The wound on Crow's cheek had already stopped bleeding.
Crow reached up and lightly touched it.
A faint sting traveled through his fingertip.
The wound was shallow.
Yet it was enough to say a lot.
Because it had been many years since anyone had managed to hurt him.
The mountain wind swept through the forest.
In the distance, the setting sun gradually sank below the horizon.
The entire mountain range was dyed dark red.
Crow stood at the edge of the hillside.
He quietly stared into the distance.
There was no anger.
No lingering fear.
Only silence.
After a moment.
He slowly began to walk away.
He did not look back.
Nor did he search for the sniper's position.
Because there was no point.
Since the other side had dared to fire,
they would not remain in the same place.
And at this very moment.
Several kilometers away.
At another high point in the mountains.
Scope had already dismantled his sniper position.
The black rifle case was closed again.
The entire process had taken less than thirty seconds.
Not a single unnecessary trace had been left behind.
There was not even any sign on the ground that someone had stayed there.
He picked up the rifle case.
Then turned and left.
The wind swept across the rocks.
The sniper position from moments ago returned to silence.
As if no one had ever been there.
Night gradually descended.
Crow continued along the mountain road.
His speed was not fast.
But he maintained a steady pace.
He occasionally passed abandoned buildings.
Sometimes he encountered places that could provide shelter from the wind and rain.
Yet he never entered them.
Instead, he simply went around them.
And continued forward.
Time slowly passed.
The forest gradually grew darker.
The road beneath his feet became increasingly difficult to traverse.
But Crow still did not stop.
Because a long time ago.
Someone had taught him something.
Never entrust your safety to any place.
Including walls.
Including houses.
Including locks.
Even yourself.
Back then.
He was still only a child.
It had not been long since an intelligence broker had bought him.
One winter night.
Snow was falling outside.
He had asked his teacher a question.
"Why do we have to change places every day?"
The old intelligence broker did not answer immediately.
He simply finished the hot tea in his cup.
Then spoke.
"Because the living can talk."
Crow did not understand.
So he continued asking.
"What does that have to do with changing places?"
The old man smiled.
"Because when no one knows where you are,"
"you are the safest."
"When someone knows where you are,"
"you have already lost half the battle."
From that day on.
Crow began constantly changing his places of residence.
Constantly changing his routes.
Constantly changing his habits.
Over time.
These things had become instinct.
And now.
That instinct was proving useful.
Late at night.
Crow entered an abandoned logging camp.
This place had once been a logging area.
Numerous abandoned wooden cabins were scattered throughout the forest.
Any normal fugitive would choose to rest here.
Because it was well hidden.
And safe enough.
However, Crow only took one look.
Then continued forward.
Ten minutes later.
On a certain hillside.
Scope's scope slowly moved.
The abandoned logging camp appeared in his view.
He waited for a long time.
Yet he never saw the target appear.
After a moment.
Scope slightly furrowed his brows.
Then closed the scope.
And changed positions again.
At one in the morning.
Crow reached a river.
The water flowed continuously.
Reflecting the faint moonlight.
He crouched down.
Briefly treated the wound on his cheek.
Then continued forward.
He did not light a fire.
He did not stop.
He did not rest.
Like some kind of machine that would never become tired.
Meanwhile.
On the opposite mountain.
Scope set up his sniper rifle again.
The night-vision scope activated.
Large amounts of data constantly flickered across the display.
Distance.
Wind direction.
Temperature.
Humidity.
Every parameter was rapidly calculated.
Then.
He found the target again.
Crow was moving along the river.
Scope slowly adjusted the muzzle.
The crosshairs gradually locked onto the target.
His breathing remained steady.
His finger rested against the trigger.
However, at that very moment.
Crow suddenly changed direction.
He entered the forest.
The trees instantly blocked the view.
The opportunity to fire disappeared.
Scope remained silent for a moment.
Then slowly lowered the rifle.
This was the second time.
If the first time had been luck,
then the second time had already revealed a problem.
There was some kind of special pattern to the target's movements.
It was not random.
Nor was it panic.
It was more like he was avoiding some kind of danger.
Thinking of this.
Scope opened his terminal.
And began organizing the route.
The map slowly unfolded.
Every location where Crow had appeared was marked.
Several minutes later.
Scope discovered a problem.
These routes had no destination.
No supply station.
No safehouse.
Not even an endpoint.
There was only one thing they had in common.
The length of time he stayed.
At every location.
The longest he remained was no more than five minutes.
Some places were only one minute.
Then he immediately left.
As if someone were always hunting him.
And in fact.
That had indeed been the case for many years.
Before dawn.
Crow finally stopped walking.
An abandoned watchtower appeared ahead.
Most of the tower had already been damaged.
Yet it could still block the wind and rain.
He slowly walked inside.
Then sat down.
This was the first time all day that he had truly stopped.
Silence lasted for several minutes.
There was no sound.
The wind continuously blew through the damaged walls.
Producing a low, howling sound.
Crow lowered his head and looked at the ground.
But another face appeared in his mind.
Viper.
The man who always liked to smile.
The man who always liked making plans.
The madman who had ultimately died at Lucian's hands.
Crow slowly closed his eyes.
There was no sadness.
At least, not on the surface.
His teacher had once told him.
Never show emotion.
Never trust emotion.
Because emotions would expose weaknesses.
So many years ago.
Crow had learned to hide everything.
Yet even so.
When he saw Viper die.
A brief flash of hostility had still appeared.
And that instant.
Had been precisely what Scope captured.
Thinking of this.
Crow slowly opened his eyes.
He reached up and touched the wound on his cheek.
That was the price.
And also a reminder.
In the end.
He had still made a mistake.
Just then.
On a distant mountain.
Scope completed another sniper position.
The scope slowly moved.
Finally.
The target appeared in the lens again.
Inside the abandoned watchtower.
Crow was sitting there quietly.
Distance.
Two thousand eight hundred meters.
Wind speed stable.
Visibility clear.
This was the best opportunity so far.
Scope slowly adjusted his breathing.
The muzzle was completely locked onto the target.
The entire world seemed to fall silent.
And at the center of the scope.
Crow remained sitting there.
Completely motionless.
As if he had no idea what was happening.
However.
Just as Scope was about to pull the trigger.
Crow suddenly stood up.
He left his seat.
And walked toward the other side of the watchtower.
Several seconds later.
He completely disappeared from view.
Scope's finger stopped on the trigger.
He did not fire.
Because the target had left again.
The night grew deeper and deeper.
And this pursuit
had only just begun.