Chapter Three: The Enemy Is Not Simple!

A deafening thunderclap exploded overhead, followed by a torrential downpour that battered the forest, shrouding the woods in a chilling mist. Clutching his Type 88 automatic rifle, Qin Feng pressed forward in relentless pursuit, uncertain of the enemy's whereabouts but consumed by a single thought: to find them and eliminate them.

"Squad leader, deputy, brothers—I will avenge you all," Qin Feng vowed as he darted through the forest, his expression carved with determination. Though he had never seen real combat, an unyielding spirit and burning blood drove him onward. For the sake of his fallen comrades, he was prepared to risk everything.

No matter what, he would wipe out those responsible.

Another thunderous peal blasted across the treetops, rain pouring down in sheets, drumming against the leaves and making them quiver. The cold wind howled, infusing the jungle with a sense of grim foreboding. Darkness swallowed everything, threatening to devour the world, turning the forest into a yawning abyss. The thought of his brothers’ brutal deaths nearly made Qin Feng’s heart burst with rage. He quickened his pace, his search now even more frantic and aimless. He knew the enemy must not escape—speed was his only hope of catching them.

He had no idea where the enemy was; he moved on instinct alone. The rain might wash away all traces, making clues impossible to find, but he harbored no resentment. If he did nothing, the grief would suffocate him. The memory of his slaughtered comrades filled him with wrath, lending him strength to keep running.

After nearly half an hour of relentless pursuit, Qin Feng reached a dense grove ahead. Suddenly, a sharp cry split the air—a bird bursting from the forest, circling above without descending. All around, startled birds and beasts darted through the trees.

Qin Feng immediately grew alert. Birds usually huddled quietly during rainstorms, but now they scattered in chaos—someone was disturbing them up ahead.

Having spent his childhood in the woods with Old Qin, he recognized the signs. Cautiously, he advanced. He knew the enemy was fierce and ruthless—their marksmanship had been deadly, felling the squad leader and deputy in an instant. Such skill demanded utmost caution.

The rain eased slightly but still fell in steady sheets, scouring the forest with an icy chill.

"I will kill you all," Qin Feng swore silently. He would avenge his fallen brothers, no matter the cost.

He crept forward a short distance, then halted. Something caught his eye.

A booby trap—so the enemy was as cunning as they were vicious. The trap was expertly concealed among the underbrush, its trigger a slender vine. Had Qin Feng been less careful, he would have stumbled into it and been blown to pieces, denying him any chance for vengeance.

He hid himself, controlling his breath to avoid detection. Danger prickled at his senses. He did not attempt to disarm the trap; that would only give away his position. Beneath this deceptive calm, a deadly threat lurked. The quieter it seemed, the more perilous it was. He needed to remain calm.

Old Qin had taught him: in the face of danger, composure is crucial—only a cool head could see the way out. Drawing a slow breath, he steadied himself with the mental techniques of his youth, envisioning himself as a tree, merging seamlessly into the jungle.

Once sure that no one was lurking nearby, he crept around the trap, circling behind it—a classic flanking maneuver. If he could get behind his enemy, he might catch them off guard and eliminate them while preserving his own life.

Caution was always wise; it was his shield against extermination.

This forest was now a battlefield—anything could happen, and only by being ready for the unexpected could he hope to overcome his foes.

Suddenly, a shadow flashed and vanished into the undergrowth ahead, swift as lightning. Had his eyes deceived him? No—Qin Feng was sure. That was a person, moving with astonishing speed. He tensed, all senses sharpened. The enemy was no ordinary foe.

Dropping into a silent crouch, he pressed himself to the ground, the pounding rain masking any noise he might make. He set up his Type 88, peering through the scope. Yet, after that fleeting glimpse, the forest swallowed all signs of life.

Had the enemy vanished, or simply escaped?

No—the enemy was still here. Qin Feng felt it, a lingering sense of danger. His instincts screamed that someone was close.

He soon heard the faintest footsteps—so light that only his exceptional hearing, honed by years with Old Qin in the wild, could detect them. He listened intently. The enemy was drawing near, stealthy and silent, clearly intent on killing him without a sound. A chill of danger froze his spine.

So, the enemy had discovered him. That only made Qin Feng more cautious.

Then, through his scope, he caught sight of a figure dashing through the trees, moving so swiftly that only blurred afterimages remained. The figure’s path was cunning—always behind cover, shielded by a triangle of trees that blocked any line of fire. It was a masterful evasion technique—using three trunks to create a wedge, denying the sniper a clear shot.

The enemy’s prowess pressed down on Qin Feng. He knew he had to act—if his foe got any closer, he would be the one to die. He had to find a way to eliminate this threat.