A moment later, another heavily armed man entered, leading a pale middle-aged man. The man looked to be around fifty, somewhat bald, his once-neat suit caked in mud. Gold-rimmed glasses rested on his nose, giving him an academic air—he resembled a researcher. He stared in shock at the corpses strewn across the ground, remaining silent.

"Mr. Bai," the team leader said smugly, "they say Huaxia is a no-go zone for mercenaries, that no one dares set foot here. But clearly, that’s not entirely true, is it? Our Wolf Mercenary Group brought you to the border with ease. Just look at their combat prowess—we took them down in two seconds, hahaha!"

The man called Mr. Bai didn’t get angry. Instead, he forced a fawning smile. "Indeed, who doesn’t know of the Wolf Mercenary Group? Ranked among the world’s top five. Just the other day, that reconnaissance squad fell to you—over thirty men couldn’t even send a distress signal before being wiped out. How could these border guards possibly stop your advance? Seems I’ll be making it out of here smoothly."

"Of course," the leader said arrogantly, ignoring the veiled sarcasm in Mr. Bai’s words. "You look down on these border guards? Understandable—you’d sell out your own country, so why would you care about their lives? But since you’re our client, I won’t hold it against you. Our original plan to let you rest for the night is off—we need to leave immediately."

"Why?" Mr. Bai protested. "Don’t forget your principles—reputation first. Without credibility, what future does your mercenary group have?"

"Don’t lecture me with that crap," the leader snapped, a glint of killing intent flashing across his stern face. "If you don’t want to die, shut up. Oh, and forgot to mention—there were ten men at the outpost. Now there are only nine corpses. Think about what that means. Use that big brain of yours that solves equations so well." He then barked, "Take off your clothes and put on a uniform. It’s only a matter of time before you’re exposed. Move fast."

Mr. Bai hesitated, then reluctantly peeled off his coat and grabbed a random military uniform to wear. The leader shot him a cold glance—just one look that made Mr. Bai feel as if needles were piercing his brain, his entire body turning icy with the sudden aura of death. Terrified, he scrambled to dress, all traces of his earlier defiance vanishing. Along this journey, he had witnessed the leader’s methods of killing, and fear now gripped him completely.

Seeing Mr. Bai finally obedient, the leader suppressed the intellectual’s stubborn pride and smirked in satisfaction. Just then, a voice crackled in his earpiece:

"Captain, Spider intercepted a radio frequency. Suspected Huaxia special forces are closing in—about ten kilometers out. Wait… spotted a Huaxia soldier driving a horse cart. Should we take the shot?"

"Ten kilometers? Too late," the leader sneered disdainfully. "Tell the perimeter team to fall back—we’re crossing the border." As long as they were outside Huaxia’s territory, the special forces wouldn’t dare pursue recklessly. *Who says Huaxia is a no-go zone for mercenaries?* The thought pleased him, and he added casually, "Kill on sight, then retreat immediately."

"Uh-oh, they seem to have noticed something and stopped," the voice said, startled.

"Never mind, pull back," the leader ordered.

---

The barren wilderness stretched out, withered grasses wilting under the increasingly cold mountain wind, some torn loose and carried away into the unknown. The plateau sky remained a flawless blue, drifting clouds lazily drifting by—no sign of life.

On an unremarkable ridge, a horse cart came to a halt. A gaunt old horse snorted, panting heavily, its back laden with sacks. A young man crouched behind the cart, tying his shoelaces with a whip in hand.

The youth appeared to be around eighteen or nineteen, dressed in a clean military uniform with a cap pulled low. His face, tanned by the plateau’s harsh UV rays, couldn’t hide his striking features—thick, sword-like eyebrows, a straight nose, and an air of maturity beyond his years. His confident demeanor, paired with sharp, intelligent eyes, exuded both trustworthiness and a mischievous cleverness that made others feel at ease around him.

Unaware that a sniper had him in their sights, he had no idea that crouching to tie his shoelaces had created a fatal miscalculation. The sniper, receiving the retreat order, abandoned the shot and vanished. The young man finished tying his laces, stood up, and stretched—his 1.76-meter frame sturdy and imposing in his crisp uniform.

"Old Horse, let’s go," he said with a grin, flicking the whip playfully. "Back home, I’ll give you a good scrub and brush out that beautiful mane. If we don’t hurry, we’ll be sleeping under the stars—this damn weather won’t show us any mercy." The whip didn’t strike the horse; instead, a cold gust slipped through his sleeves.

Shivering, he tightened his coat and followed the cart forward. Sensing the chill, the old horse quickened its pace, forcing the young man to jog to keep up. Soon, his body warmed up, and he laughed. "Old Horse, you’re a true brother—knowing I’m cold and speeding up. Thanks. Later, I’ll find you a mare for company." He glanced at the sky, now darkening with the approach of a storm.

Monsoons on the plateau arrived suddenly and departed just as fast. The young man wasn’t worried about the rain, but he dreaded the thought of the cart’s supplies getting soaked. Thinking of his comrades back at the outpost, warmth filled his chest. He’d been stationed there for nearly half a year, and their camaraderie had been a lifeline.

"Damn this cursed weather," he muttered, urging the horse faster.

"Awooo—!"

A wolf’s howl shattered the wilderness’s silence. The young man froze, eyes narrowing as he spotted a lone wolf on the nearby slope—a starving predator desperate for food before the storm hit.

The old horse whinnied sharply, halting in its tracks but remaining calm, turning its head toward the young man. He stepped forward, stroking its neck to soothe it. "Old Horse, today’s just not our day—storm’s coming, and now there’s a hungry wolf. It’s getting dark, so you keep moving. I’ll handle this." His words were light, but his eyes were grim. Wolves were trouble—starving ones even worse. Desperate for survival, they’d gnaw off their own legs to stay alive. And now, they had prey in sight.