s gun had missed, burying itself deep in a tree just ahead of Qin Feng.

Qin Feng’s earlier calculation had been correct: the enemy could come from any direction. In the instant the enemy appeared, Qin Feng raised his rifle, aimed, and fired in one seamless motion—less than a second from start to finish. The enemy had no chance.

Drawing his dagger, Qin Feng approached the body. The man’s face was scarred and ferocious. Qin Feng stabbed him in the chest for good measure, ensuring he was utterly dead.

He let out a long breath. Had he been less cautious or less skilled, he might have been the one lying dead.

“Squad leader, deputy squad leader, brothers—I’ve avenged one of you,” Qin Feng murmured, eyes glinting with resolve. Examining the corpse, he noticed a blood-red skull tattooed on the man’s neck. He didn’t know who his adversaries were, but their strength was undeniable.

Killing one of them bolstered Qin Feng’s confidence, yet his expression remained grim. He knew the enemy was formidable. Had the man not been overconfident, or had Qin Feng not been so careful, the outcome might have been very different.

“No matter how strong the enemy, I will destroy them all,” he vowed. He would avenge his squad leader, deputy, and fallen brothers—even if the enemy was powerful, they would pay.

Sheathing his military knife, Qin Feng hefted his Type-88 and pressed on in pursuit.

Meanwhile, deeper in the jungle, the Blood Skull mercenaries halted abruptly. Their leader, White Skull, stopped mid-stride, staring in fury at the thermal sensor in his hand—it had just lost a signal.

“Damn it! One of our men has been taken out. This is impossible…”