"I'm so sorry to have dragged you into this trouble," the tribal leader said helplessly as Jiang Hai approached.
If it hadn't been for Jiang Hai, the enemy might have already broken into the village. With their firepower, the tribe could have been wiped out. The mere thought of that made the old man sigh with sorrow.
"It's fine. Trouble is better than doing nothing. If they'd broken through, I'd be dead too," Jiang Hai replied, waving off the apology. His gaze was calm as he looked out toward the mercenaries now approaching unhindered.
"What now? Should we run?" Tarak approached quietly, standing beside Jiang Hai. The situation was clear—even from a distance, they could see the tide turning.
"We can't run. And there's no need to. I called the police earlier—they said they'd arrive within thirty minutes. It's already been about twenty. We just need to hold out for another ten," Jiang Hai said, checking his watch.
Though the tribe hadn't been overly friendly to outsiders, hearing that help was on the way lifted everyone's spirits. Ten more minutes—they could do that.
"Once this is over, you'll be our tribe's great benefactor. We'll definitely repay you," the tribe leader said, taking a deep breath as he looked Jiang Hai in the eye.
Jiang Hai smiled faintly. The tribe was dirt-poor. What could they possibly give him in return? A few pieces of American ginseng or deer antlers, maybe. It was almost amusing—but he didn't laugh.
Because in this tribe, those things were their most precious offerings.
And when someone gives you their most valuable gift, even if it's humble, only a fool would belittle it.
So Jiang Hai simply nodded in thanks, then began arranging the defense.
The old patriarch could see right through him. He could tell Jiang Hai didn't care about the reward. But that only made the elder more certain: Jiang Hai didn't know what kind of gratitude would truly matter.
Still, he breathed a quiet sigh of relief. He hadn't trusted Jiang Hai entirely before. What if he was colluding with the outsiders? Sometimes, one had to be cautious…
Unbeknownst to Jiang Hai, the patriarch had even prepared a trap, just in case.
But now, with Jiang Hai setting up defensive positions, giving instructions to the others, pointing out the enemies' weaknesses—namely, their exposed throats—it was clear he was on their side.
"Don't waste your shots. If you miss, your homemade spears won't even pierce their shoes," Jiang Hai warned. "Their soles are reinforced with steel plates."
He sat down at a makeshift desk, methodically loading bullets. Tarak squatted next to him, watching curiously.
"Anything I can help with?" she asked.
"You? Hmm… Actually, yes. After I shoot, reload the magazines for me. Seven bullets per mag, just like this," Jiang Hai said after a pause. He'd been about to turn her down, but decided it was something she could manage.
He taught her the basics. Though only eighteen, Tarak was familiar with guns and had surprising strength. She had no trouble handling the spring-loaded magazines, and Jiang Hai felt reassured.
Soon after, more of the enemy entered the village.
The initial forty-man vanguard had been reduced to barely twenty by Jiang Hai alone. Now, another twenty or so moved in. Among them, about a dozen were mercenaries, but five or six wore civilian clothes—hikers or tourists by the look of them. They stood out.
"It's them!" Tarak hissed, gritting her teeth.
"Who?" Jiang Hai asked, puzzled.
"They disrupted the festival earlier. They stole a dog and fled the village. We were chasing them when we met you," she said.
"Oh, they're those 'dog lovers'?" Jiang Hai muttered, stunned. These people had gone from stealing a dog to hiring mercenaries to massacre an entire village? Just how deranged could they be?
"Idiots," he said. "Only in America do people pull this kind of crap. In China, you might get a forced apology. Here, they're wiping out whole villages. Just a bunch of clowns trying to one-up everyone."
Whatever their reason, Jiang Hai's life was on the line. As the enemy crept closer, he raised his rifle. At the same time, Patan on the other side took aim with the AUG.
Patan, a seasoned hunter, had adapted quickly. Now his aim was dead-on.
Jiang Hai's shot hit a mercenary square in the chest. Patan's bullet struck clean through a rifle scope and into the shooter's eye. The man crumpled instantly.
The enemy responded with a hail of gunfire—but their rounds either struck stone or ricocheted harmlessly. Most were 5.56mm, standard NATO rounds designed to cause internal trauma, not punch through cover. Even 7.62s wouldn't pierce the thick stone walls, much less these lighter calibers.
Their return fire did little.
The Indians' deer-hunting rifles weren't accurate, but their scattershot rounds packed a punch. It rattled the attackers, forcing them to briefly fall back.
After retreating about fifty meters, the tribe's guns fell silent—ammo exhausted.
Jiang Hai's Desert Eagle was also spent. Only the AUG still had range—but it wasn't enough at this distance. Patan lowered the rifle with a grim face.
A heavy silence settled. Both sides stopped firing.
But everyone knew—it wouldn't last. This was just the calm before the storm.
"These guys are well-armed and clearly trained. One of them is a sharpshooter—we've already lost too many," said one mercenary, returning from a sweep of the village's other buildings.
He ran up to a man in civilian gear and saluted. "Sir, what now?"
"Surrogate mother, these damned natives…" the mercenary leader cursed, glaring at the fortified stone house ahead. He glanced at the group of "hikers" beside him.
"Listen up!" one of the civilians stepped forward—the man who had stolen the dog. "We're old friends. We only want the item. Hand it over, and we won't hurt anyone. But if you don't…" he gestured at the mercenaries behind him, "they won't be so kind."
Inside the stone house, Jiang Hai furrowed his brow.
Wait, they weren't here over the dog?
Huh. Maybe no one would go that far over a pet. This was, after all, a civilized society… allegedly.
"Interesting," Jiang Hai murmured.
He picked up a dagger, carved a small peephole in the wall, and activated his phone camera. He needed to document these people. He knew they wouldn't all be captured before the police arrived. But knowing your enemy was half the battle.
Outside, the tribe leader shouted back:
"I don't know what you're talking about! We welcomed you to join our sacred ceremony, but you repaid our kindness with violence! Now you want to massacre us?! You truly are Americans—so generous when taking, so ruthless when repaying!"
There was a long pause outside. Even the mercenaries, paid killers that they were, felt a flicker of shame. These "hikers" were scum.
"Tch. Say whatever you want," the dog thief muttered. "But if you don't hand over the item, no one in your village will survive."
"I don't know what you're talking about," the tribe leader said again, resolute.
The mercenaries around him hesitated, unsure.
"Still refusing?" the dog thief sneered. "You think stone walls will protect you? This is the 21st century—we have firearms! End them!"
He turned and nodded at the mercenary commander.
The leader gave the order. Fifty meters away, one of the men knelt and pulled a cylindrical weapon from a case—an RPG.
"Damn, they've got a bazooka! Give me the AUG!" Jiang Hai barked.
Patan didn't hesitate. As much as he loved the weapon, it wasn't his. He threw it over, and Jiang Hai caught it mid-run.
He took aim.
The bazooka was already loaded. The shooter was locking in his target.
"Fire!" the mercenary commander roared.
At the exact moment the trigger was pulled, Jiang Hai fired.
His bullet hit the rocket's warhead—right at the fuse.
Rockets, like bullets, detonate on impact. If it had struck the stone house, the force would have compressed the fuse and triggered an explosion.
But Jiang Hai's shot hit it in mid-air, detonating it before it even left the barrel.
BOOM!
Flames erupted. The launcher exploded instantly. The two shooters were incinerated.
Nearby mercenaries were flung like rag dolls—some unconscious, some dead. The commander himself was thrown back, half of his face burned and blistered.
He couldn't think—could barely see. Around him, the remaining mercenaries panicked. With no one giving orders, chaos spread.
And then came the sound they all feared: the chopping roar of helicopter blades.
They looked up—no, they didn't have air support.
Which meant… it was the police.
Their faces went pale.
The cavalry had arrived.
(To be continued.)