Mr. Qian raised his gun and realized that He hadn't even taken his rifle off his back—the shot hadn't co from He at all.
Both n were taken aback.
"What lousy shooting!" Suming muttered from behind the waterfall.
It must be stressed that Suming was legitimately skilled with a handgun! His old man worked in wildlife conservation outdoors, and Suming had been exposed to the '54 pistol from a young age. As he grew up, he even experienced live ammunition shooting during military training, so the captured replica '54 wasn't at all unfamiliar to him.
However, being able to shoot a handgun doesn't necessarily equate to shooting accurately.
Mr. Qian was only about twenty ters from the waterfall. Suming, holding the gun behind the waterfall, aid for a long ti but still missed. The bullet flew at least twenty or thirty centiters from Mr. Qian into the trees.
Shooting a handgun is challenging—it's not just about firing, but hitting the target accurately. At a distance of more than twenty ters, even trained police officers can't guarantee a hundred percent accuracy; a sixty percent hit rate would already be considered good. Being able to hit any target within twenty ters is the level of a sharpshooter.
For a gun enthusiast like Suming, missing the target at a distance of twenty ters wasn't really a disgrace.
Outside the waterfall, after a montary stun, He and Mr. Qian both shifted their gaze behind the waterfall. Guns without silencers make distinguishable noises, and anyone but a deaf person could accurately pinpoint the location of the gunshot.
Both n imdiately perford standard tactical movents, lying down on the sandy beach, aiming their rifles towards the waterfall's mouth.
"Damn it! Who's there, co out!"
Before Mr. Qian's words fell, another bang ca from behind the waterfall, and a bullet hit the ground less than twenty centiters from him, kicking up chipped pebbles that left a bloody mark on his face.
Without saying another word, He fired three consecutive bullets behind the waterfall. The bullets vanished into the curtain of water as if into the abyss, without stirring up the slightest ripple.
Suming also cursed under his breath, thankful that he had watched plenty of war movies and had so combat experience. He didn't stay put after shooting; he imdiately ducked into the cave.
No sooner had he ducked inside than several sparks erged from where he had been standing on the wall. The three bullets had knocked down a considerable chunk of rock—if he had been a bit slower, his body would have had several new bullet holes by now.
Since he'd already blown his cover, Suming decided to go for broke. Clearing his throat, he managed a not-so-standard Mandarin, and yelled out seriously to the outside, "This is the forest ard police, this is the forest ard police, you are surrounded. Dropping your weapons is your only way out!"
"Fuck you!" was the retort, t with a bullet.
Suming, undeterred, fired back by instinct.
It's hard to say if Mr. Qian was unlucky or lucky. Suming shot at him every ti but never hit him. Another bullet struck the ground not far from him, skipped up, and flew past his scalp.
"Fuck!" Mr. Qian felt a slight pass over his head, as if it had been grazed by a knife, nearly pissing himself in fear. Had the bullet been a centiter lower, his life would've been over.
Without hesitation, he executed a side roll and tumbled to a blind spot behind the waterfall at the mouth of the cave. Unless the person inside the cave ca through the waterfall, there was no way they could aim at him again.
Mr. Qian had just rolled to safety and hadn't had the chance to raise his gun to aim when sothing slamd into his back, as if he had collided with sothing.
Imdiately after, his neck tightened, and an unpleasant body odor wafted over from behind. Mr. Qian suddenly realized that under his panic, he had unwittingly rolled right next to the wild man!
Just the thought that the wild man, who killed as easily as slaughtering chickens, was right behind him, sent Mr. Qian's heart plumting to his intestines!
"Why am I not passed out yet, could the tranquilizer gun have failed?!" That was Mr. Qian's last thought.
The wild man, filled with sorrow and anger, still a bit dizzy, saw Mr. Qian practically deliver himself to the doorstep. Not one to be polite, he seized Mr. Qian's neck with one hand, and without waiting for Mr. Qian to raise his gun, the other hand, clenched into a fist the size of a sand pot, rained down three heavy punches onto Mr. Qian's head.
If this were ancient tis, the wild man's fists might have been even more fierce than Lu Zhishen's who had killed Zheng the butcher with a flurry of punches. But this man simply needed three. After the three punches, half of Mr. Qian's head was buried in the ground, and the half that remained outside resembled an overturned sauce jar, red and white blood ssy and mixed.
Well now, of the six poachers, only He remained, plagued by intense frustration.
What was this ss?! His group of six, all ard to the teeth, each one an experienced hand, could have held their ground against a squad of ard police, yet they hadn't even seen their opponent's face when five were finished off with brutal efficiency!
If it weren't for He's military experience offering him a robust ntal fortitude, he might have broken down without needing Suming or the wild man to lay a finger on him.
Especially the two n outside the cave who died so mysteriously: one lying on a tree, body turned black as if poisoned; the other with the back of his skull shattered, his face swollen like a pig's head. If it weren't for their clothes, He would hardly recognize them.
His two subordinates were no slouches and pretty sharp, too, or he wouldn't have entrusted them with the watch. Yet, they were effortlessly taken down by the enemy, without even a chance to sound the alarm. This suggested that the enemy didn't have numbers, but were indisputably masters among masters, proficient in close combat, adept with poisons, proficient with… rocks?
Who on earth could this be? Several groups flashed through He's mind at once: the hunting squads from the Middle East, the Black Death rcenaries from South Africa, the Fallen Angels from North Arica, Blackwater security...
His mind was in disarray; these factions were not ones they could afford to provoke—in fact, they weren't even qualified to provoke them.
Was it the employer silencing them? He was shocked, took a deep breath, and hid behind a tal cage. With one hand holding a gun and the other clutching a backpack filled with dry food, he slipped stealthily toward the woods.
Even though He wore glasses, suggesting a scholarly look, they were actually plain glass for disguise—his natural vision in both eyes was 1.2. He ca from a line of hunters and grew up to fight jungle warfare in the military. He was confident that once he retreated into the woods, it would beco his domain. Using the deep mountains and forests as cover, he could slowly ascertain the enemy's situation and even unexpectedly turn the tide of battle.
"I'll say it one last ti, drop the weapons and surrender to save your life,"
a voice resounded faintly, genuine and sincere, from behind the waterfall.
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