American comics: I am full of martial virtues and I love to be kind to others.

"Seven against two, and you actually won?" Jason exclaimed incredulously.

“I have a great partner,” Lynn said, looking at Wolverine with a smile.

Wolverine snorted, but a smile also appeared on his lips.

“That’s incredible,” Jason said. “Okay, I’ll arrange everything. The blizzard is expected to arrive tonight, but I’ll send medical teams and support troops as soon as it’s over. Until then, stay safe.”

“Yes, sir,” Lynn said.

After hanging up the phone, Lynn took a deep breath of the crisp, polar air. He was aching all over and exhausted, but his heart was filled with peace and contentment.

"Are you tired?" Wolverine asked.

“I’m exhausted,” Lynn said honestly, “but it was worth it.”

“Then rest,” Wolverine said. “Leave the guard duty to me. You’ve done enough.”

“Thank you, Logan,” Lynn said sincerely. “Thank you for always being here, and thank you for teaching me so much.”

“Don’t get sentimental, Hall,” Wolverine said, but with a warm tone. “You’re a good student and a trustworthy comrade.”

Lynn took one last look at the snowfield, then turned and walked toward the temporary camp.

The predicted blizzard did not arrive as expected the following morning. The sky remained clear, though the wind was stronger than the day before, and the snow dust it blew up sparkled like diamonds in the sunlight.

Lynn woke up in his sleeping bag, his muscles protesting the previous night's battle. The pain in his ribs reminded him that his injuries hadn't healed, but at least it wasn't as sharp as last night, with every breath feeling like a knife cutting through his skin. He carefully sat up and discovered that Wolverine was no longer in the shelter.

As Lynn stepped outside, he saw Wolverine standing on the high ground, gazing into the distance like a statue.

"Good morning," Lynn said as she walked over, her voice ringing out clearly in the crisp air.

“You slept for six hours,” Wolverine said without turning his head. “That’s a pretty good sleep for someone with a broken rib.”

"I'm probably just too tired," Lynn said, stretching his stiff body. "Is something wrong?"

“No, it’s perfectly quiet,” Wolverine turned around. “I patrolled the entire restricted area twice and didn’t find any new intruders. The traps are all intact. It seems last night’s lesson has deterred the gene hunters from coming back for the time being.”

Lynn nodded and walked toward where they were temporarily holding the prisoners. The six members of the gene hunters were tied up in different places, far enough apart that they couldn't help each other escape. They all looked disheveled, and some were shivering—not entirely from the cold, but more from fear.

"Are they alright?" Lynn asked.

“Living, though not very comfortable,” Wolverine said, “I gave them water and some food. I didn’t want them to die before reinforcements arrived.”

Lynn checked on the prisoners and, after confirming they were not in mortal danger, returned to the camp. His stomach began to protest—he had only eaten some energy bars and dry rations since noon yesterday.

"How are our food supplies?" Lynn asked.

Wolverine walked over to their supply pile and took stock. "Not good. We have about a dozen energy bars left, three packets of freeze-dried food, and two cans of food. If we eat sparingly, it might last us two days."

“But the aid won’t arrive for at least three days,” Lynn pointed out. “And that’s the most optimistic estimate. If the weather changes suddenly, it could take even longer.”

“That means we’ll have to find our own food,” Wolverine said, a glint of excitement in his eyes. “I also want to stretch my muscles. Last night’s fight was exciting, but it ended too quickly.”

You mean hunting?

“Of course,” Wolverine grinned. “This snowfield teems with all sorts of wild animals—caribou, seals, Arctic hares, and even the occasional walrus swimming ashore. We only need to hunt one, and that'll be enough to feed us for days.”

Lynn considered it for a moment. His FBI training included basic wilderness survival skills, but he didn't have much experience hunting in polar environments. However, with an expert like Wolverine around, there shouldn't be any problems.

“Good idea,” Lynn agreed, “and it also creates some distance, so if the gene hunters send people to monitor us, they won’t be able to find our location immediately.”

“Your tactical thinking has improved,” Wolverine said approvingly. “Then let’s head south. There’s a relatively flat snowfield there, where caribou herds often roam. And it’s far enough away from the restricted area that we won’t disturb the mother and cubs.”

The two quickly packed up their gear. Lynn checked his pistol and spare magazines; while a pistol wasn't ideal for hunting, it was better than nothing. Wolverine, on the other hand, took nothing—to him, his six claws were his best weapons.

"Are you sure you don't need weapons?" Lynn asked.

“I’ve hunted most of my life empty-handed,” Wolverine said. “Believe me, claws are more effective than guns—at least for me. And hunting isn’t just about weapons; it’s about skill, patience, and understanding your prey.”

“Then let’s treat today as another survival training lesson,” Lynn said.

“You learn very quickly, Hall,” Wolverine said. “I’ve seen many so-called elite soldiers who are not much better than city white-collar workers in the wild. But you’re different. You have the ability to learn, and more importantly, you have the will to adapt.”

The two began their trek south. About half an hour after leaving camp, the surrounding terrain gradually opened up. The snow was thicker here, but the permafrost underneath was relatively flat, forming a vast snowfield.

“Keep quiet and observe the ground,” Wolverine whispered. “Look for animal tracks—footprints, droppings, signs of foraging. In this environment, any sign of life is obvious.”

Following instructions, Lynn carefully observed his surroundings. At first, he couldn't see anything; all the snow looked the same. But gradually, he began to notice subtle differences—the snow was slightly compacted here, there were some irregular depressions there, and there was a small patch of slightly darker color in the distance.

“Over there,” Lynn pointed east, “what are those marks?”

Wolverine glanced at them and nodded. "Good eye. Those are Arctic hare tracks, but they've been there for several hours. We're looking for bigger prey." They continued on, Wolverine stopping every now and then to crouch down and examine the ground, or to sniff the air. Lynn realized that this seemingly empty snowfield was actually full of information that only experienced hunters could decipher.

"What do you smell?" Lynn asked, seeing Wolverine stop and sniff again.

“Caribou, a herd,” Wolverine said. “The scent is fresh, probably a kilometer or two away. The wind is blowing in our favor; they won’t be able to smell us.”

"One or two kilometers? You can smell it that far?"

“A mutant’s sense of smell is no joke,” Wolverine said. “I can identify most creatures within a few kilometers. And not just the ones currently in the air, but I can also tell when they passed by by their lingering scent.”

“That’s practically cheating,” Lynn said half-jokingly.

“That’s called talent,” Wolverine corrected. “But even without my sense of smell, you can learn to track. Look here,” he pointed to a series of shallow tracks on the ground, “these are left by a herd of caribou moving. Judging by the depth and distribution of these footprints, you can estimate the size of the group—about seven to ten. The edges of the footprints are still clear, indicating they haven’t been there long. And look in this direction,” he pointed ahead, “they’re moving towards that lowland area, where there might be lichen or other food.”

Lynn carefully observed the details Wolverine pointed out, trying his best to memorize this knowledge.

“What we need to do now is follow them, but keep our distance,” Wolverine continued. “Caribou have excellent eyesight and are very alert. We need to use the terrain for cover, approach against the wind, and attack when we're at the right distance.”

The two began to stealthily follow the reindeer herd. Wolverine led the way, his movements surprisingly gentle—such a large man made almost no sound as he moved across the snow. Lynn tried his best to imitate him, but his boots still occasionally made a slight crunching sound on the snow.

“Lighten your steps,” Wolverine whispered, turning back. “Don’t step directly down; instead, test the ground with the outside of your foot first, feel the firmness, and then slowly shift your weight. Imagine you’re walking a tightrope; every step should be conscious of your thought process.”

Lynn adjusted his pace as instructed. Indeed, although this movement was slower, it made much less noise.

After walking for about twenty more minutes, Wolverine suddenly raised his hand, signaling to stop. He pointed to the back of a small hill ahead, "They're over there."

The two climbed a small earthen mound and cautiously peered out from the edge. Sure enough, about three hundred meters away, on a relatively flat patch of snow, a herd of reindeer were digging through the snow with their hooves, nibbling at the lichen and moss beneath.

Lynn counted them; there were nine in total—two adult males, three adult females, and four fawns.

"Which one are we targeting?" Lynn asked in a low voice.

“That one,” Wolverine pointed to a slightly out-of-group adult female deer, “she’s a bit far from the herd and looks a little lame, probably injured before. Her meat should be decent, and hunting her would have the least impact on the herd—not a crucial male for reproduction, nor a mother with cubs.”

"You're also considering the ecological impact?" Lynn asked, somewhat surprised.

“I’ve lived for over a hundred years and witnessed too many species go extinct due to overhunting,” Wolverine said, his tone turning serious. “I may be a hunter, but I’m not a butcher. Taking only what I need and respecting nature—that’s my principle.”

Lynn nodded, his respect for Wolverine growing even stronger.

“Now, I’ll demonstrate the correct way to hunt,” Wolverine said. “Watch closely.”

He began to move towards his target, his movements so slow they were almost imperceptible. Whenever the reindeer herd looked up warily, he would come to a complete stop, blending into the background. Only when they lowered their heads to continue foraging would he take a few more steps.

Lynn stared in disbelief. Wolverine moved across the open snow like a ghost, without attracting any attention. The distance was gradually decreasing—three hundred meters, two hundred meters, one hundred meters, fifty meters.
The target doe seemed to sense something, raising her head, ears perked up, and nervously looking around. But she couldn't see anything—Wolverine was already lying motionless in a shallow pit.

After a moment, the doe relaxed and lowered her head to forage again.

In that instant, Wolverine moved. His transition from stillness to sprint was almost instantaneous, his speed like lightning. Snowflakes billowed behind him, leaving a white trail.

The reindeer herd scattered in panic, but it was too late. Wolverine caught up with his target in seconds, leaping up and landing precisely on the side of the doe.

Lynn didn't see the exact movements—it was too fast—but when the snowflakes began to fall, the doe lay motionless on the snow. Wolverine stood beside her, his claws already retracted.

The entire process was clean and efficient, causing almost no pain to the prey.

Lynn walked over, and Wolverine was crouching next to the doe, his eyes closed, seemingly in mourning.

“This is a Native American tradition,” Wolverine explained, opening his eyes. “After taking a life, you give thanks for its sacrifice, for the bounty of nature. I learned it a long time ago from a Cree friend.”

“I understand,” Lynn said, silently thanking the animal that provided them with food.

“Alright, now it’s time for the hard work,” Wolverine stood up. “We need to deal with this big guy and then bring the meat back.”

"How do we handle it?" Lynn asked, though he had some wilderness survival training, he had limited experience in dealing with large prey.

“First comes the bleeding, then the gutting and dismemberment,” Wolverine said, getting to work. “Watch how I do it; next time you might need to do it yourself.”

Wolverine's movements were practiced and precise. He carefully sliced ​​open the doe's neck veins with his claws, letting the blood flow onto the snow. Then he gutted her, removing the internal organs—the liver, heart, and some edible parts were carefully preserved, while the rest were left on the snow to become food for other scavengers.

"Aren't you going to eat these offal?" Lynn asked.

“Some things are edible, and very nutritious,” Wolverine said. “Like liver, which is rich in vitamin A and iron. The heart is also a good cut of meat. But we don’t need to take it all; leave some for other life on this land—foxes, ravens, even polar bears. That’s how nature works; nothing goes to waste.”

Next came the dismantling of flesh. Wolverine demonstrated how to separate limbs along the joints, how to peel off skin, and how to cut chunks of flesh. His claws displayed astonishing precision in this process—weapons capable of cutting through steel, now moved with the finesse of a scalpel.

“Look here,” Wolverine pointed to a piece of meat on the hind leg, “this is the hind leg meat, the fattiest part. This is the tenderloin, the most tender part. These are the ribs, perfect for stewing.”

Lynn studied diligently, occasionally helping to secure the positions or collect pieces of meat. The whole process took about an hour, and when they were finished, they had about forty kilograms of usable meat in front of them. (End of Chapter)