The morning sun shone over the vast forest, and the air carried a rotting stench after the storm. Luckily, the wind blew the stench away somewhat. In a dense forest on a mountain ridge, Ghost Hand and Madela sat quietly, waiting. They stayed behind to cover the retreat, and the first thing they did was plant grenades along their path, spacing them at intervals to intimidate and delay the enemy.
With limited ammunition, they had to rely on their guns. The firearms had been maintained, and the bullets loaded into the magazines, just waiting for the enemy to arrive. The two chatted idly for a moment. Suddenly, Madela changed the topic and said, "Your combat skills are incredible, trapping the enemy completely. I'm impressed."
"Of course! Otherwise, how could we have won the first place in the global Special Forces competition?" Ghost Hand boasted, chewing a piece of grass. His words were relaxed, but his eyes were filled with seriousness and concern.
