"Alright." Andrew Clark saw the vines entwined on a large tree not far away, responded, drew his Type 65 army knife and walked over, climbed the tree and cut a few vines. Sure enough, a lot of water flowed out from inside. He tasted it—it was a bit sweet and refreshing. Overjoyed, he cut several more, jumped down from the tree, and ran over to Sarah Lane to hand them to her.

Sarah Lane noticed that Andrew Clark hadn't drunk first himself, only tasted a little before bringing it to her. Beneath her strong exterior, it felt as if a soft spot had been touched, and a strange feeling welled up inside her. Her face flushed red as she lowered her head in embarrassment. Andrew Clark didn't notice; after handing all the grapevines to Sarah Lane, he went back to the tree and drank his fill, looking out from above at the endless forest, his expression growing serious. He jumped down and said, "Are you feeling better? Let's rest a bit and then get moving."

"No problem." Sarah Lane regained her composure and replied calmly. She looked up at the sky, her brows slightly furrowed, and said in a low voice, "Looks like it's going to rain tonight. We have to cover some ground first."

Andrew Clark looked up at the sky—clear and cloudless, with no sign of rain. But thinking that Sarah Lane might be an all-capable special forces soldier, Andrew Clark said trustingly, "If that's the case, that's troublesome. What about your illness?"

"No problem." Sarah Lane resumed her cold and proud demeanor, used her crutch to walk forward, and Andrew Clark hesitated to speak but caught up with her.

Along the way, Sarah Lane continuously taught Andrew Clark military hand signals. Whenever they saw wild fruit, Andrew Clark would pick some for Sarah Lane—someone recovering from a serious illness needed vitamins. When they spotted prey, he would hunt it for their dinner. If they found useful herbs, Sarah Lane would pick some herself, chew them up, and apply them to her wounds. For sensitive areas, she changed the dressing herself, not wanting Andrew Clark's help. Neither of them asked about the other's identity anymore, but their trust in each other deepened unconsciously.

Time passed quickly, and before they knew it, night had fallen. They hadn't encountered any danger, but they did find traces left by the enemy—a pile of burnt-out campfire. The fire hadn't been properly cleaned up; perhaps the enemy thought Andrew Clark and Sarah Lane wouldn't catch up and couldn't be bothered.

Seeing that it was late, Andrew Clark simply built a fire on the spot where the enemy had left their campfire. He left the task of roasting food to Sarah Lane, while he used his machete to cut wood and build a rain shelter. Although it hadn't started raining yet, since Sarah Lane said it would, Andrew Clark didn't dare be careless—a person just recovering from a fever couldn't get wet.

The rain shelter wasn't big, built under a large tree with four wooden stakes, crossbeams on top, a thick layer of branches and broad leaves, then a layer of soil, another layer of branches and leaves, and another layer of soil. It took over an hour to finish. He moved the campfire under the shelter and quickly gathered plenty of dry firewood for the night.

After eating and drinking their fill, the two sat on the dry firewood under the shelter and continued learning combat skills. Under the firelight, the devotedly teaching Sarah Lane looked especially captivating. Andrew Clark felt nothing but gratitude—no improper thoughts at all. By the end of the day, he had basically mastered military hand signals, and Sarah Lane began teaching him how to use a gun.

"Andrew Clark, you said you played with homemade shotguns as a kid. I've used those too—they have an effective killing range of a hundred meters. But the maximum range of a sniper rifle—some anti-materiel sniper rifles can reach up to eight thousand meters. Ordinary sniper rifles have an effective range between eight hundred and a thousand meters. It's a completely different concept from a homemade shotgun. You can't become a sniper overnight, but since you have a foundation, just treat the sniper rifle like a shotgun for now. Don't worry. The first thing you need to learn is counter-sniping. Only by understanding counter-sniping can you stay alive. Only the living can take revenge." As Sarah Lane spoke, her face turned grim.

"I understand. Was this gun's owner your comrade?" Andrew Clark asked, pointing at the gun in Sarah Lane's arms.

"This QUB88 sniper rifle is a domestically developed small-caliber sniper rifle. Its debut marks our country's sniper weapon development entering the world's advanced ranks. Its performance is excellent—high accuracy, great power, high reliability, safe to use, concealed, easy to maintain, and highly adaptable," Sarah Lane explained as she disassembled the gun.

In the firelight, the stunningly cool Sarah Lane carefully explained the QUB88 sniper rifle's features and usage, with a unique charm. Andrew Clark couldn't help but be entranced, not hearing a word she said. With her keen perception, Sarah Lane immediately sensed something was off, glared at Andrew Clark, her face flushing red, and said in embarrassment and annoyance, "You assemble the gun."

"Uh, ah?" Andrew Clark was embarrassed, quickly pushed aside his stray thoughts, and humbly asked, "Could you say it again? It's my first time handling such an advanced weapon—I didn't remember it all. I won't make the same mistake again."

Sarah Lane withdrew her icy gaze, but for some reason found it amusing inside—a strange feeling. Her cold expression didn't change as she continued, "As the world's first sniper rifle to use a 5.8mm small-caliber round, the QUB88 sniper rifle has a bullpup design, no carrying handle, and no cheek rest. This is very different from similar foreign firearms. It's not long or heavy—just 920mm, with a barrel about 620mm long. It holds ten rounds, uses a 3x-9x optical scope, and is also equipped with iron sights..."

Time slipped by as Sarah Lane explained in detail, until raindrops began to fall and they finally noticed. Andrew Clark saw that Sarah Lane looked very weak and wished he could slap himself. He quickly said, "You should rest for a bit. You've just recovered from a serious illness—you can't overexert yourself. I'll keep watch." As he spoke, he added some dry firewood to the campfire.