Glaz Seriously Wounded

"Heh—aaah!" Glaz desperately twisted the dagger in his opponent's hand. Just moments ago, during a lapse in his attention, a figure had slipped past the trap he had set and charged straight at his flank.

Glaz was in an extremely unfavorable position. It was ill-suited for shooting or hand-to-hand combat, because he was lying prone. As a result, he was naturally at a disadvantage when competing with the other man in strength.

"Damn outsider, die!" the man shouted fiercely, pouring more and more strength into his grip.

A rare trace of panic appeared on Glaz's camouflage-painted face.

However, after being tempered by the battlefield, such situations seemed almost commonplace to him. Crises like this could arise anytime, anywhere.

Glaz gripped the dagger's handle with both hands and pulled upward while the other man pressed down with all his might. Their strength was unequal from the start, and the dagger's tip was gradually forced downward.

The sharp tip lightly pierced the army-green camouflage uniform. Trembling, the blade broke through flesh, sank into muscle, and suddenly plunged deep.

"Mmgh—!" Glaz groaned in pain. Yet in the brief opening created when the man drove the dagger into his body, Glaz swiftly drew the pistol at his waist, pressed it against the man's chest, and fired several shots in rapid succession, stopping only after emptying the magazine.

Glaz shoved the corpse aside and began gasping for breath, his left hand covering the puncture wound on the left side of his abdomen.

Many vital organs lay in that area. One moment of carelessness could lead to death from excessive blood loss or bacterial infection.

"Damn it, are all the people here superhuman? Why didn't the trap react?" Glaz pressed his left hand tightly over the wound—more precisely, over the gap where the dagger had entered his body.

After being stabbed, rashly pulling the blade out was not a good choice. It was like filling a plastic bag with water and piercing it with a pencil; one would find that the water would not leak from the small hole made by the pencil.

The same applied in actual combat. Before reaching a suitable medical facility, one should keep the wound as unchanged as possible. All an injured person could do was stop the bleeding as much as possible and prevent bacterial infection.

Glaz held the OTs-03 semi-automatic marksman rifle in his right hand. As he had wrested away the dagger and drawn his pistol to shoot the man, three gunshots from the commander had reached his position. But it was too late. The blade had already pierced his body, and he had already shot the attacker dead. The commander's bullets left several large holes in the man's head, hands, and body.

Glaz weakly collapsed onto the ground. Everything before him began to turn dreamlike and hazy. The dizziness brought on by blood loss made him drowsy, and the colorful world before his eyes gradually faded into gray. The curses around him, the sounds of collapsing houses, and the roar of flames all began to grow quieter.

"Hold on!" Suddenly, a shout from nearby jolted Glaz awake. His right hand clenched the OTs-03 semi-automatic marksman rifle, his left hand covered his wound, and he gritted his teeth as he forced himself to his feet.

"Quick, we have to find a safe position!" Doctor rushed to Glaz's side and pulled out his stim pistol, injecting a shot into Glaz's shoulder.

"Tachanka, Frost, clear the way! We need to leave this area immediately!" Zhuang Xiaolin shouted. Then he took the lead, holding the front alone as Death's Revolver continuously spat crimson energy bullets.

"Everyone, fall back to my sector!" There was no way the eight of them could defeat this mass of people. No matter how advanced their weapons and equipment were, or how high their armor ratings, they could not withstand the surging tide of enemies.

Amid their desperate retreat, Death's Revolver's experience rose rapidly. The eye-like part of Death's Revolver began to emit a crimson glow tinged with a hint of gold.

Even Zhuang Xiaolin failed to notice that, during this stretch of fighting, Death's Revolver's experience had risen rapidly to LV 9.

But he had no time to care about that now. The sniper was seriously wounded and needed somewhere to be treated. The whole team was trapped within the encirclement. Two people were injured and needed protection, greatly reducing their ability to maneuver.

Hurry up! Get here already! Don't you usually come so fast? Why are you dropping the ball at a time like this?!

Zhuang Xiaolin roared inwardly, hoping that the Lungmen Guard Department's reinforcements would arrive at once.

Fierce flames consumed the surrounding houses. The slums, built from scrap wood, were instantly engulfed in blazing fire. One house after another collapsed, forming heaps of rubble that blocked Zhuang Xiaolin's group again and again.

As they continued to circle around, the enemies behind them gradually caught up.

Rook, Montagne, and Mozzie were in another area, likewise surrounded by enemies. But they did not have Doctor with them as Zhuang Xiaolin's group did. If they were injured, their situation would likely be far worse. They had to rendezvous as quickly as possible.

The group ran while firing back at the enemies chasing them. The paths formed by the ruins had become too narrow for even a vehicle to enter, so the mafia members had no choice but to encircle Zhuang Xiaolin's group on foot from all directions.

"I hope it's not too late..." Zhuang Xiaolin muttered as he ran and fired, his eyes brimming with crimson killing intent.

If he survived this attack, he would show the mafia in Lungmen what the fury of a modern man truly meant. He would also let the underground boss responsible for the gangs here witness what that fury looked like.