Demon Hunter Volume 1 Chapter 1.3

Chapter 1.3 Completely New Era

The gun's body was partly revealed. This was a modified old-fashioned rifle that had some manual alterations as well. The body of the gun had undergone meticulous solidifying, allowing it to shoot bullets that were more powerful. A steel pipe was added to the gun's barrel, allowing for an increase in range. However, there was no new age advanced sighting device at all on top of the gun, to the point where there wasn't even an outdated rear sight; there was only an extremely primitive front sight. The distance from the muzzle to the wolf's head was over a thousand five hundred meters. Even if the old-fashioned rifle's firing rage was enough to hit the target, it would all still ultimately fall on luck, and not any ordinary type of luck.

"It'll come down to luck again…" The rifle's muzzle followed the wolf leader's movements, moving slightly back and forth. The precision of these movements seemed to be down to a thousandth of a millimeter.

Bang! The enormous and crude gunshot resounded throughout the entire valley!

The wolf leader's thick chest was almost completely blasted apart. It lowered its head, but as soon as it saw the terrifying wound, it already fell onto the ground.

With the wolf leader's collapse, the rotting wolves immediately sank into chaos. The majority of the rotting wolves were furious and ran throughout the valley in search of the murderer that dared to provoke the entire wolf pack. However, other than the scattered smell of gunpowder under the echoing winds, there wasn't any other strange odors. The rotting wolves with sharper senses of smell had already rushed up the mountain ridge, but there was nothing there. Dozens of furious wolves rushed towards the targets that had been there for a while — the cave Turner's group was hiding in.

This kind of assault was simply suicide. Out of the forty or so powerful rotting wolves, even the furthest only made it ten meters inside the cave before being showered in a rain of bullets. The only thing they accomplished was exhausting a third of the small troop's ammunition.

After half an hour passed, the wolves entered into an even greater state of restlessness and chaos. A robust male wolf began to roar repeatedly at the top of its lungs in an effort to replace the wolf leader's position.

Bang! Another terrifying gunshot sounded, and the new wolf leader fell in response.

This time Burke finally noticed a strand of smoke rising from the other side of the mountain. He immediately picked up his binoculars to take a look, but all he saw within the lens were mountain rocks. He didn't see any figures at all.

"How far was the firing range?" Turner, who had moved next to Burke sometime earlier, asked.

Burke estimated the distance and said with a low voice, "… A thousand and four hundred meters." His voice contained both admiration and envy at the same time. To accurately hit a target from such a distance, moreover succeeding with two out of two shots, this signified that the other party was a sniper at least two levels higher than himself. This implied that the individual should have experienced gene evolution at least three times.

The gunshots were crude and resounding and they carried a metallic smell only outdated firearms possessed. Regardless of whether they were newcomers or veterans, Turner's party were all connoisseurs in the domain of firearms. In their ears, these gunshots held a different meaning. For an outdated firearm to accurately hit a target from 1500 meters away meant that it had to sacrifice everything else for range. However, the hiding high-level sniper was clearly proficient at movement and concealment as well, because not even the rotting wolves could find traces of him. Together with his insane sniping distance and his terrifying hit rate, even if his tracks were discovered, it wouldn't matter much. One truly needed great luck if they wanted to survive under this individual's sniper.

The mountain valley became quiet again. The afternoon sun burned even more ferociously, leaving the rotting wolves dry and uncomfortable. Even though their terrifying evolution rate allowed them to become stronger and craftier, their hatred and patience towards the sunlight was not improved by much.

After losing the control and leadership of the wolf leader, the rotting wolves went from strictly disciplined creatures back to wild beasts that relied on their natural instincts. When there was only an hour left before dusk, they lost their patience and began to leave the valley in groups of twos and threes.

The soldiers in the cave all sighed a breath of relief. Even Turner himself felt his previously tense mental state quickly relax. During these three days, the soldiers had all suffered under the torment of inevitable death. Even though their bodies were loosening up, their minds were still incredibly tense. If their way of dying could be measured in degrees of horror, then being eaten by rotting wolves would be second only to being the food of zombies.

It was close to nightfall. A figure appeared on the other side of the mountain. The tan-colored camouflage headgear and uniform allowed him to completely merge with his surroundings. The rifle behind him that was almost as tall as his body looked to be precisely the one that continuously killed those wolves. The few rotting wolves still roaming about charged at him, but following a few thunderous gunshots, those rotting wolves immediately fell onto the ground without any suspense. They continuously wailed and twitched about, but they no longer had the strength to climb back up.

He did not use the gun behind his back. Instead, a powerful unusual pistol appeared in his left hand. It was obvious that this was also a modified item. The automatic rifle needed two bullets to kill a rotting wolf, but he only needed one shot from this weapon. This was already something that could not be explained by the power of the weapon; this was a result that could only be produced by continuously hitting only the rotting wolves' vital points.

The gunshot of this pistol was just as terrifying as its power. It seemed like it wasn't much inferior to the sniper rifle. Crude, sturdy, simple, and direct; it was just like a robust man with a full beard.

After shooting dead six rotting wolves in succession, with a movement of his finger, the gun barrel popped open and six red-hot ammunition cases fell out. Another six bullets were placed inside by nimble fingers, and then with a kacha sound, the barrel was returned to its original position. The gun slightly raised itself, and before the individual even seemed to aim, another round of fire began. Within the resounding gunshots, the entire body of the seventh rotting wolf which pounced towards him shook before tumbling backwards in the air. It flew past that individual's head before slamming heavily onto the ground. It continuously whimpered as blood poured out endlessly from its body. However, the position in which it lied on the floor did not reveal where it was injured. It was truly strange how that gun could get rid of such a ferocious and tenacious rotting wolf.

There were ten or so rotting wolves wandering within the mountain valley. However, following the the automatic rifle's concentrated and resounding noise, none of the remaining wolves could flee the rain of bullets.

Turners M3A released a quick and light burst of sound, ending the life of the last rotting wolf before it made it all the way up a mountain. Only now did he lower his gun and make his way through the valley towards the mysterious individual on the other side of the hill. Turner's hand was on the shaft of the rifle, and with just a slight movement, his arm would pop up quickly in reflex. The people behind him scattered a bit, but if needed, that mysterious individual would immediately be drowned within their group's firepower.

It could be said that the entire small squadron's lives were saved by that person, but their precaution against the stranger was part of their instinct. Even though that individual had already returned the pistol to his waist, it simply left them with too deep of an impression.  Almost every single one of them remembered that there were still five bullets within that pistol. With the speed and nimbleness that the individual could reload his bullets, if he had any ill intent, before Turner's group could even shoot him, he would be able to fire at least three bullets. From what they've seen just now, those three bullets signified the end of three lives.

Chapter end