Outside the dungeon.
The north wind howled, and cold snow swirled.
High on a rooftop.
Huo Yuntian held two pistols, one foot planted on a martial artist who was still struggling to rise. But as the muzzle lowered, a shot rang out, a flower of blood burst from the man's forehead, and he stopped moving.
Tian Dayong stood nearby in a standard-issue military uniform, a submachine gun in one hand, his eyes cold and blood at the corner of his mouth.
"Fuck, those hidden weapons pack a punch."
As they spoke, the two hurriedly ducked for cover.
Almost immediately, swishes tore through the snowy curtain toward them, the rushing air sharp and swift. Stones, throwing knives, darts-everything came flying their way.
Tian Dayong held his submachine gun, rapidly swinging the muzzle as he sprayed bullets at the hidden weapons around them.
Huo Yuntian flicked both wrists and put away his pistols. His right hand reached toward the ground nearby, and when he drew it back, he was cradling a pitch-black sniper rifle fitted with a long suppressor, his left hand gripping its enormous magazine.
"Forget everything else. Guard the dungeon entrance. There's already trouble up here, so odds are something's happened below too. If the people inside escape, we'll have a disaster on our hands."
As he spoke, Huo Yuntian raised the rifle without even looking through the scope and darted forward in a low crouch like a cheetah. The muzzle kept shifting before he dropped to one knee to steady himself, pulling the trigger as he slid along the ground.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Three shots in succession, all in one fluid motion.
Amid the wind and snow, a middle-aged man with sinister eyes knocked a Grand Boxer over with one palm strike. Grinning savagely, he was about to deal