This Is Rare Practical Combat Experience

The Ten Rings Gang's base defenses were lax, at least from Alvin's current perspective; they were practically riddled with holes.

He parked his military Humvee several miles away and, to avoid alerting them, crept closer under the cover of night.

He had expected more from the extremist group that kidnapped Tony Stark in the movies, but there were only a few scattered guards, two of whom were even dozing off.

"Well, well, well, no wonder Obadiah wiped them out. They're pathetic!"

No hidden sentries, no patrols, no alarms – the entire camp exuded a sense of utter relaxation. Alvin, who had cautiously infiltrated, felt like a complete fool.

"Fuck, they call themselves a terrorist organization?" Alvin's liver ached with frustration, and he couldn't help but curse under his breath. "They're not even as tough as the gangs in the Underhive. If it weren't for Old Mi and Obadiah backing them, I wouldn't believe for a second that this bunch of weaklings could attack Tony Stark?"

If Tark were here, he could have severed the Ten Rings Gang leader's head in the time it took to smoke a cigarette and then swagger out with it.

But complaints aside, he still had a job to do!

Using the desert night as cover, Alvin employed the techniques he learned from Tark, moving like a ghost in the darkness, silently infiltrating the base.

"Perfect, I can use this opportunity to practice my infiltration skills." Alvin drew the Combat Knife from his waist, crouched low, and moved forward slowly, his breathing light, his footsteps almost nonexistent.

Soon, he was behind the first guard. With lightning speed, he struck.

Muffling the mouth and slitting the throat – the two actions were performed in one fluid motion, without any hesitation.

The guard's eyes widened, filled with terror. Even in death, he never knew who had killed him.

"Hmm, my movements aren't clean enough yet." Alvin carefully analyzed the assassination sequence, identifying a slight flaw: the movements were too large, making it easy to create noise.

If Tark had done it, there would have been no sound, and certainly not this much blood.

Now that he had found the mistake, the rest was just about correcting it bit by bit.

Fortunately, there were plenty of scum in the base, more than enough for him to practice and correct his mistakes slowly.

As for the reason, there was no special reason. Jamil gave him a clay pot of fresh water, and in return, Alvin would eliminate this organization for him.

Plus, he could practice the skills Tark taught him. Killing two birds with one stone – could there be anything better?

"The angle of the blade was off by a few degrees."

"Need to observe the surroundings to avoid making unnecessary noise."

"Hmm, next time I can stab directly through the heart. That way, not so much blood will splash out."

"This is valuable practical experience!"

After dispatching the last guard, Alvin wiped the blood from his Combat Knife and turned his gaze towards the tents in the base.

Inside, there should be more scum, right?

Just as Alvin was about to sneak into a tent to deal with the people inside, someone suddenly walked out of a cave.

"Shit!"

Alvin cursed inwardly, knowing his plan had failed.

As expected, the person immediately spotted the blood-soaked sand and the guards lying dead in gruesome states. With a look of terror, they turned to run back into the cave.

Without a word, Alvin drew the Bolter from his waist and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

The sound of the Bolter was deafening, especially in the vast, open desert.

The person's head and upper body were blown to smithereens by a single shot. The projectile even embedded itself in the cave wall, creating a crater the size of a washbasin!

Blowing the smoke from the barrel, Alvin calmly stated, "Good, now it's time for subject two training: marksmanship and combat encounters."

As he spoke, a piercing alarm suddenly shattered the silence of the night.

Awakened by the alarm, the terrorists rushed out of their tents, guns in hand. Upon seeing the dead guards, they displayed no training whatsoever, raising their AK-47s and firing wildly, their strategy being to overwhelm the enemy with sheer volume of fire!

Although Alvin was wearing Carapace Armor, it only covered his upper body, and he had no helmet. If he got shot in the head, there would be no one to complain to.

He rolled and took cover, rubbing his temples with a sigh. "Couldn't you guys just stay in bed and let me kill you one by one, saving some ammo?"

He had to remember that the Astra Militarum standard Bolter Tark gave him only had forty rounds.

Every single shot was precious, and he couldn't resupply them. This made Alvin hesitant to use them on these scum; it was truly painful for him!

As for his plasma gun? Forget it. These weaklings didn't deserve it!

While contemplating, Alvin decided to conserve his ammunition. He activated his Deflection Field, and with incredible speed, charged out from behind cover.

Crack! Crack!

A burst of bullets struck his Carapace Armor, but were completely deflected. Not even the paint was scratched.

With the Deflection Field Defence Device active, Alvin had no fear of being luckily shot in the head. After a few dodges between cover, he closed the distance to the terrorists.

"Kill him! Kill him!"

A bearded man, who appeared to hold a higher position, ordered someone next to him to shoulder a rocket launcher.

But just as they were about to aim, Alvin's lips curved into a slight smile, revealing the smile of death: "Good, we've finally reached attack range. Now... it's my showtime!"

The surrounding temperature plummeted rapidly, and a thin layer of frost even formed on the desert sand.

It was as if the wails of countless souls echoed in the wind, and one by one, the heads of the terrorists in front of him exploded like smashed watermelons!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

If there were a filter, it would have been a spectacular fireworks display.

"Devil! He's a devil!"

"Help!"

"No, I surrender, don't kill me!"

But alas, no matter how the terrorists begged for mercy, they couldn't escape death.

Soon, silence returned to the Ten Rings Gang's base.

Mixed with sticky red and white filth, it was like paint on a scroll, smeared haphazardly across the yellow sand.

Just then, gunshots suddenly rang out from the cave.

"Come on! Come on! You cowards!"

A giant tin man, flames spewing from his arms, roared emotionally as he charged out of the cave: "Tony Stark is here, get lost. Get lost."

The tin man's movements suddenly stiffened, as if struck by a sorceress's immobilization spell.

Staring at the devastated base, littered with brains and headless corpses, the tin man, after a brief moment of intense thought, threw up.

"Ugh--Fuck, fuck, what is this?!"

Tony's stomach churned, wishing he could vomit up the meal from two days ago.

It was only then that he saw the young man in the desert, looking at him with a strange expression: "Are you okay?"

Their first meeting left Tony with a severe psychological scar.

So much so that afterwards, Tony completely cut out all foods associated with the words "white" and "sticky."