Landlord in the Arctic

Hearing this, Gordon and his three men felt a little disappointed.

They had actually wanted to join the operation to rescue Jenny and the others.

In terms of hunting experience, the fact that the four of them had poached in the Far North Tundra for years without ever failing was proof enough of their skills.

On the ice-covered Tundra, they had hunted plenty of animals—not just Taiga Wolves, but even musk oxen, a protected species.

But seeing the resolute look in their boss’s eyes, they knew they had no choice and could only silently accept the task of guarding the vehicles.

Then, Gunpowder opened the SUV’s trunk, pulled out several bulging duffel bags, and tossed them onto the snow.

The bags looked heavy, their zippers strained by the contents packed within, as if they might burst at any moment.

Yves stepped forward, dragged one of the duffel bags over, and brought it before Feng Mountain.

He unzipped the bag to reveal neatly folded sets of white camouflage uniforms, lightly stained. Alongside them, equipment like helmets and windproof goggles was arranged tidily.

"Boss, this is snow camouflage," Yves said, taking out a set and handing it to Feng Mountain. "This gear is designed specifically for combat in the snow. Wearing it, you’ll blend in perfectly with the environment."

The other veterans also grabbed their camouflage and began to change, their movements swift and practiced, clearly familiar with this type of gear.

Feng Mountain and Nash followed the veterans’ example, competently putting on the gear.

I have to say, once they had the full camouflage on and nestled into the snow, it was truly difficult to spot them unless you were actively looking.

The white camouflage blended into the surrounding snowscape, and the messy stains on the fabric were the perfect finishing touch, making them look like a natural part of the icy world.

"Cool! Guys, your gear looks awesome! Let me get a picture to post on Twitter."

Little Tom, who had been chattering away at Diego off to the side, saw the veterans putting on their snow camouflage, and his eyes immediately lit up.

Like a child, he instantly abandoned Diego.

He bounded over in just a few strides, eagerly whipped his phone out of his pocket, and struck a pose, ready for a selfie.

"This is so cool! I have to let my followers see this."

SMACK!

Nash reacted with lightning speed, his hand shooting up to smack the phone out of Little Tom’s grasp.

The air instantly froze.

"Hey, my phone!" Little Tom wailed, caught completely off guard.

Heartbroken, he quickly squatted down to retrieve his phone from the snow, muttering, "I just bought this phone not long ago..."

Yves’s face darkened, clearly furious with Little Tom’s actions. He turned angrily and shouted to Gordon, "Lock him in the car for now! Don’t let him out before we leave!"

Gordon and his three men were already bottling up frustration over being excluded from the rescue operation.

They had an even worse opinion of Little Tom, who had inexplicably joined them midway and was now constantly causing trouble.

Hearing Yves’s command, they didn’t hesitate. They strode over, grabbed Little Tom by the arm, and began to forcibly drag him toward the car.

"Hey, hey, hey! Guys, take it easy."

Little Tom struggled as he was shoved into the car.

Just as the door was closing, his hand moved quickly, and he managed to snap a photo.

Through the car window, he looked out at Feng Mountain and the others, a slightly smug smile on his face.

The rescue team was soon ready.

Yves scanned the team. Including himself, there were eight experienced veterans, plus Feng Mountain and Nash—eleven men in total.

Despite this, Yves still felt a faint sense of worry.

He walked up to Feng Mountain and warned him with a serious expression, "Boss, this operation is no small matter. You must follow orders. Whatever you do, don’t get hot-headed and charge in recklessly."

Feng Mountain nodded grimly. He understood Yves’s concerns and was well aware of his own limitations.

’Rescuing hostages isn’t the same as hunting. An animal might just stand there while you take your shot, but people are different.’

’Even a Witch would die from a bullet to the head.’

Next, Yves, now wearing a white face mask, began to assign tasks.

"Steering Wheel, Wild Ox, you two are on point. Scout ahead. Stay vigilant, watch our surroundings, and report anything unusual immediately."

"The rest of you, spread out and maintain distance. Boss, you and Nash will take the rear."

"Now, check your weapons."

Everyone began to check their weapons.

The air was filled with the sound of bolts being pulled back and the crisp, sharp clicks of metal, which sounded especially jarring in the silence.

A series of short, firm responses followed.

"OK!"

"OK!"

Feng Mountain and Nash carefully inspected their pistols. After confirming they were in good working order, they too replied, "OK."

"Move out!" Yves commanded, sweeping his hand forward in a powerful arc. The short, forceful order cut through the air.

Two veterans broke from the group, their movements nimble and athletic, with AR-15s slung across their chests.

Instead of following the road, they headed for a snowy mountain in the distance, their firm strides leaving a trail of deep footprints.

Seeing this, the others quickly formed a single-file line and followed close behind.

As the team advanced, no one made a sound. Everyone was focused, moving forward in silence, the only noise being the soft CRUNCH of snow under their boots.

Once they entered the mountains, the two scouts, with their exceptional mobility and concealment skills, quickly vanished from sight.

However, contact between them and the main team was not broken.

Only Yves communicated with them periodically over the radio, relaying information to ensure the entire team could advance quickly through the complex terrain.

Sitting in the car, Little Tom watched with wide eyes as the bustling group of over a dozen men vanished into the vast, snowy landscape like ghosts in the blink of an eye. Filled with envy, he couldn’t help but exclaim...

"Man, they’re so damn professional. You can tell they were soldiers, right?"

Hearing this, Parker, one of the four poachers, curled his lip in disdain. Annoyance written all over his face, he said sourly, "Yeah. I heard they’re all retired from front-line units. Served in Iraq and Afghanistan."

The more Parker thought about it after he spoke, the angrier he became, feeling his talents were being wasted. "Still, why are we the only four stuck guarding the cars?"

The other man, the bearded Abbot, chimed in to agree.

"Exactly. This environment is nothing compared to the Tundra. I could handle a few lowlifes on my own. Back when the boss caught us, if it hadn’t been for our crappy gear, we might not have been the ones who lost that night."

Abbot waved his arms as he spoke, as if reliving the bitterness of that night.

’What kind of Witchcraft Artifacts had the four of them been using, anyway?’

’Three Remingtons and a Ruger American Rifle.’

’Meanwhile, Yves and his five men had AR-15s, M16A4s, and HK416s—all of them modified automatic weapons.’

’And the boss, that madman, was using an MG42 general-purpose machine gun.’

’That night, tracers and bullets rained down, whizzing over their heads.’

’Forget poaching—you couldn’t withstand that kind of firepower even on a battlefield.’

"Shut up!" Gordon shot a warning glare at Parker and Abbot. "Don’t bring up the past. You two, behave yourselves and don’t cause trouble for the boss."

Then, he glanced pointedly at Little Tom and Diego.

It was a clear hint for them to forget what they’d just heard.

Realizing their mistake, Parker and Abbot instantly clammed up, their faces tense with anxiety.

Little Tom, who had been listening with rapt attention, was practically beside himself with frustration, his face twisted in anxiety.

Suddenly, the phone in his pocket vibrated.

Since the gossip had dried up, he secretly pulled out his phone. He unlocked it to see a series of text messages from his uncle.

With a flicker in his eyes, Little Tom quickly and surreptitiously sent the photo he had just taken. Then, his fingers tapped out a new message: Reindeer Ski Resort.

Just then.

An angry shout exploded like thunder next to Little Tom’s ear.

"You bastard! What are you doing?"

...