American variety show: Sniper Elite

Chapter 107 Battle (Third Update)
Beta kept a two-meter distance from the man.

The man lunged forward, his wrist flicking, and a folding knife appeared in his palm.

Beta never expected that this scruffy guy would be hiding a folding knife.

Beta took a half step back, using his left hand to catch the man's wrist as it slashed downwards, and then smashed his right fist into the man's throat.

The man reacted quickly, blocking Beta's heavy punch with his left hand while simultaneously changing the angle of his folding knife, the sharp blade hooking towards Beta's left wrist.

Beta raised her knee and thrust it into the man's abdomen, using the momentum to pull back. She quickly retracted her left hand, creating distance between herself and the man again.

Beta looked down and caught a glimpse of the torn cuff on his left wrist. The fabric had a clean slit; if he had reacted even a fraction of a second slower, his tendon would have been severed.

Beta drew his belt from his waist, flicked his wrist, and the belt taut, transforming into a rigid ruler-like weapon. The man lunged again, and Beta swung his arm, the belt striking him directly.

The man hastily raised his arm to block, taking the blow head-on. His right hand then thrust the folding knife straight at Beta's chest.

Beta gripped her belt tightly with both hands, parrying left and right, precisely deflecting the man's repeated thrusts.

The man's attacks were repeatedly thwarted, so he stepped back to create distance and switched to gripping the knife in a reverse hand.

Beta seized the opportunity when his opponent retreated and quickly adjusted his posture.

Holding the belt with both hands, his body slightly turned to the side, his front foot lightly touching the ground, he used a rapier thrusting motion. He took several quick steps forward, his belt snapping repeatedly, striking the man's chest, abdomen, and shoulder where he couldn't defend, forcing his opponent to retreat continuously.

After a brief fight, the two distanced themselves again.

Beta's eyes gleamed with the excitement of spotting prey. Despite being ambushed at the start, the two were now back on equal footing, and he was determined not to let this bastard get away.

Beta didn't care why he attacked him.

It doesn't matter.

This bastard must die today.

The man's eyes were dark and fierce, like those of a wounded wolf. He didn't know where he came from, or even who he was. He had no memories, no past, only a perhaps false name: Jason Bourne.

He woke up on a fishing boat with a gunshot wound in his back and a laser stick with an account number engraved under his skin in his buttock.

But his ingrained instincts and muscle memory of killing techniques told him that he could not back down, could not be afraid, and could not give up.

The man in front of him nearly hit him with his car the first time, lurked near his safe house for a full sixty minutes the second time, and just now, the man drove back.

Jason couldn't confirm the other person's identity, but he decided to take the initiative, grab the guy, and get to the bottom of things.

As it turned out, this person was no ordinary stalker, but a highly trained agent. Based on the available intelligence, Bourne was almost certain that this was yet another assassin sent by the CIA to silence him.

He would never let this person leave alive.
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After a brief stalemate, the two clashed again.

This time, Jason changed his tactics.

Instead of dodging Beta's attacks, he forcefully took two stabs with his shoulder, broke into Beta's defensive circle, and aimed his sharp dagger straight for Beta's throat.

"Clang!" Beta parried the first blow with his belt, and by the time he managed to block the second, Jason had already tucked his weapon under his arm. When the third thrust came, Beta decisively abandoned his weapon and took two steps back.

"Whoosh!" A whip kick deflected the third thrust, and a spinning kick neutralized the fourth. In those two movements, Beta successfully created distance between himself and Jason again.

Jason's belt, tucked under his arm, softened and returned to its normal, supple state. Beta had pressed the switch before the weapon slipped from his hand.

Jason grabbed the "spoils of war," but in the heat of the close-quarters combat, he had no time to examine them, so he tossed them aside.

At the same time, Beta slightly raised his right knee and pulled a butterfly knife from a hidden pocket in his ankle. With a crisp "click," the sharp blade appeared between his fingers and was firmly held in his right hand.

Beta was almost unharmed, except for the disguise mask that had been ripped apart by the airbag and torn off by himself at the temple. At this moment, half of his face was a fragment of a human skin mask, and the other half was real skin, like a two-faced man who had stepped out of a horror movie.

In contrast, Jason was in a much worse state. His right shoulder wound was still bleeding, his face was covered in dust and abrasions, and the scab on his forehead had congealed. His bulletproof vest was covered in dirt, and splinters of wood from when the wooden pallet was shattered by bullets during the earlier firefight in the warehouse remained in his hair.

Beta had to reassess this opponent; the scumbag's tenacity was beyond imagination.

Even after being hit in the right shoulder and falling from the railing into a pile of trays, despite such intense exertion, Beta still managed to nearly die several times. This almost superhuman resilience reminded him of John.

The two took a step forward simultaneously, closing the distance between them.

Jason aimed his blade straight for Beta's ribs, but Beta grabbed his wrist with his left hand.

Beta thrust his right knee upwards, forcing Jason to hastily block with his left hand. In that instant, Beta slashed his right butterfly knife at Jason's left hand, which was blocking the knee strike.

Although Jason instinctively stopped quickly, the series of injuries and physical exhaustion had slowed his muscle reaction. The delay between thought and action resulted in the blade ultimately leaving a deep, bone-revealing wound on his wrist.

Blood immediately dripped from between his fingers and bloomed on the cement floor.

After landing a successful blow, Beta didn't hesitate. He aimed his butterfly knife directly at Jason's gunshot wound on the right shoulder, taking advantage of the enemy's weakness to expand his advantage—this was his fighting creed.

Jason took the blow with his bare flesh and blood.

As the blade pierced his shoulder, he gripped the folding knife tightly in his right hand and aimed straight for Beta's throat.

With a muffled thud as the blade pierced flesh, Beta suddenly exerted force with his left hand, deflecting the blade aimed at his neck at the last second.

The cold blade grazed his cheek, drawing a line of blood.

Using the force of the push, Beta raised his left elbow and delivered a vicious elbow strike to Jason's face, the dull thud of bones colliding was exceptionally clear.

The series of offensive and defensive exchanges was lightning fast, and both men sustained new injuries. Blood seeped from Beta's cheek, while Jason staggered backward from the elbow strike, blood spurting from his nose.

Jason was so struck by the powerful elbow that his vision went black for a moment, and he lost his sight instantly.

Beta seized the opportunity, pulling the butterfly knife, which was deeply embedded in Jason's shoulder, with his right hand. He first grabbed Jason's right wrist, which was holding the knife, and with a "slice," severed the tendon in Jason's wrist.

The folding knife clattered to the ground.

Immediately afterward, Beta gripped the knife hilt tightly with both hands and plunged it into Jason's neck. He had intended to attack his ribs, but the bulletproof vest on Jason's body forced him to abandon that idea.

In his dazed state, Jason instinctively raised his still-functioning left hand to block.

(End of this chapter)