Chapter 77: Frenzied Quick-Scope Blind Shots (Requesting Recommendation Votes)

There’s still one gunner left, but I have no idea where he is. Logically, he should also be near the cannon. I have to act fast and finish this quickly, taking a chance with some blind shots through the wall—maybe I’ll get lucky and nail him.

Having taken out one black-clad gunner smoothly, Xing Xiaolong’s mind raced as he made a quick and decisive choice. Judging the position of the remaining gunner based on the exposed recoilless cannon’s muzzle, he began firing continuously through the surrounding walls, trusting to luck.

Bang! Click—bang! Click... He aimed, predicted, fired, chambered another round, and repeated the process in swift succession. Each .338 Lapua Magnum sniper round roared with unstoppable force, whistling as they punched fist-sized holes through the wall. Fragments of shattered concrete burst into clouds of gray-white dust, until, with each impact, a thick haze shrouded the already battered wall.

This entire display of violence and devastation lasted less than thirty seconds. Xing Xiaolong emptied two special magazines from the CF store, each loaded with ten .338 Lapua Magnum rounds, and then ceased fire.

The building’s walls were riddled with holes, the air choked with dust, leaving his vision severely limited. He couldn’t tell if the last black-garbed gunner had been killed by those twenty blind shots; there was no way to check. All he could do was hope the man was dead.

Most of the hundred-plus smoke grenades he’d thrown earlier had dissipated by now, the coverage shrinking to less than fifteen meters. He had to get out—fast.

Reloading his last ten-round magazine, Xing Xiaolong slung the AWM Villain over his back and stowed it in his CF store’s equipment panel. With a quick motion, he drew a classic Desert Eagle in his left hand and a Guardian Desert Eagle in his right.

Now dual-wielding these powerful handguns, he grabbed all his supplies, even going back to retrieve the MG4 light machine gun, before charging back into the smoke-filled zone.

He had to return the guns, otherwise he’d have to pay for them—a detail Xing Xiaolong remembered very clearly. He had no choice; money was tight, and he had to live frugally.

Bang bang bang bang...

As the .45 caliber Desert Eagles thundered, nearly every government and rebel soldier who hadn’t yet escaped the smoke fell at Xing Xiaolong’s hands. He’d lost count of how many he’d killed during this back-and-forth—at least a dozen, perhaps more.

Whether killing so many would land him in legal trouble, or if he could even return home safely, Xing Xiaolong had no time to think about it. All he wanted now was to get out—fast.

He crossed the entire smoke zone, moving from the far left to the right edge of the road, tossing another ten smoke grenades as he went.

It was as if they cost nothing.

Only one vehicle remained by the roadside—a pickup truck without a heavy machine gun. Its left rear tire was punctured, but it could still manage a short drive, though it would be much slower. Xing Xiaolong took this into account.

A dozen or so government reinforcements still held the roadside position. With a flat tire and no cover, running for the truck would be suicide—almost certainly a death sentence.

But Xing Xiaolong wasn’t just anyone. He had two hacks on his side; if no one else could provide cover, he’d create his own. He bought another ten smoke grenades, tossing them in a wide circle around the truck.

He’d already thrown over a hundred smoke grenades taking on dozens of enemies—what was ten more? As for his rapidly dwindling CF points… survival came first; everything else could wait.

Seeing smoke billow up again, the government soldiers hesitated, terrified it was another trap like before, where everyone who went in never came back out. The wounds, especially those that could slice a man in half, were simply too horrifying.

This time, instead of charging in, they kept their distance, firing blindly into the smoke—useless, given the wide area and all the obstacles around the last pickup, which was wedged against a building rather than out in the open. Their shots were scattered and ineffective.

Relying on his thermal imaging goggles, Xing Xiaolong slipped through the smoke and reached the truck. He dragged the lifeless driver out, jumped into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and removed his gas mask and goggles.

He slammed it into first gear, floored the accelerator, and roared out of the village, trailing a cloud of white smoke.

Second extraction point.

Two modified pickup trucks emerged from the woods, parking on the hard-packed dirt road to wait. Aside from three still-unconscious passengers, everyone else—including the four conscious hostages—stood outside, expressions varied.

“Captain, we’ve been waiting eight minutes. He still hasn’t shown up. Could he already be—?”

“Wait a little longer,” Tiger interrupted Trist, saying no more. He kept his eyes on the Kaso village, holding firm to his promise to Xing Xiaolong—to wait here for ten minutes.

But in these last two minutes, discordant voices arose.

“What are you all waiting for? Let’s go already! If those crazy gunmen catch up, there aren’t enough of you to even slow them down.”

A white man in his thirties, with a sharp face and sunglasses, clutched a blood-soaked bandage to his head, panic and anger etched across his features. He had only just woken up, and ever since, had been loudly complaining and crying for help.

If not for Tiger and his men’s intimidating presence, this guy would have tried to hijack a pickup and flee by now.

“No. We have to wait for someone. Without him, we never would have escaped,” said Artilisia Len Largs calmly. Her violet eyes reflected clear disdain for the anxious white man. Compared to the heroic image Xing Xiaolong left her, this man was the very definition of coward.

“Wait for someone? You’re waiting for one man? I’m about to bleed out! I’m a hostage—you’re supposed to protect me first—”

Shing—

Black Fox drew his knife from his thigh and pressed the cold blade to the man’s throat, silencing him instantly. The bluster vanished, swallowed by fear.

A moment ago, he’d been so righteous; now, he was a quivering coward. The very picture of scum.

Artilisia and the other two hostages, who had woken first, watched this pathetic display with scorn, mocking the man for shaming his own gender.

The world is big enough; there’s always a few like him.

After shutting up the coward, Black Fox grew worried and approached Tiger. “Captain, should I go back for him? You could take the others and go.”

“Count me in,” said Baldy. “He’s my kind of guy. I want to make friends with him.”

“How about the three of us? I don’t like owing favors. If that Panda kid dies, I’ll never get to return what I owe,” said Trist, the team’s secondary sniper and resident hacker, his dreadlocks swaying.

Of course, not all the PMCs were so loyal; the others remained silent, clearly less concerned about honor.

Trist, Black Fox, and Baldy all volunteered. As captain, Tiger felt the same. After all, Xing Xiaolong had once saved his life. But he’d promised to keep Su Dayu safe if he survived; he couldn’t risk abandoning that pledge.

Torn between going back and staying, Tiger hesitated.

Just then, a plume of dust rose in the distance—the “earth dragon” of a speeding vehicle, and beneath it, a pickup came into sight.

Seeing the approaching truck, Tiger, Black Fox, and their team broke into smiles.