58: Chapter 58 Canyon Counterattack and Gunfire Arc

The "scanning sensation" at the abandoned highway checkpoint brushed against his nerve endings like cold spider silk. Alex's muscles tensed instantly. It wasn't radar; it felt more like some kind of precise biological detection—subtly similar to the perception granted by his system enhancements, but more covert and aggressive.

"Accelerate." He said only one word.

The cargo truck turned into a treacherous section of the "Lone Peak Canyon." Red cliffs towered on both sides, and the road was as narrow as an intestine. Alex's Spider-Sense began to hum continuously—the danger wasn't behind him, but ahead.

Boom!

The military-grade hinged tire shredder sprang up the moment the wheels passed over it, sixteen steel spikes piercing all tires simultaneously. The cargo truck was hit as if by a giant hammer; amidst the piercing shriek of metal, it flipped, skidded, and finally became a steel tomb blocking the center of the road.

Before the dust had even settled, the sound of sniper fire tore through the silence.

Bang! Bang!

The bullets struck exactly half a meter in front of the wreckage, the splashing gravel serving as a warning of death.

"Drop your weapons and walk out with your hands up," the electronically synthesized voice from a megaphone came from the left cliff wall. "You have ten seconds."

Alex leaned against the scorching truck body; the bloodstains from gravel cuts on his cheek were healing at a speed visible to the naked eye. His Spider-Sense spiked—six firing points, two sniper positions, a full hunting squad.

"We can't surrender," Hank growled, blood streaming from his temple.

"Of course we aren't surrendering."

Alex closed his eyes; he had endured enough. 2.8 million popularity points burned in his consciousness, exchanging not for supernatural power, but for the theoretical limit unlock of human potential.

【Gun-Fu: Ballistic Calculation (Mastery)】—this wasn't magic, but the ultimate application of neuroscience and battlefield physics. Dynamic Vision captured the drift trajectory of dust particles, environmental perception calculated the 0.8 meters per second crosswind of the canyon, and Crisis Prediction simulated the breathing rhythm and micro-muscle movements of the six enemies for the next second in his mind.

The world transformed into a transparent sandbox in his consciousness.

"Hank, behind the rock on the left wing, submachine gunner, he'll reload and poke his head out in three seconds."

"Rex, upper right rock crevice, the sniper is reloading armor-piercing rounds."

"Two suppression fire points directly ahead, the commander is three meters to the left of the megaphone calling out."

His voice was as calm as if he were reading an instruction manual. Hank and Rex exchanged a glance—Alex hadn't even poked his head out, how could he know?

"Three, two, one."

"Now!"

Alex moved.

It wasn't a tactical roll, but a near-eerie fluidity—Parkour Mastery exploded with extreme efficiency in the confined space. The moment he slid sideways out of cover, the Glock 19 in his right hand was already raised.

Bang!

The first shot. When the bullet fired, his wrist had a 0.1-second microscopic tremor—not magic manipulation, but a shooting stance correction based on ballistic calculations. The bullet traced a counter-intuitive arc in the air, bypassed the rock protrusion in front, and drilled into the shadow of the rock crevice.

A muffled groan followed. The suppression fire from the left cliff wall ceased abruptly.

"How is that possible?!" The sniper's assistant behind the rock crevice looked in horror at the blood spurting from his companion's forehead—where had the bullet come from?!

"Second target." Alex's whisper was barely audible amidst the canyon echoes.

He didn't stop at all. Immediately after firing, he crouched and sprinted; three sniper bullets nailed the ground where he had just been, missing by only 0.3 seconds. Dynamic Vision let him "see" the contraction of the sniper's shoulder muscles before pulling the trigger.

The second shot was fired while running. The forward-leaning posture should have made accurate shooting impossible, but at the moment of pulling the trigger, Alex used his core abdominal strength to perform an extremely subtle balance adjustment. The bullet passed through the narrow gap between two rocks, hitting the rocket launcher operator who had just exposed half his body on the right high ground.

"Argh—" The rocket launcher slipped from his hands and tumbled off the cliff.

"What the hell kind of marksmanship is this?!" The ambush commander roared in the communication channel, "The intel didn't say the target had this level of combat proficiency!"

"It's not proficiency..." A sniper who had witnessed the ballistic arc said, his voice trembling, "That bullet... did it turn?"

"Shut up! Focus fire! He only has a pistol!"

But Alex was no longer in the same spot.

Parkour Mastery displayed nearly artistic lethality in the canyon terrain. He clung to the rock wall like a gecko, using every protrusion and crack as a pivot point; his movement trajectory completely defied conventional logic. The crossfire from three submachine guns was always a beat slow—they were aiming at "possible human movement routes," but Alex's movement model was based on an anti-logic path derived from real-time ballistic prediction.

"Third target."

He leaped, twisting his body in mid-air. This posture should have cost him all shooting accuracy, but Alex used the inertia of his twisting waist and abdomen to drive his arm, completing a theoretically impossible "mid-air posture adjustment." The Glock 19 spat out the third bullet.

The bullet hit a loose stone on the cliff wall; the stone ricocheted, precisely smashing into the tactical helmet of the commander hiding behind it.

Thud! The commander collapsed to the ground.

"Three left." Alex landed and rolled, hiding behind a new cover, his breathing still steady. Comprehensive Physical Enhancement kept his cardiopulmonary function at peak state.

"Monster... he's a monster!" An ambush team member broke down, firing wildly at the spot where Alex had last disappeared.

Ammunition soon ran low.

"Reload!" he roared.

"Now." Alex flashed out from behind the cover; this time he didn't shoot, but sprinted with all his might—straight for the last two intact firing points!

"He's rushing us! Shoot! Shoot!"

Bullets flew past Alex's body. The overlap of Crisis Prediction and Spider-Sense allowed him to perceive the trajectory 0.5 seconds in advance. This wasn't predicting the future, but a limit-read of the enemy's muscle movements, muzzle orientation, and even pupil focus.

Twenty meters, a three-second sprint.

The last two ambush team members reloaded at the same time—a fatal tactical error, precisely captured by Alex's situational awareness.

He leaped, his knee slamming hard into one man's face, while his left hand seized the other man's wrist and twisted it against the joint.

Crack!

Screams accompanied the sound of breaking bones.

Alex snatched the opponent's submachine gun, turned, and aimed at the last sniper on the cliff wall who was still trying to aim.

"Drop the gun." His voice carried through the canyon.

The sniper looked through the scope and saw those cold, inhuman eyes. His finger froze on the trigger.

"I... I surrender."

The firearm slid off the cliff.

The battle ended, taking forty-seven seconds. A six-man ambush squad, five incapacitated, one surrendered.

Alex walked back to the cargo truck wreckage, where Hank and Rex were binding the wounded with plastic zip ties. Their expressions were complex—shock, awe, and a hint of indescribable strangeness.

"You..." Rex opened his mouth, "Those movements, that shooting... have you received training we don't know about?"

"Talent." Alex wiped the blood from his face, his tone as flat as if he were talking about the weather, "And a lot, a lot of practice."

This was the only explanation he could give. The existence of the system must remain sealed forever.

Hank looked at him deeply and finally nodded: "Whatever it is... thanks. We almost became sieves just now."

"It's not over yet." Alex walked toward the surrendered sniper, "The Guardians of Truth won't send just one squad. We need intel."

The sniper was a Latino man in his thirties with an old scar on his face. Facing Alex's approach, he instinctively backed away.

"Who is commanding this operation?" Alex squatted down, looking him in the eye, "Tell the truth, and you can leave alive."

The sniper swallowed: "'Shepherd'... He is in the command vehicle at the north end of the canyon. But since we failed, he must have already evacuated."

"Command vehicle model? License plate?"

"Black Chevrolet Suburban, bulletproof version, the license plate is..." The sniper reported a string of numbers, "But it's useless, he definitely has a backup plan."

Alex stood up and looked at Hank: "Can you track it?"

Hank had already taken out a military tablet: "There is indeed a dirt road at the north end of the canyon for a quick evacuation. If we leave now, maybe..."

Before he could finish, an explosion came from the north end of the canyon.

Everyone turned their heads to see black smoke rising several kilometers away.

"Self-destruct device." Alex said coldly, "'Shepherd' won't leave any clues."

He walked back to the cargo truck wreckage and dragged out two still-unconscious moles—Gear and Raven. They were the only clues left now.

"The car is totaled, how do we leave?" Rex looked at the completely destroyed cargo truck.

Alex looked toward the south end of the canyon: "Three kilometers on foot, there's an abandoned ranger station. I had Marcus prepare a backup vehicle there before we left—just in case."

Hank was stunned: "When did you..."

"After the hearing ended." Alex had already started organizing his equipment, "I knew the Guardians of Truth would come, just didn't expect it so soon."

He always thought two steps ahead. This was an instinct developed from fighting on the front lines of social media in his past life, now becoming sharper in the game of life and death.

The three of them escorted the prisoners and the wounded and began to hike south. The canyon returned to silence, leaving only smoke, shell casings, and six unconscious bodies.

As they walked out of the canyon, Alex's Spider-Sense suddenly spiked again—not directed at behind them, but ahead.

He looked up and saw a black drone circling high in the sky, silent and soundless.

It wasn't a military model, nor a commercial one. It had a streamlined shell and completely silent rotors, like a crow observing a corpse.

The drone circled three times, then flew toward the northeast and disappeared into the clouds.

"What is that?" Rex aimed his gun, but the drone was already out of range.

Alex did not answer.

He remembered the cold scanning sensation at the checkpoint, and the prompt that flashed by when he exchanged for the system— "No supernatural existence in this world other than the host."

But the technology of that drone just now clearly surpassed the technological level of 2015.

Unless...

"Let's go." He retracted his gaze, "We need to reach Nashville before dark."

Taylor's estate was waiting. Safe, warm, and perhaps a brief respite.

But Alex knew that the real shadows were just beginning to reveal their outlines.

The Guardians of Truth were just the blade; there was still a hand holding the knife.

And now, he had to become strong enough before those hands tightened.

Strong enough to... make everyone holding the knife start to fear the one who holds it.