As the time for the duel arrived, both men simultaneously leaped toward nearby rocks for cover. Yet, the instant Mogansa sprang forth, he unexpectedly aimed his A-gun toward his opponent, unleashing a five-shot burst that instantly caused the pupils of every ranged Contractor watching to contract sharply.

It is widely known that achieving accuracy while moving at high speed is exceedingly difficult, especially when the opponent is a Predator—it’s often considered a waste of ammunition. But facts speak louder than theories: everyone instantly saw two blossoms of crimson spray on the arm of the "Ponytail" Contractor. This sight immediately sobered the faces of those few Predators; Fang Senyan even overheard their exchange:

“Careful, Rotsov might lose. This guy with the gold A might have picked up a Mobile Shot skill.”

Having taken two hits right at the start, Rotsov was effectively behind from the starting line. If both sides maintained a passive defense, even his negligible injuries meant his percentage of health would inevitably fall behind Mogansa’s, assuming the opponent was uninjured. Therefore, to avoid losing, Rotsov had no choice but to press the attack.

But the iron law of the battlefield dictates: defense holds an advantage over offense, particularly in this type of timed siege scenario.

However, when Rotsov gritted his teeth and charged out of cover, he found Mogansa already standing clear of his own concealment, waiting for him. Mogansa’s desire to assault was far more intense than his own.

The fierce crackle of gunfire erupted again, intensely.

Both fighters engaged in tactical evasion, but for Rotsov, though the first bullet missed its mark and burrowed into the ground near his feet, the subsequent spray of faint blue ice immediately made his foot feel frozen, drastically slowing his movement. Consequently, the next four shots found their mark against Rotsov’s body without fail, detonating with tremendous explosions.

Yet, Rotsov managed a counterattack while being hit. A smoke-trailing grenade launcher affixed beneath the muzzle of his Type 4 gun spat out a grenade that ingeniously curved in the air, following Mogansa’s lunging form right toward him.

Amidst the resounding blast, Mogansa felt a numbing heat spread across his chest, followed by agonizing pain that surged throughout his body. It was only because he had preemptively rolled that he avoided a vital hit. Simultaneously, Mogansa’s willpower and endurance were extraordinary; after spewing a mouthful of blood with a shout, he pulled the trigger again before even landing, and the searing bullets crisscrossed in the air, blasting Rotsov, who was attempting to capitalize on his advantage, back in place.

Time sped by, and Rotsov became increasingly cautious in his shooting. Even powerful Predators are fragile unless they intentionally reinforce their stamina and vitality. Rotsov had grown accustomed to his opponent’s style of driving the enemy out like chasing a rabbit, and then the heavy-firepower user would unleash terrifying ordnance upon them. Facing this one-on-one situation, he felt distinctly out of sync. (To use WoW terminology, it was like an Level 80 Marksman Hunter fighting a Level 70 Beast Mastery Hunter.)

Watching the seconds tick away, both sides continued to erode each other’s health bit by bit. Even Mogansa’s health bar had dwindled to about 60 remaining when Rotsov did something… Suddenly, he let out a furious roar, and a blood-red light began to shimmer around him, seeping into his gun until the entire weapon glowed crimson.

Then, Rotsov gripped the A4A1 as if it were a heavy machine gun, leaped out of cover, and stomped his foot heavily onto the ground, adopting a classic Rambo pose, and squeezed the trigger.

This was Rotsov’s ultimate ability: Polar Bear’s Wrath. During its duration, bullet penetration increased by +30 centimeters, critical hit chance rose by 50%, and ammunition became infinite.

Instantly, Mogansa, who had been hiding behind a large rock, saw the stone chips fly. The rock seemed to be frantically chiseled away by dozens of invisible chisels; amidst the swirling dust, the rock thinned by nearly a third in moments. In just a few seconds, this cover would be utterly erased from existence.

Thus, Mogansa was forced to charge out, firing mid-air. His A47 also spewed forth a powerful tongue of flame, but Rotsov’s reinforced A4A1 spat its scorching bullets in an instantaneous, blazing line that tore straight through Mogansa’s body. In terms of sheer damage output, even three shots from Mogansa’s A-gun could not compare to a single shot from Rotsov’s now-empowered A4A1.

So, the instant his five-round burst ended, Mogansa ditched the Gold A. In that split second, he drew the Spartan Spear and hurled it without hesitation. The bolt of electricity instantly traversed the distance between them, violently blasting Rotsov backward.

Near-Death State.

Kneel.

Two-Hit Kill.

Mogansa, meanwhile, was hammered by bullets, rolling constantly before collapsing face-down. But quickly, he used the A47 to support his body and drag himself up. Though visibly exhausted, he wiped the blood from his mouth and face, casually chewed his gum, and smiled at Rotsov.

Rotsov, slumped defeated on the ground, immediately let out a savage roar, his eyes burning crimson:

“This… this is impossible! He cheated, he must have used items!”

The remaining Predators certainly noticed something amiss. They knew the power of Rotsov’s Polar Bear’s Wrath activation. He had landed at least four solid hits on the dark-skinned man. For a Dexterity-specialized fighter, those four hits should have dealt terrifying damage; unless he had specifically reinforced his Vitality, he shouldn't be anything but near death. But if he had reinforced Vitality, his offensive power couldn't be this high.

However, the duel was governed by a Spatial Contract; cheating was impossible during its duration. That left only one explanation: this gunman possessed battlefield regeneration capabilities. The Space could prohibit item usage, but it could not block a Contractor’s inherent personal abilities.

If the defeat of the previous Samurai sword-wielding Contractor could be explained away as Mogansa catching a lucky break, the second Predator’s failure was completely beyond everyone’s expectations. Facing the current situation, a tall Predator with a head full of white hair said gravely:

“Aiross, you go next.”

His word clearly indicated his leadership status.

A seemingly refined Predator stepped forward and bowed slightly:

“As you will it, Prince Stalo.”

Prince Stalo reached behind his waist and drew a sidearm. This sidearm appeared dull and dark at first, but under the Prince's grip, it radiated a faint golden sheen. The light did not seem intrinsic but rather as if it had been plated onto the weapon’s surface.

Evidently, Prince Stalo was reinforcing the weapon. Far away, Mogansa, though casually wrapping bandages and puffing on a cigar, couldn't help but have his pupils contract slightly, because the weapon in Prince Stalo’s hand was unmistakably a Glock pistol.

Only connoisseurs understood that, artistically speaking, the Glock was not a handgun but rather a piece of brick ripped from a street latrine wall. Yet, this ugly object was the most favored handgun among European and American law enforcement agencies since the 1990s. In the balance between form and function, the Glock unreservedly leaned toward the latter.

If your pride has been wounded by being shot with a Colt, a Beretta, or even a Type 54, a few rounds from a Glock will instantly restore your self-confidence. The Glock’s near-perfect ergonomics allow beginners to hit targets easily, and for professionals, using a Glock requires virtually no adaptation time.

The Glock’s simple, almost primitive construction not only makes it easy to maintain (only 5 loose parts, including the magazine, for cleaning), but its reliability is terrifying.

In Glock reliability tests, a randomly selected Glock was frozen into a massive block of ice, buried in sand and mud only to be dug out and wiped clean, submerged in seawater and then retrieved, dropped onto concrete from fifty meters up, and crushed repeatedly by a ten-ton truck. After each ordeal, test firing was attempted, and in all trials, not a single failure was recorded. The Glock is like a brick—crude and without finesse, but the superior weapon in combat.

Prince Stalo held the pistol for about five seconds before casually tossing it to Aiross. Looking closely now, the Glock’s exterior remained ordinary, but its frame was engraved with quite intricate patterns, shimmering with a thin layer of gold light.

Aiross caught the pistol, his wrist immediately dipping downward as he prepared to add his support hand for a two-handed grip, but the moment he grasped the weapon, it was as if all the spirit, energy, and focus in his entire body converged upon it.

Aiross’s hand suddenly twitched, causing the Glock’s muzzle to tremble as it spat three bullets that tore through the air along three different vertical paths—high, middle, and low—whistling directly toward Mogansa outside. But the duel hadn't officially started yet.

As the crowd murmured in confusion, they watched as smoke puffed out, and the trajectories of the three bullets were incredibly cunning: one passed just by Mogansa’s ear, one extinguished his cigar, and the third grazed right in front of his eyes—a blatant expression of provocation.