A small portion of the gun body protrudes, indicating that it is an enhanced and improved version of an old-fashioned rifle with some manual modifications. The gun body has been solidified to increase its power and a steel pipe has been added to extend the shooting range. However, the rifle lacks advanced sights of the new era and even lacks old-fashioned sights, only having a basic front sight. The straight-line distance from the gun muzzle to the wolf exceeds fifteen hundred meters. Even though the rifle has sufficient range, hitting the target would rely solely on luck, and extraordinary luck at that.
"It depends on luck again..." The rifle muzzle subtly swayed in sync with the movement of the wolf's head, displaying micro-level accuracy. Boom! A deafening gunshot echoed throughout the valley as the wolf's thick chest nearly exploded. Instantly, the wolf dropped to the ground, acknowledging its grievous wound. The alpha wolf fell, causing chaos among the pack of rotten wolves. The enraged creatures scoured the valley in search of the audacious culprit who dared to provoke their entire pack. However, amidst the wind's whispers and the scent of gunpowder, there was no abnormal smell. A few wolves with exceptional senses hurried to the ridge, only to find emptiness. Dozens of furious rotten wolves then charged towards their existing target—the cave where Turner and others were hiding. However, this charge amounted to suicide. The farthest of the forty-plus strong rotten wolves approached within ten meters of the cave entrance before being systematically eliminated by a deluge of bullets. The only result was the depletion of one-third of the team's ammunition.
Another half hour passed, and the rotten wolves grew increasingly restless and anxious. A dominant male wolf began growling and howling repeatedly, attempting to assume the position of leader. Witnessing this scene, Turner's team grew tense once more. Although this wolf possessed greater strength than ordinary rotten wolves, it lacked the superior intelligence of the original wolf. After undergoing the transformation, who knew what might occur.
Boom! Another resounding gunshot pierced the air, and the new alpha wolf fell. Berg finally spotted a wisp of smoke rising from the back of the opposite mountain. Hastily grabbing his binoculars, he peered across to find nothing but a solitary rock. "What's the shooting distance?" Turner asked, as he settled beside Berg. Berg estimated the distance and replied in a hushed tone, "...1400 meters." His voice was tinged with jealousy and admiration. To hit accurately at such a distance and accomplish it with only two shots indicated that the sniper on the other side surpassed him by at least two levels, meaning they had undergone at least three genetic evolutions.
The gun's sound was coarse and thick, bearing the distinct metallic scent of gunpowder characteristic of old-fashioned firearms. Whether newcomers or veterans, Turner's team were all experts in the field of firearms. The sound of gunfire resonating in their ears possessed a unique allure. It was evident that these old-fashioned firearms sacrificed certain aspects for the sake of range. However, the high-level sniper concealed in darkness demonstrated proficiency in both movement and concealment, eluding even the keen senses of the rotten wolves. Coupled with their astonishing sniper distance and terrifying accuracy, it hardly mattered if their location was exposed. Survival against this individual's sniper rifle truly depended on luck.
Tranquility returned to the valley, and the afternoon sun intensified, making the rotten wolves increasingly agitated. Although their evolution had rendered them stronger and more cunning, their aversion to sunlight and endurance had not significantly improved. Bereft of leadership from the alpha wolf, the pack of rotten wolves transitioned from a disciplined army to instinct-driven beasts. An hour before dusk, they lost their remaining patience and departed the valley in small groups.
The warriors within the cave collectively breathed a sigh of relief, their tense nerves finally loosening. For the past three days, every soldier had lived under the specter of death. While they may have found physical respite, their minds remained tightly wound. If there were a ranking for the worst manner of death, being devoured by rotten wolves would surely come second only to being consumed by living corpses.
As dusk approached, a figure emerged on the hillside opposite. Clad in a tawny hooded cloak, the individual blended seamlessly with the environment. The towering rifle slung behind them, almost matching their height, appeared to be the weapon responsible for twice dispatching wolves. Instantly, the few remaining patrolling rotten wolves charged forward with ferocious howls. In a matter of moments, several resounding gunshots silenced the beasts, leaving them writhing on the ground, unable to rise again.
He didn't use the rifle on his back, and in his left hand was an extraordinarily powerful pistol, which was obviously modified. The automatic rifle needs two bursts to knock down the rotten wolf. It only needs one shot. This is no longer explained by the power of the gun itself. Only when several consecutive shots hit the rotten wolf's vitals will such a result occur. The gunshot of this pistol is as shocking as its power, almost not much smaller than the sniper rifle behind it, rough, thick, simple, and direct, like a strong man with stubble on his face.
After killing six rotten wolves one after another, with a flick of the man's fingers, the drum of the pistol opened, six hot bullet casings fell, and six more bullets were filled into the drum through his dexterous fingers. Then, with a click, the drum was fired. Returning to the position, almost without aiming, the muzzle of the gun was raised slightly, and a long tongue of flame was sprayed out again. In the sound of gunshots resounding through the valley, the seventh and last rotten wolf that jumped at the man was shocked, turned somersault in the air, flew over the man's head, and fell heavily to the ground. It whimpered unceasingly, and blood poured out endlessly, but this posture couldn't tell where the wound was, so people couldn't understand how this shot could bring down the rotting wolf, which is known for its ferocity and tenacity. There are still more than ten rotten wolves wandering in the valley, but with the clear and intensive gunshots of automatic rifles, all the remaining rotten wolves failed to escape from the hot metal bullet rain.
With a brisk roar, Turner's M3A shot the last of the rotting wolves trying to escape halfway up the mountainside. Only then did he point the muzzle of the gun obliquely at the ground, cross the valley, and walk towards the mysterious man standing on the opposite hillside. Turner's hand is resting on the grip of the rifle. In this position, with a slight movement of the wrist, the muzzle of the M3A can bounce like a frightened rabbit. The soldiers behind him seemed to be scattered casually, and if necessary, everyone's firepower could immediately cover the mysterious man.
It can be said that almost the entire team's life was saved by that person, but it is everyone's survival instinct to be on guard against strangers. The man had the pistol back in his waist, but it was so impressive that almost everyone remembered that it still had five rounds in it. With the quickness with which the man could complete the bullet change in under a second, if he had malicious intentions, he could have fired at least three shots before Turner's team shot him. Judging from the man's previous marksmanship, three shots meant three lives.
Turner stopped ten meters in front of him and carefully looked at the strangely dressed man. With the bright setting sun, under the thick yellow-brown cloak, it can be seen that most of his face is hidden under the dense bandage, a black eyepatch covers the right eye, and the pale golden grayish hair covers the most of the forehead. Although on this person, only the left eye can be seen clearly, but the slender, strong, and slightly curved eyebrows, the blue pupils with gray stripes, and the lines that outline the outline of the eyes together constitute a nearly perfect picture scroll.
Turner suddenly felt that his throat was a little dry, although the figure should be a man, and he was not even sure whether the body hidden under the bandage was human. But in this era of survival, desire has long lost its shackles, and sex and violence have long become the instinct of most people. Men and women, adults and children, human and non-human, in the eyes of those who crave excitement and passion, all boundaries are blurring rapidly.
Years of life-and-death struggles calmed Turner down, and to his delight, no hostility could be seen in the opponent's green eyes. After hesitating for a moment, Turner let go of the submachine gun from his body and reached out to the stranger: "I'm Turner."
It was a rare gesture of friendliness among people meeting for the first time. The stranger was obviously a little surprised, but his eyes were slightly bent, a smile appeared on his face, and he reached out to shake hands with Turner: "I am William."
William's hands were also covered with bandages, not a single bit of skin was exposed. However, through the bandage, Turner felt that this hand was more slender than ordinary people, and it was extraordinarily soft, but there seemed to be an explosive power hidden in the softness. This contradictory feeling made him feel that he was not shaking hands with a stranger, but holding the sharp teeth of a stone dragon.
Turner's hand trembled slightly, and he quickly withdrew it with a hint of disrespect. William appeared unperturbed. Turner waved his hand vaguely, indicating a sense of safety. The team's soldiers let out a collective sigh of relief and dispersed to inspect the undead rotten wolves and gather the necessary corpses for the mission.
Standing beside William, Turner took out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, extracted two carefully, and offered one to William. "You saved all our lives! Care for a smoke?" he asked.
William smiled and replied, "Why not? It's a good opportunity." After lighting his cigarette, William took a deep breath, the bandage on his face barely allowing the smoke to escape. Several minutes passed before he exhaled a narrow stream of smoke, clearly showing his familiarity with the enjoyment of tobacco.
As they observed the soldiers skillfully dissecting the rotten wolf corpse, Turner casually inquired, "Apart from the rotten wolves, there doesn't seem to be much in this area. Why did you come here?"
"I've been tracking some abnormal behavior among the rotting wolves and wanted to investigate. That's when I stumbled upon your situation in this valley. Killing the wolf was just a stroke of luck," William calmly explained. In many large bases or settlements, mutated creatures, whether alive or dead, can fetch a good price. Their genetic material is sought after for new enhancements, making hunting these mutant species a lucrative profession known as hunters.
Turner asked, "So you're a hunter?"
"I'm a level one hunter and a junior mercenary," William responded.
Curious, Turner continued, "Which organization issued your license?"
Hunters and mercenaries can be anyone who takes up the profession. They are ranked and licensed based on their past achievements. Licenses can be granted by various organizations, scattered bases, large companies, or even consortiums. Possessing a license issued by an organization means recognition within the territory of that organization, its allies, and friendly entities, along with the corresponding benefits. However, not all organizations may recognize licenses issued by others. As a result, obtaining a first-level hunter license from a large company usually holds more value than a fourth-level license from a smaller organization.
"Penn & Co.," William replied.
Turner was momentarily surprised, his voice filled with newfound respect. "That's a big name!" Considering William's skills in sniping, shooting, stealth, and athletics, it made sense for him to possess such a prestigious license. Recalling the wolf that William took down, Turner's eyes twitched involuntarily. He took a deep drag from his cigarette and gloomily muttered, "Can't believe even the rotten wolves are gaining human-level intelligence. Damn world!"
As the soldiers finished preparing the rotten wolf carcasses for transport, William sighed and remarked, "There will be more of these wolves in the future." Turner cursed under his breath and shouted loudly, "Boys, let's move! We need to make it back home by morning!" After issuing the order, Turner turned to William and said, "You've been out here for a long time. Rest up at the base. Let's go!" Possessing a license meant having connections and no longer being a dangerous stranger. Moreover, Payne Company held significant influence in the area. As dusk settled, the Turner team embarked on their journey through the twilight. It would take them two full days to reach the base from their current location. Although nighttime posed its own dangers, the present area was exceptionally perilous. And among the team, another figure silently moved alongside William.
Whether intentionally or not, Berg fell behind the group and walked beside William. Taking advantage of the faint green light of the night, he stole glances at the massive modified rifle strapped to William's back. What puzzled him, however, was the simplicity of the rifle's optical sight. Even a novice could tell that it paled in comparison to the SVD sniper rifle held by Berg himself.
Berg, visibly shy, blushed and whispered, "Sir, no, sir, may I ask, what level is your sniper specialization?" William remained silent. Berg grew more nervous and stuttered, "I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean to offend... You see, I'm only twenty years old, just a first-level sniper. I've never met anyone like you before."
"Psionic Domain... Easy Weapon Mastery... Sniper Specialization..." These thoughts flashed through William's mind in an instant, with hundreds of data points rapidly changing. After three seconds, a conclusion finally formed.
"Third level," William replied with a smile.
Berg became even more excited. As he suspected, William was already a third-tier sniper. With each level increase, the number of evolution points required doubles, meaning that William had consumed at least seven evolution points to reach the third level. For Berg, whose greatest aspiration was to become a second-tier sniper, William was already an idol. Overwhelmed, Berg couldn't bring himself to speak further to William. Likewise, William appeared mostly reserved, and the silence resumed at the rear of the group. The ten individuals marched quietly and swiftly through the night. In Berg's eyes, the basic, rugged, and outdated modified rifle on William's back had been transformed into a rough, simple, and violent work of art. Little did he know that William hadn't spent a single evolution point on sniper specialization.