Chapter Four: The Assassination

A series of deafening explosions erupted in midair just a few dozen meters from the border regiment’s formation. Amid the flickering crimson flames and billowing smoke, shrapnel shot forth at over 1,200 meters per second, fiercely battering the trees within a radius of more than ten meters, producing a chilling, rain-like barrage of sound.

In the instant these explosions began, a muffled pop broke the air. Zhang He’s 21-caliber sniper rifle, fitted with a silencer, fired abruptly. The 12.7mm bullet, propelled at a muzzle velocity exceeding 1,200 meters per second, spun swiftly into the forehead of a mercenary who was lobbing a grenade from a semi-prone position, severing his central nervous system in a heartbeat. With a spray of dark blood, the mercenary’s head burst apart before he could even cry out.

A thunderous blast followed: the grenade, its safety pin just pulled, exploded in the mercenary’s hand before he could throw it. The immense shockwave and scattering fragments shredded his body, then surged outward at speeds far beyond human hearing.

A black shadow tumbled frantically on the ground a dozen meters away, barely escaping the deadly blast. But before he could regain composure, another muffled shot rang out. A sniper bullet, fired at an impossibly strange angle, bored into his heart.

"Ah—" The mercenary screamed in disbelief and despair, his body stiffening and legs kicking spasmodically before he collapsed in a limp heap.

Lei Dong had opened fire.

Immediately after, three near-silent shots sounded in rapid succession from Lei Dong’s sniper post.

“Damn it, this useless rookie!” Zhang He’s heart sank: four shots fired from the same position in quick succession! The enemy’s sniper hadn’t yet been located. How could such concentrated fire be adjusted in time? Could the shots even hit their targets?

Yet what happened next left Zhang He utterly incredulous: three mercenaries, guns raised as they lunged from the underbrush, had their heads explode like shattered watermelons, dying instantly.

“Holy—” Watching Lei Dong slither like a silent serpent, darting toward the next sniper position, Zhang He almost cried out in astonishment!

“Sniper!” Several mercenaries on the mountain summit uttered brief, startled cries, then fell silent. These veteran jungle fighters had instantly realized from the precision and timing of those three shots that the cunning Republican forces not only refused to compromise, but had somehow deployed a special operations unit.

Yet those fleeting cries, thunderous in Lei Dong’s ears as he focused all his senses on the surrounding movement, allowed him to instantly pinpoint the mercenary’s location.

A single crack echoed, and blood shot from the mercenary’s heart like a bolt, his body drained of strength and hurled to the ground by the rifle’s mighty force.

Another shot. A mercenary a dozen meters away had just opened his mouth in fear when his head exploded like a watermelon struck by a giant club, spraying black-red blood and white brain matter everywhere.

Through the scope, watching the shattered skull and the mist of blood and brain matter, Lei Dong saw only red. His blood seemed to boil, intoxicated by the merciless harvest of enemy lives—a feeling akin to death’s own embrace.

---

Over a thousand meters away, Zhang He could hardly believe his eyes: five shots, five kills! Was this guy really a rookie, a soldier barely a year into service? How was it possible?

He couldn’t have known that Lei Dong possessed an extraordinary ability to alter bullet trajectories with his spiritual sense. As long as an enemy appeared in his perception—not even necessarily in the scope—Lei Dong could ensure a fatal shot.

“Damn!” The mercenary squad leader, a towering white man built like a polar bear, cursed under his breath, too afraid to lift his head. Battle-hardened, he knew all too well what fate awaited anyone exposed to a sniper in these encircled mountain jungles.

But the problem before him was clear: unless he quickly found a way to change the situation, his squad—already depleted of men and combat power—would be pinned down and annihilated.

“Sinclair, nine o’clock! Five hundred meters!” The polar bear estimated the sniper’s position and shouted to the squad’s gunner. He himself fired three smoke grenades from his assault rifle’s 35mm launcher, aiming to block the sniper’s view.

Sinclair’s machine gun unleashed a wild barrage at Lei Dong’s previous hiding spot.

Lei Dong, having just fired, hadn’t yet had time to move and was pinned down by the onslaught.

“Shit!” Lei Dong cursed, rolling across the ground to dodge the hail of bullets that struck nearby rocks and trees, sending fragments flying.

“Flashbangs! Throw!” Zhang He fired at the mercenary gunner, pinning him down, then barked into his throat mic.

The battlefield, already ablaze with bullets and explosions, sent soldiers trembling with adrenaline. Several flashbangs were hurled toward the densest gunfire.

Explosions erupted, and the sky seemed lit by several miniature suns, their intense light revealing every detail for hundreds of meters.

“My eyes—!” A mercenary, caught by the sudden glare, screamed, clutching his eyes and dropping to the ground.

Before the light faded, the soldiers surged forth, their weapons pouring out bullets in a fierce storm, launching a ferocious assault on the panicked mercenary squad.

The outcome was never in doubt—for a ten-man special forces squad, losing seven was beyond the threshold of collapse. The soldiers ended the battle in just twenty-seven seconds. Zhang He, who had worried about the rookies facing a tough fight, observed through his scope, scarcely believing his eyes: a squad of mostly untested recruits, facing a battle-hardened, well-armed mercenary team, had wiped out the enemy without a single casualty in record time. It was nothing short of a miracle.

---

Upon reflection, the miraculous victory owed not only to thorough pre-battle mobilization, Han Changfeng’s ingenious tactics, and the soldiers’ rigorous training and tactical skill, but most crucially to Lei Dong—the rookie who had barely served a year.

It was his composure, his perfectly timed shots, and his uncanny marksmanship that eliminated more than half the enemy and exerted overwhelming psychological pressure, preventing the mercenaries from fighting freely and laying the foundation for total victory.

“We’ve struck gold!” Zhang He grinned from ear to ear. “If we had ten or eight more like him, the Tiger Battalion would surely become the strongest special forces unit in the Republic!”

Pleased with himself, Zhang He glanced toward Lei Dong.

Through the scope, Lei Dong lay prone at his sniper post, more than three hundred meters from the battlefield, gripping his triumphant 21-caliber sniper rifle tightly, eye pressed to the scope as he scanned the scene.

Sensing someone watching him, Lei Dong tensed slightly, then relaxed. His right index finger remained lightly on the trigger, his left hand on the rifle, but he raised a thumb toward Zhang He’s direction.

“Alert and cautious—excellent!” Zhang He silently praised.

Lei Dong relaxed for barely a second before refocusing, using his scope to methodically scan the battlefield and confirm that the enemy was truly vanquished.

The gunfire had finally ceased. The soldiers, flushed with the thrill of their first real combat, began to clear the battlefield. Only Gong Zhigang looked disgruntled, muttering, “That was so unsatisfying. All that buildup, and it ended in a flash. Anyone who didn’t know would think Xiao Jiepeng was shooting some kind of adult film!”

Lei Dong nearly burst out laughing. Gong Zhigang was normally a pure, aloof type, so why did he always veer into such topics when he spoke?

“I’ll have to find out what your true nature really is!” Lei Dong spat, wondering how best to punish this incorrigible fellow.

Gong Zhigang, sensing something, suddenly turned and flashed a “I despise you” gesture toward Lei Dong.

“Watch out!” Suddenly, a surge of warning shot through Lei Dong’s mind. He shouted instinctively, his sniper rifle ready to fire—but it was already too late. At Gong Zhigang’s feet, the “Polar Bear,” who had lain seemingly dead, suddenly sat up, his right hand raising a large-caliber Makarov pistol at Gong Zhigang’s abdomen. His left thumb flicked, sending a high-explosive grenade pin flying. The soldiers quickly converged, their guns trained on the Polar Bear’s head, but his thumb pressed the grenade’s detonator.

“Back off! Or I’ll kill him!” the Polar Bear roared in madness.