"Are you sure you want to do this?" The female soldier seemed to know that Andrew Clark was about to charge out, and asked coldly, casting a scrutinizing look at Andrew Clark. Seeing Andrew Clark nod resolutely, she pondered for a moment and said, "There are three trees between you and the enemy that form a blind spot for shooting. Find it and run in a straight line. With your speed, zigzagging or feinting is useless. The straight line is the shortest distance—whether you survive depends on yourself."

The three trees formed a triangle, and the corner closest to him should be the blind spot. Andrew Clark smiled in understanding and said, "Thank you. Can you tell me your name? I'd like to die knowing."

"If you want to know my name, stay alive." The female soldier replied coldly.

Andrew Clark wasn't annoyed, just gave an awkward smile, took a deep breath, stabbed his machete into the ground at the female soldier's feet, took a triangular bayonet from his rucksack, and said coldly, "Squad leader, brothers, let's fight side by side. Whether we can get revenge is up to you now."

"Yaaah—!" Andrew Clark let out a long howl and suddenly charged forward, quickly hiding behind a large tree. In just one breath, he covered the seven or eight meters. At the brink of life and death, human potential is limitless. Andrew Clark felt as if his heart was about to leap out of his chest, gasping for breath, blood surging, his whole body brimming with inexhaustible strength.

After waiting about three seconds, Andrew Clark estimated the possible hiding spots of the enemy and, judging the next safe landing point based on the surrounding trees, grabbed a stone and threw it at a big tree to one side, while his body bent low and dashed madly toward the other safe spot.

Once again safely hidden, no one fired a shot. Instead, an arrogant voice shouted, "Girl, sending some trash over to die? This kind of loser doesn't interest me. He's as slow as a snail. But you, I'm very interested in. How about we put down our guns and have a contest? If you lose, you come with me. If I lose, I'll go with you. How about it?"

Chapter 9: Seizing the Chance to Fight for Life

The female soldier didn't respond. Andrew Clark couldn't stand it anymore. For the first time in his life, he had run so fast, yet was mocked as a crawling snail. He immediately shouted coldly, "Bastard, hit your grandpa if you have the guts! Bullying women—what kind of man are you? If you've got the guts, come out and fight me one-on-one. If not, you're a cowardly grandson."

After waiting a while with no response, Andrew Clark knew that taunting wouldn't work on these people. Charging out like this was definitely not going to work. What he thought was a decent speed probably wasn't impressive to these experts. The reason they weren't shooting was because they didn't want to give away their position. The one who spoke just now had probably already changed hiding spots. What to do?

Suddenly, Andrew Clark remembered something from hunting before joining the army. When facing cunning prey, if traps and tricks don't work, the best way is to play hardball—see who dares to risk their life. In the enemy's eyes, he was insignificant. Even if he exposed himself, the other side wouldn't dare shoot easily, because behind him was a female soldier with godlike marksmanship.

"Either way, it's death. I'll risk it." Andrew Clark glanced at the female soldier hiding not far away, only to find she had disappeared. Andrew Clark was sure she wouldn't abandon him and retreat first, so he shouted loudly, "Bastard, your grandpa is coming out! Let's fight one-on-one. If you don't have the guts, just keep hiding like a turtle." With that, he slowly walked out from behind the tree, staring nervously ahead.

After about two seconds, no one fired. Andrew Clark knew he had bet right. Emboldened, he continued forward, no longer seeking cover. If the enemy wanted to shoot, he would have died several times already. Thinking of his comrades who had died tragically, Andrew Clark's eyes turned bloodshot, and he shouted angrily, "Cowardly turtle, come out! Bastard, if you've got the guts, come kill me!"

Suddenly, Andrew Clark felt a blur before his eyes—a pair of big feet kicked at him, landing squarely on his chest. He had no time to react. He felt his whole body fly up, crash heavily into a tree, and roll to the ground. He only heard "pew pew!"—two gunshots. His mouth split open, spitting out a mouthful of blood. Only one thought remained in his mind: such fast feet. His vision went black, and he knew nothing more.

He didn't know how much time had passed before Andrew Clark slowly regained consciousness. When he finally woke up, his chest was burning with pain. Opening his eyes, he saw he was still in the forest, under a big tree, with no one else around. In the distance, a gunshot rang out, then all was quiet.

"Hiss—" Andrew Clark moved his body and felt as if his chest was about to split open. He gave a bitter smile. In the face of absolute strength, he was powerless. Fortunately, his family's breathing technique could help him recover quickly. Otherwise, even if that kick didn't kill him, it would have crippled him. These people were so strong—who on earth were they? He looked up at the sky. Dusk was falling, and from deep in the forest, gunshots occasionally echoed. The battle was still ongoing.

Thinking of this, Andrew Clark knew he had to hurry and recover. The primeval forest at night was even more terrifying. Struggling, he sat down on the ground and began to breathe according to his family's secret technique. Gradually, after half an hour, the burning pain in his chest eased, and his breathing became smoother. Andrew Clark vaguely felt his recovery ability had improved.

After a while, Andrew Clark felt much better. He touched his chest—thank goodness for the breathing technique passed down through generations. His recovery had indeed improved. Andrew Clark looked around and soon spotted a corpse not far away. Andrew Clark slowly walked over and saw it was a Westerner—blue eyes, high nose, a bullet wound in the chest.