The effective range of some powerful sniper rifles is roughly three thousand meters. But that's just the firearm's capability.

Even elite snipers mostly hit targets accurately only within a range of eight hundred to twelve hundred meters. Only exceptionally talented and experienced ace snipers can break this limit and exceed two thousand meters.

Even so, a shot still relied on luck, weather, and prolonged aiming.

The sniper Dean faced naturally couldn't reach this level; otherwise, he wouldn't have joined such a high-risk operation.

The building he was in was only seven to eight hundred meters in a straight line from the crossroads.

With a burst of speed, Dean's long legs sprinted across the ground, leaving visual afterimages, as if flying or gliding. In just over a minute, he reached the base of the building and cut off the sniper, who was rapidly rappelling down a rope!

HUFF.

A puff of hot white breath escaped his lips.

Dean watched the man in black descend from the rooftop in a standard rappelling posture. He cracked a smile and, panting slightly, took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it. Taking a deep drag, he sauntered towards where the man would land.

The sniper couldn't have imagined it. How could someone cover seven to eight hundred meters in just over a minute? And based on his own firing angle, accurately pinpoint his location, head straight to the building's base, and cut him off so precisely?

He was preparing to flee, his face etched with resentment.

That gunman who had suddenly appeared was too terrifying, even more so than the marksmen he had encountered in the military.

He was exposed.

If the other party cornered him on the rooftop, it would certainly be a dead end.

Filled with resentment for his dead companions, the sniper swore to himself as he rapidly descended. Once he escaped, he would definitely find out who his opponent was and kill him to avenge his brothers!

PAT.

His hard leather shoes tapped on the concrete floor.

The sniper sighed in relief. He turned, ready to dash to the prepared motorcycle and escape to the safe house.

The next moment, it was as if he were struck by Medusa's petrifying curse. He froze like a statue, maintaining his turning posture, completely immobile except for his strong, muscular legs, which trembled uncontrollably.

HUFF.

A cloud of smoke blew onto the sniper's stunned face.

Dean flicked the ash from his cigarette and, looking into the man's despairing eyes, said casually, "Your brothers have sent you an invitation to a gathering. Do you want to go to jail to take care of your one surviving brother, or go to Hell and join the other two?"

The sniper was, after all, a soldier with many years of service.

After several seconds of shock, he finally came to his senses and slowly raised his hands. "Don't be rash! I surrender!"

Although Dean, standing before him, was unarmed.

Under Dean's gaze, the sniper, for the first time, realized what the stare of death felt like.

Under Dean's watchful eyes, he almost forgot to breathe. He felt a heaviness on his chest, his breathing constricted, his blood seeming to thicken, and his hands and feet grew cold. His thoughts turned sluggish, triggering humanity's most primal fear of predators.

Instinct kept screaming at him: Don't make any sudden moves! Absolutely do not make any sudden moves!

If he even dared to twitch...

...the other party would open their blood-filled jaws and tear him apart in an instant!

...

Only when Dean's bright, diamond-like eyes blinked gently did the indescribable 'force field'—or rather, 'killing intent'—that enveloped the sniper slowly dissipate.

Looking at the sniper, who stood with his hands raised in surrender, Dean flicked away his cigarette. "How did you get the exact information about the Narcotics Division's transport vehicle?"

The transport truck carrying the drugs seized by the Narcotics Division over the past year... its departure time, route, security detail... all of it was confidential. Only the deputy commander of the Narcotics Division's Second Squad and Eve, the squad leader, knew.

So how did this assault team get the information?

The sniper's eyes shifted. "We bribed an employee from an incineration plant. The Narcotics Division's transport routes are confidential, but the incineration plant needs advance notice to prepare for destroying those items. We calculated the timing, and that's how we could basically confirm the route they'd take."

Logically speaking, what the man said made sense.

Consider the previous counterfeit currency case; it just went to show. Many things are hard to keep confidential in the United States. For money, many people aren't tight-lipped.

But Dean saw at a glance that while the man's words might be true, he was hiding something more critical. Or rather, his cooperation was merely a front to conceal a deeper objective!

After a moment's thought, Dean didn't expose him. Instead, he reached for the handcuffs at his waist and tossed them over. "Congratulations, you survived. Cuff yourself. Behave, and don't give me a reason to kill you!"

"Nobody wants to die."

The sniper caught the handcuffs. He quickly cuffed his left hand, then moved his hands behind his back to secure them.

Having witnessed Dean's inhuman marksmanship and physical abilities, he was surprisingly cooperative.

Once this was done, the sniper turned around, allowing Dean to check the cuffs, and asked, "Seeing how cooperative I've been, can you tell me something? Are you a super-soldier, secretly developed by the military?"

"I've been in the army for over ten years, and I've never seen anyone as terrifying as you!

"Even special forces soldiers, compared to you, seem like huskies next to a wolf pack alpha!

"I don't believe someone like you can naturally exist. You must be a super-soldier developed by the military!"

In the United States, it was common to use various pretexts for experimenting on soldiers; this was no secret.

Dean didn't know the nature of those experiments, but he had heard Carlo mention persistent legends of super-soldiers within the military.

However, rather than believing in super-soldier legends, Dean was more inclined to believe they were just stories deliberately spread by military higher-ups to fool gullible soldiers.

After all, with current technology, even human genetics aren't fully understood. So where would super-soldiers come from?

Maybe, just maybe, when he used the panel to break through the human limit of fifteen Attribute Points, there might be a slight chance to witness non-human levels of power.

Dean looked forward to this, but without excessive expectations.

Ultimately, he was still flesh and blood.

He could withstand bullets, but not an RPG blast.

He never imagined he could become some all-powerful figure just by relying on brute force.

One could be assertive in their actions, but should remain low-key in their personal life.

Strength could be a foundation, but achieving true success depended on intellect and luck.

Nevertheless, the physical abilities he'd displayed at the intersection camera today were still somewhat shocking.

At this thought, a murderous intent flashed in Dean's mind.

This sniper could not be left alive!

...

"Your silence—is that an admission?"

The sniper's breathing quickened slightly.

Could there really be a super-soldier program?

It had to be!

Seven or eight hundred meters!

The handsome man before him had covered that distance in less than a minute! Crucially, he showed no signs of significant exertion; he even had the spare energy to smoke and wait for him to rappel down.

No ordinary human could do that!

Seeing the sniper so firmly convinced he was some kind of super-soldier, Dean tilted his head back slightly, his pale face catching a golden glow. His eyes narrowed, and his voice carried an almost imperceptible seductive tone. "Tell me the secret you're trying to hide, and I'll tell you what you want to know. I might even show you a new world you've never seen."

"Really?"

The sniper's nostrils flared, his chest heaving visibly.

Almost every man with military experience harbored a deep-seated admiration for power and an obsession with violence.

He was no exception!

Dean nodded with certainty. "Really!"

The sniper's bound hands, hidden behind his back, released the inconspicuous thread he'd been pulling from his clothes. He clenched and unclenched his fists. After a moment's hesitation, as if taking a gamble, he closed his eyes and said, "Alright, I'll trust you this once."

"Actually, we were Saddam's comrades-in-arms. We were members of the same squad, served in the Middle East, faced numerous life-and-death situations, and formed deep friendships.

"Due to certain... special reasons, our captain was court-martialed, and we team members were dismissed from the military. We lost all our benefits, no compensation.

"Without money, we became mercenaries.

"Saddam had a pregnant wife, so he returned to his hometown, Los Angeles. Using some connections, he became an ordinary detective in the Los Angeles Narcotics Division."

"So, this was all a conspiracy between you?"

"Pretty much."

From the sniper's description, Dean was shocked. He discovered this was a plot within a plot, a scheme within a scheme. It even connected to the massacre that had involved his own sister, Sinclair.

That Saddam... he was truly a piece of work!

But who was he?

Eve had never mentioned him!

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