Chapter Ninety-Three: I'll go in and find the captain and the others!

Qin Feng took careful aim at the man, but just as he was about to pull the trigger, he saw one of them turn sharply, his eyes scanning the surroundings with great vigilance. Suddenly, a strange pattern caught Qin Feng’s attention. He quickly shifted his scope and was startled to see a vivid tattoo of a blood-red skull.

“Members of the Blood Skull Mercenary Corps?” Qin Feng’s heart skipped a beat. He scrutinized the mark carefully, confirming that they truly were with the Blood Skull Mercenary Corps. Now he was certain—these people chasing him included members of that infamous group, and they were here specifically for him, intent on wiping him out. But he vowed they would not succeed.

Fury surged within Qin Feng. He instantly aligned his sights on the man, his body radiating a killing intent. He was just about to fire when, in an instant, the man dived to the side, taking cover behind a tree and slipping out of Qin Feng’s line of fire.

“Such acute danger sense—the Blood Skull Mercenaries are indeed formidable,” Qin Feng thought. He realized he had lost his best chance to take the man out with a single shot, but he was determined not to miss another opportunity. Swiftly, he targeted the leading figure among the group and pulled the trigger.

A sharp crack split the air. The sniper bullet streaked forward, and with a wet thud, a spray of blood erupted from the head of their leader.

Instantly, the enemy unleashed a hail of gunfire in his direction. They wielded AK-47s, whose effective range was five hundred meters, but stray rounds could reach nearly a thousand. Though their aim wasn’t precise, the sheer volume of bullets made it dangerous for Qin Feng.

Meanwhile, the enemy began charging toward his position, clearly intending to overwhelm him. If things kept on this way, Qin Feng knew he would be in grave danger.

“It’s no longer safe to stay here,” he decided at once. He could not linger, or he would be caught. Packing up his Type 88 sniper rifle, he sprinted away. He knew the captain and the others were ahead, already beyond the danger zone, and had left discreet signals along the way. Only their group could read these signs—no one else would understand them.

After running for about eight hundred meters, a series of explosions erupted behind him. Qin Feng glanced back to see smoke billowing through the dense forest, mingled with the screams of the wounded and dying.

His lips curled into a cold smile. “You’ll never catch me. You’ll never lay your hands on me,” he murmured icily.

With that, he dashed forward at top speed. He moved so swiftly through the jungle that only fleeting afterimages betrayed his passage, making him seem almost like a phantom racing through the trees.

Before long, Qin Feng found himself in a stretch of forest shrouded in drifting mist. The fog moved ceaselessly, cloaking the endless woods in a ghostly veil. As he scanned the misty forest, he spotted one of the team’s markings—proof that the captain and the others had gone this way.

Relying on his experience, Qin Feng judged this fog was likely composed of poisonous vapors, the toxic miasma gathering where the sunlight could not burn it away. That was how this foggy forest had come to be.

Convinced the team had entered, Qin Feng didn’t hesitate and plunged into the mist after them.

“I’m going in to find the captain,” he said aloud. Moving quickly through the shrouded woods, his figure soon vanished into the haze.

Not long after Qin Feng disappeared, a group of enemies arrived at the forest’s edge. Confronted by the swirling fog and the unknown dangers lurking within, they hesitated. The corpses of rats, insects, and birds littering the ground outside made it clear this mist was poisoned. Charging in blindly would surely mean death.

“Why aren’t you pursuing them?” a commanding voice demanded.

“Sir, the enemy entered the mist forest,” one of the men reported to the leader. “It’s poisonous. We don’t dare enter recklessly.”

“Let me see,” the leader replied, stepping forward. He was a fierce-looking man with triangular eyes—a villainous air clung to him, marking him at once as a ruthless figure. This was none other than Viper, the fourth-in-command, who had risen in the aftermath of the previous leader’s death at Qin Feng’s hands. Through merciless tactics, he’d eliminated internal dissent and seized control of the remaining two thousand men. Without his iron grip, chaos would still reign among them.

Viper scrutinized the foggy woods and quickly sensed the peril. Charging in would be suicidal.

“We’ll rest here. Surround the mist forest. If you see them emerge, capture them alive. If you can’t, kill them,” Viper ordered, referring to Qin Feng’s five-man team.

Just then, another figure from the Blood Skull Mercenary Corps approached—Red Skull, one of the group’s founders. His presence was chilling; though gaunt, he radiated a deadly aura, like a skull come to life. He was notorious for eliminating enemies without a trace, terrifying all who crossed him.

Red Skull smiled, but even that seemed predatory. Viper knew better than to antagonize such a man. “It’s not that we don’t want to pursue, but this foggy forest is deadly. It’s a poison forest. Just look at the dead snakes, insects, and birds—the mist is lethal. If my men go in, they’ll die as well. I can’t sacrifice them needlessly.”

If his men perished here, he’d have nothing to show for it. Caution was the better part of valor.

“Hmph. Do not let that bastard get away,” Red Skull said coldly. “He’s no ordinary man, and he cannot be allowed to escape. No matter where he runs, he must be destroyed.” As he spoke, a chill seemed to fill the air, as if the temperature had dropped by dozens of degrees, plunging the surroundings into an icy gloom.

Red Skull’s gaze swept around, freezing everything in its path.

“Rest assured, Red Skull, we won’t let him escape,” Viper replied.