The standard-issue Gauss sniper rifle of the Earth Federation has a maximum range of only four thousand meters. With the help of inertia and environmental factors like wind, the bullet can indeed reach the extreme limit of forty-five hundred meters. But under such circumstances, accuracy is out of the question. It would be impossible to hit two targets consecutively within a five-second interval.

Unless... the mysterious shooter hiding behind the rocks might be wielding some new type of weapon that the Ministry of Defense is secretly testing.

Additionally, the direction from which the bullets came was from behind. The location indicated by the smoke and gunfire was the same.

That place... is the north.

Section Three: Ghost

On the maps of the two major powers—the Earth Federation and the Pan-Union Army—S12 is a death coordinate that can never be approached.

There, aside from mottled, crumbling walls and only rust-stained, abandoned rebar, there are door and window frames as broken as skeletons, plastic and felt flapping in the fierce wind, and pools of foul, oily green water collecting in surface depressions. Other than resilient insects and fungi, no animal more advanced than a rat has ever been found.

Naturally, no humans could exist there.

No one could doubt what their eyes saw—including the suspicious and uneasy Pan-Union Army patrol soldiers. Every remaining member of the recon squad saw clearly that the two bullets which completely changed the course of the battle, with an accuracy that could only be described as "terrifying," had come from the direction of the abandoned S12 mining area.

"Concentrate fire, break out—"

William Grant reacted instantly. As he barked out the order, he gripped his assault rifle, and like a cheetah long bound and desperate to break free, he leapt nimbly behind a preselected rock, firing at the New Alliance soldiers who had already fallen into chaos.

The Pan-Union Army patrol, having lost their suppressive advantage, hid behind their armored vehicle. The sudden counterattack completely disrupted their previously stable and orderly assault rhythm. This situation wouldn't last long—between the bursts of continuous gunfire, the surviving recon squad members could clearly see their opponents, shielded by the temporarily disabled armored vehicle, frantically adjusting electronic frequencies to call for air support. In no more than three minutes, the patrolling attack aircraft would arrive over the combat zone.

"Quick! Move faster and break out—"

With a loud roar, William Grant sprang from behind the rock, emptying his magazine with his right hand while simultaneously drawing a spare clip from his lower back with his left, completing a series of reloads at lightning speed. His vision, far superior to the average person's, proved invaluable at this critical moment, allowing him to quickly identify all the best positions for attack while minimizing the risk of return fire.

The rest of the squad followed closely. In a firefight with equal firepower, the only advantage for the lightly equipped recon soldiers was speed. They ignored armor, and even their basic combat suits carried only energy packs and thrusters. If hit, the energy would instantly engulf their bodies, leaving no chance of survival.

No one would try to conserve energy at a time like this. Although he didn't understand why the rescue force had appeared to the north, William Grant still set his backpack thruster to maximum. Twin round nozzles blasted out powerful pale blue jets, propelling him forward at over eighty kilometers per hour.

This was his last bar of energy. If not for the heavy consumption during the earlier running battle and the restrictions of the terrain, the New Alliance patrol would never have been able to blockade them with just a few machine guns.

The blue jet shot straight out of the valley. Without hesitation, William Grant tossed aside his now-empty assault rifle for the second time, drew his MFP pistol from his waist, and squeezed the trigger for rapid fire. This close-combat weapon, firing nine-millimeter rounds, had an extremely high rate of fire and could empty its magazine in an instant. But its drawback was just as obvious—the recoil was so strong that accuracy at any distance was impossible, serving only as suppressive fire.

The scattered bullets struck the surface of the armored vehicle, leaving dense white marks. The flying sparks made it impossible for the Pan-Union Army soldiers hiding behind the vehicle to lift their heads. Just minutes ago, no one could have imagined the battle would be reversed in an instant. Two recon soldiers followed closely behind, supporting a comrade with a severe head wound as they dashed out of the valley, propelled westward by their thrusters.

As he subconsciously let out a breath, William Grant also turned his body slightly westward, pressing hard on the electronic controller with his left hand, but felt no powerful thrust from his back. Instead, at the spot on his standard helmet's poly-gel layer corresponding to his pupils, a piercing red light suddenly flashed rapidly, sending a chill through his entire body.

It was a warning that his energy was depleted.

It also meant that the backpack thruster on his shoulders had become nothing more than useless scrap metal.

At the same time, on the right side of the armored vehicle just six meters away, a blood-soaked, exhausted figure appeared.

It was a Pan-Union Army patrol soldier.