The moment the duel was announced, both men leaped for the cover of nearby boulders. But in the very instant of his lunge, Morgans aimed his rifle and unleashed a five-round burst! The action instantly caused the pupils of every ranged Contractor watching to contract sharply.

It is common knowledge that accuracy plummets during high-speed movement, especially against a Stalker—it was considered a reckless waste of ammunition. Yet, facts speak louder than assumptions: everyone instantly saw two blossoms of crimson erupt on the arm of the "Ponytail" Contractor! This reality immediately sobered the faces of the other Stalkers. Fang Senyan even overheard their exchange:

"Be careful, Romantsov might lose. That guy with the gold might have mastered moving fire!"

Having taken two hits right at the start, Romantsov was effectively behind the starting line. If both stuck to passive defense, even minor injuries meant his percentage health pool would trail Morgans's; therefore, Romantsov’s only path to victory was aggressive offense.

But the iron law of the battlefield dictates: defense always holds the advantage over offense! Especially in a timed siege scenario like this!

Yet, as Romantsov gritted his teeth and charged from cover, he discovered Morgans was already standing clear of his own concealment, waiting for him! Morgans’s desire to attack was far more intense than his own!

The fierce crackle of gunfire erupted once more.

Both men engaged in tactical evasion, but for Romantsov, though the first bullet missed, burrowing into the ground near his feet, the subsequent spread of pale blue ice instantly numbed his feet, causing his movement speed to drop sharply. Consequently, the next four rounds found their mark without fail! Upon striking Romantsov’s body, they detonated with explosive force!

However, Romantsov managed to counter-attack while being struck. The grenade launcher mounted beneath the muzzle of his M41 spat out a smoking projectile. It executed a subtle arc in mid-air, following Morgans’s lunging form directly toward him!

Amidst the echoing explosion, Morgans felt a sudden numbness and heat across his chest, followed by intense pain spreading throughout his body! Only his preemptive roll prevented a vital strike, yet Morgans’s willpower and endurance were extraordinary. He let out a "Wha—" spitting blood, and before he even landed, he squeezed the trigger again. Fiery bullets crisscrossed the air, slamming the attempting counter-attacker, Romantsov, brutally back into place.

Time marched on relentlessly. Romantsov grew more cautious in his firing. Even powerful Stalkers remained fragile unless they deliberately fortified their stamina and vitality. But Romantsov had become accustomed to his opponent’s strategy of flushing enemies out like chasing rabbits, allowing him, the heavy fire specialist, to unleash terrifying barrages. In this one-on-one confrontation, he felt ill-equipped. (In jargon terms, it was like an LVL 80 VE Sharpshooter fighting a LVL 70 Beast Mastery Hunter.)

Watching the minutes tick away, both men continued to chip away at the other’s life force. Morgans’s health was down to about 60% when Romantsov did something astonishing... With a sudden roar, his body began to glow with a blood-red light that then soaked into his rifle, making the entire weapon turn scarlet!

Then, Romantsov lifted the M41 as if it were a heavy machine gun, vaulted out of cover, and slammed his foot down hard, striking a classic Rambo pose, and pulled the trigger!!

This was Romantsov’s tier ability: Arctic Bear’s Fury. For its duration, bullet penetration increased by 300%, accuracy improved by 30 centimeters, critical hit rate rose by 50%, and ammunition became infinite!!

Immediately, Morgans, who had taken cover behind a large rock, watched as stone chips flew. The boulder seemed to be incessantly hammered by dozens of invisible chisels; dust billowed as the rock thinned by nearly a third in moments! In mere seconds, this cover would vanish completely from existence.

Thus, Morgans had no choice but to charge out, firing from the air. His M47 spat out a powerful tongue of flame, but Romantsov’s M41 streamed out a scorching line of fire that physically pierced straight through Morgans’s torso. In terms of sheer damage output, even three of Morgans's rounds couldn't match a single bullet from the ability-enhanced M41.

The instant his five-round burst ended, Morgans discarded the gold weapon. In that critical moment, he whipped out the Spartan Lance and hurled it without hesitation. The bolt of lightning instantly crossed the distance between them, blasting Romantsov backward!

Critical Condition!

Kneel!

Double Cleave!

Morgans, hammered by bullets, tumbled repeatedly before slamming onto the ground face-down. Yet, moments later, using his M47 for support, he scrambled back up. Though clearly exhausted, he wiped the blood from his mouth and face, nonchalantly chewed his gum, and smiled at Romantsov.

Romantsov, slumped in defeat, his eyes burning crimson, let out a furious, wild roar!

"This... this is impossible! He's cheating, he must have taken drugs!"

The remaining Stalkers certainly noticed the strangeness. They knew the power of Arctic Bear’s Fury; Romantsov had landed at least four solid hits on the black man. For someone specializing in agility, those four shots should have inflicted devastating damage. Unless he had specifically bolstered his stamina, he shouldn’t have survived without entering Critical Condition. But if he had boosted stamina, his offensive power couldn't possibly be this high.

However, the duel was sanctioned by the spatial contract; cheating was impossible. This left only one explanation: the shooter before them possessed battlefield recovery capabilities! The space might forbid the use of consumables, but a Contractor’s inherent personal abilities could not be suppressed.

If the defeat of the previous Contractor wielding the katana could be dismissed as Morgans capitalizing on circumstances, the second Stalker’s failure was completely against expectations. Faced with this turn of events, a tall Stalker with a head of white hair spoke gravely:

"Airos, you go."

His utterance clearly established him as the leader.

A refined-looking Stalker stepped forward and bowed slightly:

"I obey your will, Prince Stallo."

Prince Stallo reached behind his waist and drew a sidearm. It was a pistol, looking dull and unassuming at first, but under the Prince's grip, it began to emit a faint golden radiance. This light didn't seem inherent but rather as if it had been gilded onto the surface.

Evidently, Prince Stallo was reinforcing the weapon. Far away, Morgans, though calmly re-bandaging himself and puffing a cigar, couldn't help but narrow his eyes—because the weapon in Prince Stallo’s hand was unmistakably a Glock pistol.

Only an expert would know that, judged purely on artistic merit, a Glock was not a handgun but a piece of sidewalk brick yanked from a latrine wall. However, this ugly piece of hardware was the most favored pistol by law enforcement agencies in Europe and America since the 1990s. The Glock unequivocally prioritized function over form.

If one felt their pride wounded after firing a Colt, a Beretta, or even a Type 54, firing a few rounds with a Glock would instantly restore a shooter's confidence. The near-perfect ergonomics of the Glock allowed novices to hit targets easily, and for professional marksmen, using a Glock required virtually no adjustment time.

The Glock’s structure, simple to the point of being crude, made maintenance easy (only 5 separable parts including the magazine), and its reliability was terrifying. In Glock durability tests, a randomly selected Glock was frozen into a block of ice, buried in mud and slurry, dug out and shaken clean, submerged in seawater and retrieved, dropped from fifty meters onto concrete, and run over repeatedly by a ten-ton truck. After every ordeal, 100 rounds were test-fired—and it failed zero times. The Glock was like a brick: utterly lacking in taste, but the most effective weapon in combat!

After holding the pistol for about five seconds, Prince Stallo casually tossed it to Airos. Now, looking closely, the Glock’s exterior remained ordinary, but the frame was engraved with intricate patterns, shimmering with a thin layer of gold light.

As Airos caught the pistol, his wrist immediately dipped downward, preparing to add his support hand for a two-handed grip, but the moment his hands closed around the weapon, it was as if his entire essence—spirit, energy, and mind—coalesced into it!

Airos's hand suddenly twitched, causing the Glock's muzzle to tremble as it spat out three bullets, separated vertically—top, middle, and bottom—tearing through the air with a hiss directly toward the waiting Morgans outside! But the duel hadn't officially begun yet!

As chaos and murmurs filled the air, through the dissipating smoke, the three bullets struck with impossibly tricky trajectories: one zipped past Morgans’s ear, one extinguished his cigar, and the third grazed right across his eyes! The intent to provoke was glaringly obvious!