The final round was set in a dense forest, nestled in the middle of a valley. The participants were transported by vehicle to the edge of the valley, where they had to proceed on foot to reach their assigned bases deep within the forest. The moment all five participants reached their designated bases, the game would begin—lasting for a grueling 24 hours.
Quint glanced at his device once more before stepping into the forest. The device, issued by the competition committee, served as a tactical tool. It displayed a map, showing the participant's own location, as well as the position of their designated base. However, once the game started, the device would also track and display the participants' scores in real-time.
Quint wasn't particularly lucky with his assigned base. His base was located near the center of the forest, which meant he was positioned at the lowest point in the valley. This could have been a strategic advantage—if not for the rule that allowed participants to eliminate each other.
Being positioned in the middle meant that the other four participants, most likely stationed at higher elevations, would have a clear line of sight to target him.
There were only two other bases at his same elevation level. If both were occupied, that would mean only two of his rivals were stationed above him. However, Quint didn't rely on luck. He assumed the worst-case scenario—that all four opponents had the high ground.
Despite his disadvantageous position, Quint's superior speed and agility allowed him to reach his base first. He carefully surveyed the terrain, evaluating the target area before setting up his stationary rifle on the ground.
Once his equipment was ready, he pressed the checkpoint button on his device, signaling to the judges that he had successfully reached his assigned base.
With the game yet to begin, Quint lowered himself to the ground, sitting in utter silence with his eyes closed.
His senses were sharp, fully attuned to the forest's natural symphony—the rustling of leaves, the whisper of the wind, the occasional distant chirp of birds. However, his focus soon narrowed.
He could hear something—a faint movement behind him.
It was distant, but noticeable. Someone was making their way through the forest, far behind his position.
Quint didn't move. He kept his breathing steady, allowing himself to process the information calmly.
He reached for the map he had purchased the previous day.
On it, he had marked nine locations—the probable base positions he had figured out through the barter with the teenager from yesterday. His own base, Location F, was positioned on the right side of the forest.
If someone was moving behind him, they were either headed toward Base C or Base I.
He recalled what the teenager had told him:
"My base can target almost all of the other locations."
There was only one possible spot that could provide such a vantage point—Base H.
Base H was positioned on his upper right, near the edge of the forest. From that height, a participant could theoretically target every other base—except for Base J.
Quint's eyes narrowed slightly as he considered the possibility.
Unless, of course, that teenager lied…
If the boy had deceived him, then he wasn't actually in Base H. Instead, he could be in Base B—the one base location Quint hadn't been able to pinpoint.
That meant Quint still lacked one crucial piece of information.
And in a competition where a single mistake meant elimination, that missing detail could cost him everything.
Half an hour later, Quint's device vibrated, signaling that all participants had reached their bases and that the game would begin in five minutes.
Lying flat behind his weapon, Quint closed one eye, peering through the surveillance lens mounted above the rifle. The target zone was now lively—several animals had been released and were beginning to wander into the area.
Anything alive in the target zone was fair game.
A single beep from his device marked the start of the game.
Five minutes passed. No one fired a shot.
Quint smirked inwardly. He remembered what the teenager had told him about the three siblings. They would eliminate their opponents first—which meant Quint and the teenager were the first targets.
He waited.
Another hour passed. Still, no gunfire.
If he had to guess, the siblings were probably waiting him out, hoping one of them would break first.
Quint considered waiting longer—maybe two or three more hours. However, that would only waste valuable time and points.
The animals would eventually fall asleep after feeding, making them harder targets.
There was no point in playing it safe anymore.
Quint made a bold decision—he would voluntarily reveal his position.
He scanned the target zone and chose a wild boar. It had the smallest point value, making it a low-risk sacrifice.
A sharp breath in.
SWUUUS!
His bullet cut through the air, piercing the boar's thick hide. The animal squealed in pain before collapsing to the ground.
Quint deliberately stretched his neck forward, pretending to observe his kill, making sure his helmet's target was fully visible.
He wasn't waiting long.
His profound power flared a warning.
NOW!
Quint snapped his left hand over his helmet's target while twisting his head just in time to dodge.
BANG!
Too late.
Pain exploded in his palm.
"Ouch," Quint hissed through clenched teeth. A bullet had pierced straight through his left hand.
Another shot clanked against his helmet, barely missing his target by mere inches.
Quint instantly retreated, sprinting behind the nearest tree for cover. He exhaled sharply but didn't make a sound as he gripped the bullet lodged in his palm and yanked it out.
Blood oozed from the wound, but Quint didn't flinch.
He dug into his backpack, pulling out his first aid kit. With one hand, he wrapped a tight bandage around his wound. The pain throbbed, but he had no time to dwell on it.
Quint then reached for the magic capsule the little girl had given him. While the injury wasn't life-threatening, he needed full functionality of both hands if he wanted to win this competition.
As the capsule's healing effects kicked in, Quint leaned against the tree, gripping his device to check his score.
-800.
He had earned 200 points for shooting the wild boar, but received a -1000 deduction for covering his helmet's target.
However, the penalty served its purpose.
It granted him two major advantages:
His opponents—if they realized they had missed his target—would not attempt another shot. None of them would risk sharing his negative score.
More importantly, he now knew the locations of two of his opponents.
He quickly opened his map.
His attackers had fired from Base A and Base G.
That meant the third participant—the remaining sibling—was either at Base C or Base I.
As for the teenager, Quint still assumed he was in Base H.
Now, he had a plan.
The best tactical move would be to relocate to Base D. From that position, he could aim at all four of his opponents without exposing himself unnecessarily.
A thin smile tugged at Quint's lips.
Time to turn the game in his favor.
Quint cleaned his rifle and checked his equipment.
His left hand was still not fully healed, so he had to do everything one-handed. Despite the slight inconvenience, his movements remained steady and precise.
Once everything was set, he began moving toward Base D.
The forest was eerily quiet.
The siblings were either still trying to lure him out, or more likely, they were afraid of his retaliation.
The latter seemed far more probable—only a complete idiot would try to bait him after missing their chance.
Then, a shot rang out.
It came from the direction of Base C.
Quint smirked. "Testing the waters, huh?"
Now, he knew exactly where the third sibling was.
He quickened his pace. Every now and then, he heard another shot—one from Base A, one from Base C, and another from Base G.
Still nothing from the teenager.
That guy was sticking to his plan, waiting for everyone else to accumulate points before swooping in and stealing their scores by eliminating them.
Quint had no intention of letting that happen.
About ten minutes later, he reached Base D.
After checking in, he turned on the point display feature on his device. Up until now, he had been hiding his status, meaning he couldn't see his opponents' scores, and they couldn't see his.
But now?
He wanted them to know he was still in the game. He wanted them to see that his score was negative.
He studied the scoreboard.
Base A: 2,300 points Base G: 1,200 points
The teenager's score was still hidden—just like a ghost.
"Not for long," Quint thought.
He lowered himself behind his rifle and prepared his first attack.
Since Base G had the fewest points, he would take them out first. That way, when he eliminated them, his score would still be negative, discouraging the others from targeting him immediately.
Quint regulated his breathing, slowing his heartbeat as he measured the wind speed and distance to Base G.
He peered through his surveillance lens.
His profound power activated—a bright target mark appeared over his enemy.
Perfect.
Quint smiled faintly, placing his finger on the trigger. He inhaled deeply, then exhaled slowly, steadying his grip.
At the end of his breath, he pulled the trigger.
SWUUUS!
The bullet cut through the air and hit its mark.
Quint glanced at his device.
Score: -200. Base G—eliminated.
Two siblings left.
He made his next decision carefully.
The next target would be Base A—not Base C.
Why?
Because he already knew Base A's shooting capability.
Base A was the one who had hit his hand earlier, proving they were a skilled sniper. The Base C sibling was still a mystery.
And if the teenager decided to step in and eliminate the last opponent, he would have fewer points to steal.
Quint adjusted his rifle, angling it toward Base A.
With the same calculated precision, he fired another shot.
A second later, his score jumped to 1,300 points.
Then, his profound power screamed a warning.
MOVE.
Quint twisted his head just in time—a bullet whizzed past, barely missing him.
It buried itself into a tree behind him.
Base C.
Quint immediately shifted his rifle, angling it toward the new threat.
He had barely peeked through his lens when another warning surged through his profound power.
He dropped his head just as another bullet flew past, missing him by mere centimeters.
Quint didn't bother looking again.
Instead, he trusted his profound power completely.
Without hesitation, he pulled the trigger.
A second later, his device updated.
Score: 2,500 points. Base C—eliminated.
Quint huffed, lowering his weapon.
The siblings were out.
Only one opponent remained
Now, it was just him and the teenager.
Quint knew the teenager wouldn't shoot him now.
If he did, he would only gain 1,250 points, which wouldn't be enough to surpass the eliminated participant from Base A, who still had 1,500 points.
That meant Quint controlled the game now.
There was no reason for him to shoot more targets and increase his score—doing so would only make him a better target for the teenager to steal points from.
By staying at 2,500 points, he left the teenager with no winning move.
Whether the teenager attacked him or not, he couldn't win.
Unless, of course, he changed tactics and started shooting the targets himself to accumulate his own points.
Quint stepped away from his rifle, walking over to a tree and casually sitting beneath it.
He opened his lunch box and ate at a slow, steady pace.
The forest was eerily silent, aside from the occasional rustle of animals in the distance.
Quint took his time, not rushing.
The game was his to control now.
All he had to do was wait.
After finishing his meal, he climbed up a tree and rested.
He didn't fall asleep, but closed his eyes, circulating his energy to accelerate recovery, replenishing his blood cells faster.
He stayed still, listening.
An hour later, a gunshot shattered the silence.
Quint smiled.
It was the most satisfying sound he had heard all day.
Another shot followed.
Still perched in the tree, he listened intently.
The shots had come from Base C.
So, the teenager finally made his move.
Quint grinned slightly.
Good.
The teenager had abandoned his original strategy and was now shooting targets to gain points.
Quint descended from the tree, taking his time cleaning his rifle before moving toward Base A.
Staying in one spot was no longer an option.
If the teenager was planning to hunt him down, then he needed to reposition before he became an easy target.
Base A, despite being further, had a better vantage point over Base C, which meant Quint could keep an eye on his opponent's movements.
As he moved, he tracked the gunshots.
Eight more shots.
Then, sudden silence.
Quint frowned.
That was too precise. Too calculated.
The teenager had fired exactly as many shots as needed.
Quint quickened his steps.
A thought struck him.
And he needed to confirm it.
Once he reached Base A, he didn't bother setting up his rifle fully.
Instead, he immediately checked his surveillance lens.
No movement at Base C.
Quint's eyes narrowed.
The teenager was on the move again.
It was opponent-hunting time.
This guy wasn't just good—he was smart.
That also meant his earlier information wasn't trustworthy.
If the teenager was this strategic, then there was no way he had only memorized four bases.
He likely knew more than he admitted—including Base B, the one location Quint didn't know.
Quint paused, weighing his options.
The sun was sinking lower, casting long shadows through the trees.
There were still over ten hours left in the round.
But the game would end immediately if only one participant remained.
Now, he had two choices:
1) Hunt the teenager down in this vast forest and end the competition quickly; 2) Stay put, hold his ground, and let the teenager make the first mistake.
Quint chose neither option outright.
He decided to hunt the teenager, but not recklessly.
Charging into the forest without knowing his opponent's position would only waste energy.
Right now, the teenager's points were still far lower than his own.
That meant the teenager had two possible strategies:
Continue hunting animals to increase his score. Hunt Quint directly to steal his points.
Quint needed to figure out which it would be.
He sat cross-legged beneath a tree, closed his eyes, and activated his other senses.
During their brief interaction yesterday, Quint had memorized the teenager's scent.
It was a faint mix of gunpowder, leather, and something sharper—possibly a distinct cologne.
If the teenager was on the move, the wind might carry traces of his scent.
Quint waited, breathing evenly, letting the wind speak to him.
The sun dipped further, and darkness spread quickly across the valley.
He heard movements below—the quiet rustling of nocturnal animals emerging from the underbrush.
A cool breeze drifted down from uphill.
It carried something faint.
Quint's eyebrows furrowed slightly.
A scent.
It was so subtle that he couldn't be entirely sure, but…
There were no known bases uphill.
Unless—
Base B.
The only missing base location.
Before Quint could process that thought further—
BANG!
A gunshot echoed through the forest.
But not from above.
From Base E—off to his right.
Quint snapped his eyes open and immediately grabbed his rifle.
He cursed not upgrading it with night vision.
Still, he aimed toward the source of the shot.
Strange.
His profound power didn't show him anything.
Another gunshot roared from the same location.
Quint didn't hesitate.
Even without his profound guiding him, he pulled the trigger and fired toward the source of the shot.
CLANG!
The bullet struck something.
But there was no scream.
No sound of pain.
Something wasn't right.
A thought flashed through Quint's mind.
But before he could process it—
His profound power SCREAMED a warning.
Danger.
NOW.
Quint spun instinctively.
Too late.
A bullet ripped past his right shoulder, tearing through flesh and muscle.
Pain exploded through his arm.
He gritted his teeth, biting back a cry.
Without wasting a second, he snatched up his rifle with his injured arm and propped it against his shoulder.
His profound power lit up.
A marker appeared—high above, in the darkness.
The teenager's location.
Another warning.
Another shot was coming.
Quint had two choices:
Dodge—or shoot first.
He chose the second.
He ignored the pain searing through his shoulder, inhaled sharply, and pulled the trigger with a violent roar.
The force of the shot slammed against his wounded shoulder—agony lanced through his body.
But at the same time—
He twisted his head at the last possible second.
A bullet scraped past his helmet.
A breath too late, and he would've lost.
Silence.
Then—
A guttural, pained cry from above.
Quint quickly checked his device.
His vision was blurring from pain, but when he saw the numbers—
His smile widened.
2,875 point.
He won.
@@@@@ AUTHOR's NOTE @@@@@
I have to admit it was fun writing this chapter. Do you like it ? If you do, please vote with power stone. Thank you :)