As a high-calorie, high-energy essential emergency food for the outdoors, two large bars of chocolate were exactly what Brian Carter needed most right now.

Taking small bites of the chocolate, Brian Carter was so moved he almost wanted to cry.

Brian Carter couldn’t bear to, nor did he dare, finish all the chocolate. He only ate one bar. If it weren’t for being so hungry, Brian Carter would have only eaten a few small pieces. Until he could get other food, these two large bars of chocolate were literally life-saving.

After eating, while waiting for his strength to recover, Brian Carter tried to distract himself and calm his nerves by taking out the knife he’d gotten from the tour guide and examining it.

The knife was exquisitely crafted—clearly handmade at a glance. It was about thirty-two centimeters long, five millimeters thick, with a teardrop-shaped tip. The blade was flat-ground, with a pure copper guard. The handle seemed to be made from desert ironwood burl, with beautiful color and grain. The highlight of the entire knife was the perfectly curved hamon line on the blade, which greatly enhanced its appearance. It was also thanks to this hamon line that Brian Carter could tell the knife was a handmade carbon steel blade, because most stainless steel can’t be clay-tempered to produce such a beautiful hamon, and mass-produced knives from assembly lines would never have one.

Brian Carter tested the edge—the blade was very sharp, easily shaving hair. It was clear the previous owner cherished the knife, which made Brian Carter sigh with emotion. The knife’s previous owner was a white South African, the guide—or rather, the hunting guide—of the hunting group Brian Carter had joined. On the plane, Brian Carter had even chatted with him about the knife. He never expected that, in the end, the knife would end up in his own hands.

Thinking about how he was the only survivor on the entire plane, Brian Carter felt a bit sad, but he was also grateful for his luck. The plane sent by the hunting company to take people to the hunting grounds was too small. When everyone else fought for seats to avoid the uncomfortable tail section, Brian Carter chose the tail, which was actually the safest spot. Besides luck, that was the only reason he survived the crash.

Brian Carter shook his head, forcing himself not to dwell on useless thoughts. He took out his compass to check the direction, and was startled to find that the sun was in the west. In other words, it was already afternoon, and it had been about this time when he boarded the plane. So he had been unconscious for a full day and night.

Brian Carter didn’t know how far he could have drifted down the river in a day and a night, but he knew that the farther he was from the crash site, the less likely he was to be rescued. There was another critical problem: it was almost dark.

Thanks to “Animal World” and “Man and Nature,” Brian Carter knew just how terrifying nights on the African savanna could be. He dared not delay any longer. Struggling to his feet, he set out to find himself a shelter—or at the very least, to get a fire going before nightfall.

There were plenty of dead branches washed up on the riverbank, easy to collect. Brian Carter first found a long, sturdy stick to use as a crutch, then began gathering as much dry wood as possible, preparing for his first night on the African plains.

While working, Brian Carter didn’t forget to stay alert to his surroundings. There were too many things to watch out for. It was the rainy season, and the grass on the savanna was tall and lush. If he didn’t want to be suddenly pounced on by a predator, he had to stay vigilant at all times.

Brian Carter decided to camp a little farther from the riverbank, to avoid predators that might come to drink, and also to guard against a sudden rise in the river. In the rainy season, even if it wasn’t raining locally, a heavy downpour upstream could cause the water level downstream to rise by several meters—it was perfectly normal.

Brian Carter’s plan was to find a place nearby to rest for the night, and then, after daybreak, start looking for food in the area. Although his mobility was limited, he had fishing line and hooks, so his chances of catching fish were pretty good.

As long as he had food, Brian Carter could hold out here for several days, sending out distress signals and waiting for rescue. Even if no one passed by in the next few days, once he was more mobile, he could build a raft and float downstream. Brian Carter was convinced there would be people living along the river—it was just a matter of how far away they were.

Having a few essential survival items in hand greatly boosted Brian Carter’s confidence in staying alive. But fate seemed determined to make things hard for him. Just as Brian Carter was dragging a bundle of firewood with his paracord toward his chosen campsite, he suddenly heard a gunshot.

Chapter 2 Gunfight

The sudden gunshot left Brian Carter momentarily stunned. Before he could even shout for help, a burst of intense gunfire erupted.

Hearing the staccato of gunfire, Brian Carter whipped his head around and saw, about five or six hundred meters away, two groups of people exchanging fire with raised guns. Although the distance was a bit far and he couldn’t see clearly, Brian Carter was certain—this wasn’t hunting, this was a firefight, a battle.

Brian Carter’s heart sank to rock bottom. Without thinking, he immediately dropped to the grass. Even though he was still far away, Brian Carter didn’t want to get hit by a stray bullet, nor did he want either side to notice him. Who knew who these people were? It was best to stay hidden.