Evening.
In the western sky, the sun slowly sank like molten gold, its edges gently wrapped in orange-red and violet clouds.
The afterglow spilled across the land, coating the vast wilderness in a faint golden sheen.
In the distance, the rolling mountains were illuminated by the setting sun, their outlines softened yet deepened.
The air was filled with the faint scents of grass, trees, and earth, all drifting into Luo Yan's nose.
He looked at a surface camp not far away. Flames surged there, and their glow added an intense red to the wilderness beneath the dusk.
It was a surface camp belonging to a King Zhuan Lun branch, used for smuggling contraband and dealing in arms. If Han Xu had not pointed it out, Luo Yan would never have known that such an inconspicuous camp actually generated thirty percent of the branch's annual revenue for King Zhuan Lun.
But that would end today.
At that moment, a gust of wind swept into the camp.
The camp's roads were scorching hot. Once the wind blew across them, it became searing as well.
All over the camp's grounds lay shell casings and debris. There were also remains buried in the ruins, with only their arms still exposed.
The surviving buildings had uneven walls riddled with bullet holes.
Several vehicles by the roadside had been blasted down to their frames. The sight of blood mixed with scorched earth spoke unmistakably of the battle's ferocity.
Although this camp of the King Zhuan Lun branch had resisted with all its might, everything had been futile. Few personnel remained in the camp now.
Just then, the iron door of a small building deep inside the camp suddenly opened, and a man stumbled out with a rifle in his arms.
He ran blindly, leaving behind a