Chapter 8: The Onslaught

After leaving the secret room, Han Feng first locked all the doors and windows, then drew every curtain so tightly that no one could glimpse the situation inside the house. Carrying his sniper rifle, he ascended to the attic on the third floor. The walls surrounding the attic were reinforced with five-centimeter-thick steel plates, transforming it into a miniature fortress.

Each of the four walls featured a sniper port. Han Feng set up his rifle facing the main entrance, and placed several magazines loaded with ammunition beside him. Since he didn’t know when the pirates might arrive, he could only prepare as thoroughly as possible.

If he were alone, Han Feng would never have chosen to wait in the house for a defensive battle. He would have retreated into the forest to engage the enemy in guerrilla warfare, exploiting his strengths to slowly hunt them down. But now, with a delicate young woman in tow, there was no way to play that deadly game. So he chose the battleground he knew best—his own home.

Having done everything he could to prepare, Han Feng entered the kitchen, his hands moving skillfully among pots and pans. As a true gourmand, he never neglected his appetite when circumstances allowed.

A perfectly cooked soft-boiled fried egg, several slices of ham seared to a crisp, a layer of Thousand Island dressing spread between two slices of multigrain bread, and a steaming cup of oat milk—all together, a simple yet nourishing breakfast appeared before him. Naturally, he made two servings.

“Why is it so dark in here? Did you close all the curtains? I thought it was still before dawn,” came a graceful female voice from the stairs. A beautiful figure descended slowly, “Hmm, it smells amazing. You can cook?”

Han Feng switched on the dining room chandelier, carried the breakfast to the table, and smiled, nodding at her. “You’re awake—have something to eat.”

Ye Tianyi yawned and rubbed her eyes, her lovely almond-shaped eyes still drowsy. She wore a white thermal sweatshirt with cartoon prints, and deep blue fitted jeans that accentuated her slender, toned legs.

She took a seat at the table, her pert nose twitching as she inhaled the aroma. “Smells wonderful. I won’t stand on ceremony!”

Her slender fingers wrapped around the delicious-looking sandwich. Her dainty mouth opened, and her neat, white teeth bit into it.

“Your cooking is wonderful—better than our family’s professional chef!” Ye Tianyi praised between bites, the rich flavor of the soft-boiled yolk blended with the crisp ham and sweet dressing, tantalizing her taste buds. A sip of hot milk swept away the bad mood lingering from her earlier fright.

“I’m glad you like it. I was worried you wouldn’t be used to it.” Han Feng’s eyes shone with amusement.

Thunder rumbled, heavy and oppressive, echoing between heaven and earth.

Han Feng’s gaze suddenly sharpened. He heard the roar of a small spaceship’s engines. Though the sound wasn’t very close and was masked by the thunder, it was unmistakable. The enhancements to his physical attributes had greatly amplified his senses—he could hear more clearly, see farther.

He wolfed down the sandwich in a few quick bites, strode to the window, and parted the curtain to look outside. Near his villa, the only place suitable for landing a small spaceship lay four kilometers beyond the main gate—a patch of open ground.

There, a small vessel was parked, resembling a civilian craft. Over a dozen armed figures emerged swiftly from the cabin, advancing directly toward the villa.

“What’s wrong?” Ye Tianyi asked, puzzled.

“Quick—come with me!” Han Feng grabbed her hand and rushed to open the secret room. “Stay inside and don’t come out!”

“What’s happened?” she asked again.

“Pirates,” Han Feng replied calmly.

He moved rapidly to the attic on the third floor, kneeling with his right leg and half-squatting with his left before the sniper port. His left elbow rested on his knee, supporting the rifle, forming a stable triangle with the weapon and his arm.

He adjusted the scope’s magnification to four times. Thanks to his enhanced vision, he needed no higher magnification.

Through the scope, thirteen fully armed pirates stood silently. One, a burly white man with a silver spiked hairstyle, raised his left hand and operated something on the virtual screen of a wrist-mounted portable computer. He glanced toward Han Feng’s villa.

Apparently confirming the target’s location, the white man gestured, and the other twelve pirates fanned out in a wing formation, advancing swiftly toward the villa.

The Angel Group’s pirates were well-trained, covering each other as they moved, unlike the ragtag crews of smaller pirate bands who’d blindly charge in chaos.

Han Feng’s rifle remained trained on the white man. His shooting skills were already exceptional, and the intermediate firearms training from his system granted him a thirty percent accuracy boost. If the white man entered the maximum range of three thousand meters, Han Feng was confident he could kill him with a single shot, provided the man was caught off guard.

Just as the pirates were about to enter range, the white man suddenly halted.

He drew a pair of binoculars from his jacket and scrutinized the lone villa in the distance.

The villa comprised two floors and an attic, surrounded by neatly trimmed flower beds, suggesting long-term habitation. Its doors and windows were tightly shut, curtains drawn, and no lights were on in the gloomy weather, making it impossible to see inside. One might wonder if anyone was actually there, yet the signal from the locator confirmed the target was ahead.

A smooth dirt path led directly to their feet, flanked by low lawns—open terrain with nowhere to hide.

The white man, naturally, was Barlow. His acute sense of danger made him uneasy, and a sudden pang of anxiety had prompted him to pause, inadvertently saving his own life.

Barlow signaled, and two pirates—small, agile, and equipped only with pistols and knives—split left and right, stealthily approaching the villa.

They advanced a thousand meters; still, there was no sign of movement from the villa, as if no one were inside.

Barlow wondered if he was being overly cautious.

But at that moment—

Boom! Boom!

Two deafening explosions erupted.

The pirate to the left lost his entire lower body in the blast, his torso drenched in blood with his organs pulverized—he’d stepped on a pressure-triggered fragmentation mine.

On the right, the pirate encountered a tripwire directional explosive. The cunning mine leaped from a clump of grass and detonated beside his head, blasting away a third of his skull. Red and white brain matter splattered across the dead grass.

The remaining pirates stared at each other in shock. Barlow’s expression was grim.

None had expected a simple kidnapping mission would land them in a minefield, and they’d brought no mine detectors.

“Suppressive fire!” Barlow ordered with a wave.