Chapter 67: Distance

Jeremy, clad in radiant white armor, was struck in the shoulder by the fifth sniper round. The powerful impact halted his forward charge, causing him to stagger backward. Yet his mastery over his body was formidable. He rolled across the ground, deftly evading David’s sixth shot and dissipating the force from the impact entirely.

At this moment, he was still fifteen hundred meters from David, with nothing to shelter him on the wide street. Jeremy felt a pang of regret; he had not brought his weapon with him.

He changed his approach, weaving unpredictably from side to side, making it difficult for David to aim. The movement resembled the erratic targets David had faced at the shooting range, but Jeremy’s speed was swifter and far more elusive. Evidently, he had trained in footwork designed specifically to counter snipers—so much so that David’s seventh and eighth shots missed entirely.

Ultimately, the imitation “Death’s Eye” was just a replica; its firing speed paled in comparison to the genuine article. Even with true sniper-class abilities, David could not fully unleash his potential. These three consecutive misses were a direct result of his equipment’s limitations.

His aim was flawless, but Jeremy’s footwork allowed him to change direction at short range; by the time the bullets from the imitation “Death’s Eye” were still in flight, Jeremy had already dodged them.

David ceased fire. Shooting under these circumstances would not deliver a fatal blow to Jeremy, only wasting his own stamina and ammunition. His body, lying prone, trembled rapidly, releasing the accumulated recoil from the eight consecutive shots. Now, all he could do was wait for Jeremy to come closer, shortening the bullet’s flight time.

Of course, this also put him at greater risk. Jeremy’s display of combat prowess was nearly on par with a warrior in exoskeletal armor. If Jeremy managed to close the distance, David doubted he could survive.

He took two deep breaths, clearing his mind. His focus did not waver with Jeremy’s advance.

Jeremy continued his unpredictable footwork, moving forward without slowing much, even though David had stopped firing.

At around a thousand meters, David resumed his attack, unleashing five sniper rounds in a single barrage, sealing off all space around Jeremy.

Had he used a genuine “Death’s Eye,” the recoil from such a dense volley would have destroyed his body. Even with the replica, David was forced to use his skill to dissipate the accumulated recoil, pausing for three seconds.

But his assault was not wasted. The five consecutive shots forced Jeremy to block one bullet head-on to escape the barrage.

This time, Jeremy took the hit on his other shoulder. The tremendous force drained color from his face; because the range was shorter, his reaction time was limited, and the bullet struck a thinner part of his white armor, not the thickest section.

The white armor shuddered violently, its sheen dimming.

Still, David was unable to pursue him, allowing Jeremy to roll and lessen the impact again.

A thousand meters separated them. They stared at each other across the distance—between them, the gap was the line between life and death.

Even now, Jeremy had not glimpsed the sniper hidden in the darkness, turning over possibilities in his mind: an assassin, the military, or someone within the organization who wanted him gone.

As David recovered during those three seconds, Jeremy surged forward once more, all the while pondering his attacker’s identity.

If it were a commercial assassin, hiring a standard sniper and setting up such a large-scale scenario in an industrial district would be a poor choice.

The military was even less likely; had it been them, there would be multiple warriors and a host of soldiers. No matter how strong his defenses, he could not withstand such an onslaught.

Members of the organization—that thought sent a chill through him. It was the most likely possibility.

“I’ll find out who you really are,” he growled.

David, restored to peak condition, fired the imitation “Death’s Eye” again. This time, he aimed not for Jeremy’s vitals but his legs, seeking to slow him down.

Three rounds, forming a triangle, sealed off the space within two meters of Jeremy’s legs.

Jeremy’s legs blurred into afterimages as he sped through the triangle of bullets, but David’s T3 sniper support system registered a bloodstreak on Jeremy’s leg.

The wound was spreading, and David felt a surge of joy. Yet Jeremy seemed unaffected, his speed undiminished.

Between one thousand and five hundred meters, David fired twenty-three sniper rounds, marking Jeremy with several superficial wounds.

As the distance shrank below five hundred meters, each bullet was now fast enough to nearly outpace Jeremy’s reflexes.

But David knew he had only ten rounds left in his imitation “Death’s Eye”—no time remained to reload.

What he had expected to be an easy sniping mission had now become a race against death.

“So it’s you, David!” Jeremy could now clearly see David’s face, shouting in a mix of rage and disbelief.

This student he had always regarded as insignificant had succeeded in exposing him.

Though he had plotted to end David’s life, Hans’s reputation as a “National Hero” forced him to disguise David’s death as an accident.

He could not comprehend how his plan had failed—until today, he realized David had been deceiving him all along. Such sniping skills, such patience—how could this be the student he thought he had fooled?

This level of marksmanship was impossible without systematic military training or extraordinary talent.

“I’ll kill you! I’ll leave with your head, and I’ll make your soul suffer, so you regret everything you’ve done!” Jeremy roared.

He had been struck by bullets in several places; his white armor was shattered in many spots, but each time he managed to minimize the damage, retaining most of his fighting power.

Two thousand meters—facing a professional sniper, he had paid only this price to get so close. On this point, he could be proud.

David’s gaze was icy—like a machine devoid of emotion. The greater the danger, the more his sniping gift revealed his terrifying emotional control.

Now that the distance was shorter, the imitation “Death’s Eye” in his hands was more potent.

Jeremy uttered a string of strange words. The once-dim white armor flashed again; not in restoration, but emitting a gentle glow that enveloped his wounds.

In just a second, the bleeding stopped. At such close range, David saw scabs form on Jeremy’s wounds, some dropping away as the injuries healed completely.

“Stop him!” David thought, firing two more rounds.

His ammunition was running low. Each shot now had to be calculated with precision.

Even with sniper-class abilities, his lack of experience had led him to waste too many rounds and he had failed to reload in time.

The two bullets sped toward Jeremy, one after the other, aimed at his head and chest.

Jeremy shouted the strange words again. His face grew paler, but his white armor glowed once more. This time, a shield of white light appeared in his hand.