Chapter 131: Deeper Layers

With a splash, the raft in front gave a heavy jolt. Hua Fo and Chen Cao, who had been paddling with all their might, felt their rapid progress suddenly checked as if something were holding them back, weighted down by the raft trailing behind.

Hua Fo cursed, "Damn it, damn it! The rear raft is dead weight!" He whipped out a dagger, ready to sever the rope connecting them.

Stanley and his companions on the rear raft saw this, their pupils constricting in terror. Any lingering gratitude they felt for Hua Fo’s earlier rescue vanished in an instant.

"Boss, you can't do that!" Stanley cried out, then added obsequiously, "We are still useful! We can still fight!"

In truth, Chen Cao had realized Hua Fo’s intent the moment the dagger was drawn. He quickly blocked Hua Fo’s hand, saying, "We cannot abandon them!"

Hua Fo glanced at him sideways. "Do we have any other choice?" With a sigh, he suddenly raised his firearm and unleashed a barrage of gunfire toward the approaching natives.

"You—" Chen Cao instinctively wanted to retaliate, but realized the natives, who had been charging with branches, were being mowed down in droves by Hua Fo’s fire.

"What are you waiting for, you useless burdens? Do you want me to kill you? Two of you, jump over here, now!" Before the words left his lips, Stanley scrambled onto Chen Cao’s raft and began paddling vigorously. With the weight shifted and Wuji and Stanley both pulling hard, the raft rose in the water and began to accelerate.

Chen Cao and Hua Fo traded fire with the natives on the banks, preventing them from entering the water or hurling projectiles. Many natives were gunned down on the beach before they could even reach the river, and those few who managed to dive in were picked off by Chen Cao, their bodies slumping into the water. In moments, the once-clear river ran thick with red.

Luck seemed to favor them as the current turned, carrying their rafts forward in tandem. Their precision fire and tactical rotation kept the distant natives at bay until they disappeared from sight.

Hua Fo let out a long breath and reloaded. "A pity about all those gems." Chen Cao knew he meant the jewels adorning the natives.

He didn't answer, gazing instead at the endless river. "We can reach the main river from here, but we have no knowledge of this region."

Hua Fo’s blue eyes stared deep into the distance. Having left the tributary for the wide expanse of the jungle river, he muttered, "Perhaps. But you know, in exploration, luck is everything."

Chen Cao remained silent, staring ahead. He had no reason to question Hua Fo now; after seeing him risk his life to save Stanley, he felt he understood the man better. This was a journey of peril, and he chose to keep his doubts to himself.

The water grew increasingly turbulent. Sensing the change in speed, Chen Cao said, "This doesn't feel right. Is there something ahead pulling the current?"

Hua Fo turned, a strange, eerie smile on his face. "Indeed? I had the same feeling. Now, our true adventure begins."

"What do you mean?" Chen Cao asked.

Hua Fo remained calm, his eyes deepening. "Secure your weapon. Hold on tight!" He slung his rifle over his back, flattened himself against the raft, and held his breath.

Though confused, Chen Cao saw the raft accelerating rapidly. Looking ahead, he saw the water plunging downward tens of meters away. He realized then that the riverbed had dropped—it was a waterfall. "Hold on! Don't let go, or the water will scatter us!" he shouted to Stanley’s raft.

Stanley and his men were bewildered but obeyed, clinging to their raft. Chen Cao followed suit, slinging his weapon and flattening himself. Suddenly remembering someone, he lifted his head and shouted, "Karissa, you must—" Before he could finish, he felt the raft tip over the edge. His heart leaped into his throat, followed by the screams of Stanley’s group, which were quickly swallowed by the roar of the water.

On the riverbank, a man in a camouflage uniform and a skull mask stood with his hands behind his back. Breathing in the scent of blood, he stared at the native corpses floating in the quiet river. He spoke coldly to the Child-Abusing Fiend behind him: "This fellow is impressive. To escape the pursuit of the natives—this Chen Cao is a troublesome target."

The Child-Abusing Fiend stood respectfully. Bare-chested and covered in coarse hair like an ape, he gripped his rifle and replied, "Yes, Number 1. If you had let me lead a team, he would be dead. They were too busy firing at those native beasts to defend themselves; a few bullets would have finished them on the beach."

"Hmph. Are you saying this is my failure? You, the Six-Winged Queen, and the Phoenix-Eyed Evil Lord are the elite of the organization, yet you let this young man severely wound two of you. I find that hard to understand." Number 1’s blue eyes shifted, his chest heaving as he struggled to maintain his composure.

The Child-Abusing Fiend kept his head lowered. After a silence, he said softly, "Number 1, according to the mission assigned by the Old Ghost, we should be developing this region, not hunting that young man, correct?"

Before the words were out, a sharp, hiltless blade was pressed against his throat, slicing slightly into the skin. A trickle of crimson blood dripped down.

"Are you threatening me with the Old Ghost?" Number 1’s voice was as piercing and calm as an ice pick.

The cold blade against his throat sent a shiver of mortality through the Fiend. He knew Number 1’s methods; he didn't just kill, he tortured, ensuring his victims felt every drop of life drain away.

Knowing his master well, the Fiend remained steady. "Number 1, I have the right to speak within the organization. I obey your commands absolutely. But regarding the injuries to the Queen and the Evil Lord, I believe this young man is no simple foe. I merely meant we have more important tasks at hand."

Number 1 withdrew the blade and sighed. "It is not your fault. Forget it. Let him go for now; he is facing the abyss of the waterfall, and his chances of survival are slim. But he killed my brother, and that debt must be settled. If he dies, we must find his corpse to dispose of it properly."

The Fiend wiped the blood from his neck, licked his finger, and laughed. "Number 1, I would be honored to assist you when the time comes."

Number 1 sheathed his blade. "For now, we have more important work. Let him drift. We must speak with the tribal chief about our next phase; his native army is exactly what we need." He turned and headed toward the jungle camp.

The Fiend watched him go, his hands balled into fists, his previously respectful gaze turning cold.

At the tribal camp, as the Fiend accompanied the skull-masked Number 1 through the ranks, the natives bowed their heads in two lines. When they reached the two-story pyramid altar, the chief—a stout, bloated man draped in jewel-encrusted furs and feathers—approached with two high priests carrying beast-headed staffs. The chief bowed low, his head touching the ground.

Number 1 nodded and entered the altar. The chief, seeing his stern expression, turned to the Fiend nervously. "Warrior, was the encirclement ineffective today? I can send more men to finish them off!"

The Fiend sneered, "It is not that your warriors are weak; the enemy is too strong."

"Oh? Then they are difficult to deal with?" The chief looked anxious, glancing toward the altar. "What of the ones we captured? Will they return?"

"They will not," the Fiend chuckled coldly. "They went over the waterfall. They are surely dead." The chief’s eyes lit up with undisguised joy. "We have sown the seeds in our fields. In a few months, there will be a harvest. Please, remind the God of War of his promise to me!"