Now, he was just a lowly traffic cop in City C. Over the past twenty years, he had participated in the self-defense counterattack in the southern border, hunted down vicious and ruthless fugitives, combed through villages one by one for drug dealers, exchanged fire with poachers on the Qinghai-Tibet Plateau, and later tangled with terrorists. From the late 1980s to the early 21st century, you could see their presence in almost every conflict involving China.

More than twenty years of battlefield experience made him seem out of place with those around him. In the eyes of others, this guy was just reclusive and eccentric. They had no idea how much effort David Carter had to put in just to maintain this relaxed state. Every time he woke up in the night, he would instinctively grip the tiger tooth knife under his pillow. His dreams were always filled with bloodied, mangled faces, and the sounds of artillery fire...

The pleasant ring of the phone interrupted David Carter's thoughts.

"Hello? Who is this? Speak."

"Is this David Carter?" The voice on the other end sounded like a drawn weapon—just a few short words, but they exuded an aggressive chill.

"Captain?" David Carter instinctively straightened up, only then realizing he was no longer in the army. "This is David Carter. Hold on... Little Clark, come cover for me, I need to take a call."

"What is it?" David Carter already sensed something ominous.

"Come to City S. Call me when you arrive, same number. Hurry."

"Yes." David Carter replied almost immediately, a reflex he couldn't shake. The other party didn't give him a chance to refuse—there was a click as the call ended. He didn't want to refuse anyway; the captain's words had always been orders, and following the captain's orders was the way to survive.

...

City S was a major military stronghold in the north, a heavy industry city. David Carter had been here more than once. The people here spoke as if they'd swallowed gunpowder, but their boldness was exhilarating.

Getting off the train, David Carter tightened his grip on his small bag. There wasn't much inside—just a few changes of clothes, and most importantly, his beloved tiger tooth knife.

Exiting the station, David Carter wasn't particularly tall—about 1.71 meters, just above the threshold for second-degree disability. His looks were passable, but nothing remarkable. It was as if fate had taken special care of his face; in all the fire and smoke, his face had miraculously remained unscathed. Compared to his battered body, that was more than a little lucky. Blending into the surging crowd leaving the station, he was naturally inconspicuous.

The moment he stepped out the station doors, a sense of being watched surged in his mind. David Carter pretended not to care as he glanced around, but his hand had already slipped into his backpack, gripping the tiger tooth knife inside.

But he relaxed almost immediately. A burly man, over 1.8 meters tall, parted the crowd and walked up to him. Dressed in casual clothes that looked fairly expensive, the outfit seemed almost comical on him. His bear-like frame stretched the clothes to the point of bursting. His towering figure, fierce gaze, and especially that hideous, scarred face—like it had been hacked seventeen or eighteen times—left those he shoved aside with no courage to resist. Standing before David Carter, the two exchanged a few glances, then opened their arms and hugged tightly.

The big man released him, his voice still as deep and simple as David Carter remembered. "Rocky, you made good time. Come with me."

The two walked silently, one after the other, toward the parking lot. After a while, David Carter finally spoke: "Tiger, is everyone alright?"

"They're fine, all good, except..." The big man paused. "Viper is dead. And... you'll know the rest when you see the captain."

Silence returned between them, but David Carter felt a sudden, inexplicable pang in his heart. Yet the pain flashed by in an instant—a kind of sorrow for a fellow sufferer. They were a group as special as could be. Each had their own past, and perhaps every one of their pasts could be called legendary. But no one ever talked about their pre-military lives, and they never discussed ideals among themselves. They all knew that only a very few of them could ever return to society; the rest had only one destination—the battlefield. Their remains might not even be left behind. Ideals were a luxury for people like them.

So, death didn't stir much of a ripple in their hearts.

In a battered jeep, the two sat as if they were strangers. David Carter stared indifferently out the window at the flashing streets and buildings. Just like in the army, silence was the main theme between them.

The car stopped in front of a small tavern. The two got out. "The captain is waiting for us inside."

They entered the only private room in the tavern. Four people were seated inside, the atmosphere so heavy it felt suffocating. But when David Carter saw the man sitting at the head of the table, he still straightened up and gave a standard military salute—looking a bit ridiculous in his short-sleeved shirt and baggy shorts.