This Was Valuable Combat Experience

The Ten Rings Gang's base was poorly defended. At least, that was how it looked to Alvin now. It was practically riddled with holes.

He parked the military Humvee a few miles away, then quietly made his way over under cover of night, careful not to alert anyone.

He'd thought that, as an extremist organization that had kidnapped Tony Stark in the movies, they'd at least have decent security. But there were only a few guards scattered around, and two of them were even dozing off.

"Good, good. No wonder Obadiah managed to wipe them out. These guys are hopeless!"

No hidden sentries, no patrols, no security measures. The entire camp was so lax that Alvin, sneaking in cautiously, felt like a complete fool.

"Fuck, and they call themselves a terrorist organization?" Alvin's liver hurt with frustration. He couldn't help muttering, "They're worse than the Underhive gangs. If the Americans and Obadiah weren't backing them, I'd never believe that this bunch of useless losers could attack Tony Stark."

If Tucker had been here, he could've cut off the Ten Rings leader's head in the time it took to smoke a cigarette, then strolled out carrying it like it was nothing.

But complaining could wait. He still had a job to do!

Using the desert night as cover, Alvin employed the techniques he'd learned from Tucker and slipped into the base like a ghost, without making a sound.

"Perfect. I can use this chance to work on my infiltration skills." Alvin drew the combat knife at his waist, crouched low, and moved forward slowly. He kept his breathing light, his footsteps nearly inaudible.

Soon, he crept up behind the first guard and sprang into action with blinding speed.

He clamped a hand over the guard's mouth and slit his throat. The two movements flowed together without a pause.

The guard's eyes widened, terror filling his pupils. He died without ever knowing who had killed him.

"Hmm, the movements still aren't clean enough." Alvin carefully reviewed the steps of the assassination, spotting a mistake: his movements had been too large, making it easy to create noise.

If Tucker had done it, there wouldn't have been a sound, and certainly not so much blood.

Now that he'd found the problem, all he had to do was correct it bit by bit.

Fortunately, the base was full of scum, more than enough for him to practice and work out his mistakes.

As for why he was doing this, there was no special reason. Jamil had given him a clay pot of fresh water, so in return, Alvin would wipe out this organization for him.

He could also practice the techniques Tucker had taught him. Two birds with one stone. What could be better?

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

"Pay attention to your surroundings so you don't make unnecessary noise."

"Hmm, next time I can stab straight through the heart. That way, there won't be as much blood."

"This is valuable combat experience!"

After taking out the last guard, Alvin wiped the blood from his combat knife and looked toward the tents in the base.

There should still be plenty of scum in there, right?

Just as Alvin was about to sneak into a tent and take out the people inside, someone suddenly emerged from a cave.

"Shit!"

Alvin cursed under his breath, knowing his plan had fallen apart.

Sure enough, the man spotted the blood-soaked yellow sand and the guard's gruesomely mutilated body at once. His face filled with terror as he turned to run back into the cave.

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

Bang!

The Bolter's report was deafening, especially in the open desert.

The man's head and upper body were blown to pieces by a single bolt. The round even lodged in the cave wall and blasted out a crater the size of a washbasin!

Alvin blew the smoke from the muzzle and kept a calm expression. "Good. Now for training exercise two: marksmanship and close-quarters combat."

As he finished speaking, a piercing alarm suddenly split the silence of the night.

The terrorists, roused by the alarm, rushed out of their tents with guns in hand. When they saw the dead guards, they displayed absolutely no training whatsoever. They raised their AK-47s and started spraying bullets wildly, relying on pure chance to hit anything and hoping to overwhelm their enemy with sheer noise!

Alvin was wearing Carapace Armor, but it only covered his upper body, and he had no helmet. If he got shot in the head, he'd have no one to blame but himself.

He rolled behind cover and rubbed his brow, looking a little exasperated. "Couldn't you just lie still in bed and let me kill you one by one? It'd save me some ammo."

The Astra Militarum-issue Bolter Tucker had given him came with only forty rounds in total.

Every shot was precious, and he couldn't get any more once he ran out. That left Alvin reluctant to waste them on this bunch of losers. It really hurt!

As for the Plasma Gun... Forget it. These losers didn't deserve it!

After thinking it over, Alvin decided to conserve his ammo. He activated the Deflection Field Defence Device and charged out from behind cover at incredible speed.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

A stream of bullets struck his Carapace Armor and were completely deflected. They didn't even scratch the paint.

With the Deflection Field Defence Device, Alvin didn't have to worry about getting shot in the head by someone's lucky aim. He darted between cover several times, closing the distance to the terrorists.

"Kill him! Kill him!"

A bearded man who looked like he held some authority ordered the people beside him to shoulder a rocket launcher.

But just as they were about to take aim, the corners of Alvin's mouth lifted into a slight smile. The smile of the Grim Reaper. "Good. I'm finally within attack range. Now...it's my time to shine!"

The temperature around them plunged. A thin layer of frost even formed in the desert.

It was as if the wails of countless souls echoed through the wind. The terrorists' heads exploded one after another, like watermelons smashed to pieces!

Pop! Pop! Pop!

If there were a filter on the scene, it would surely have looked like a dazzling fireworks display.

"Demon! He's a demon!"

"Help!"

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

But no matter how much the terrorists begged, they couldn't escape death.

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

The sticky red-and-white filth was like paint on a canvas, smeared haphazardly across the yellow sand.

Just then, gunfire suddenly rang out from the cave.

"Come on! Come on, you cowards!"

A huge Tin Man charged out of the cave, flames shooting from both arms as he roared in agitation. "Tony Stark is in here! Get the hell out of here. Get out!"

The Tin Man suddenly froze in place, as if a witch had cast a spell to hold him still.

He looked out over the wreckage, at the ground strewn with brains and headless corpses. After a brief battle of wills, the Tin Man threw up.

"Urgh—fuck, fuck, what is this?!"

Tony's stomach churned. He felt like he was about to throw up everything he'd eaten two days ago.

Only then did he notice the boy in the desert, who was looking at him strangely. "Are you okay?"

Their first meeting left Tony with a massive psychological scar.

After he got back, Tony completely swore off all foods associated with the words "white" and "sticky."