Desperate people, accept the seed of my soul!

That was a flamethrower with a range of eighty meters, covering an area the size of half a football field. Wherever the fire dragon passed, the air was scorched and distorted, and the ornamental grass on the lawn instantly curled up and turned black, emitting a pungent burnt smell.

A scorching wave of heat licked his back, and Liu Zhen could smell the burnt smell of his hair. He rolled to the side with Meng Zhaowen in his arms, sparks flying past his arms and burning his skin.

Meng Zhaowen's sleeve was already on fire. He slapped the flames out with his palm, and a row of blisters instantly formed on his palm, with fine beads of blood seeping from the edges of the blisters.

He seemed oblivious to the pain, frantically plunging his fingers into the soil, trying to awaken the dried-out grass roots, but nothing came of it—the life force of this land had long been wiped out by human intervention, leaving not even a single seed that could sprout.

The first wave of fire had barely passed when the second wave of attacks followed.

Four black SUVs simultaneously drove onto the lawn from the east and west, their tires screeching as they rolled over the scorched turf, while the automatic grenade launchers mounted on their roofs opened fire at the same time.

It was a flashbang grenade—six grenades exploded in the air at the same time, and the blinding white light instantly filled the entire space, ten times brighter than the midday sun. Liu Zhen's vision went blank for a moment, and tears welled up uncontrollably.

Then came a deafening roar of over 170 decibels, like a heavy hammer slamming into my eardrums. All I could hear was a sharp buzzing sound; I couldn't hear anything else. My stomach churned, and I almost vomited.

He instinctively curled up, covering his head with his hands, but the all-pervasive sound still penetrated his eardrums, making his temples throb and even causing the electric arcs at his fingertips to flicker.

The third wave of attacks followed immediately.

That was a precise burst of fire.

Four snipers opened fire from the roof of the main building. Specially made ceramic bullets grazed Liu Zhen's body and embedded themselves in the soil beside him with muffled thuds.

It's not about killing him—it's about pinning him down in this open area, preventing him from having any chance to move.

The bullet landed less than half a meter around his body, and the splashed dirt hit his face. Liu Zhen didn't dare to move. He couldn't see or hear anything, and if he got up, he would become a sitting duck.

From the moment the first steel bar broke through the ground to the end of the third wave of firing, the entire process took no more than fifteen seconds.

……

The burning pain felt like red-hot needles, piercing Liu Zhen's nerve endings again and again.

Shrapnel lodged in his left shoulder, and every breath ripped the wound apart. Warm blood trickled down his arm, dripping onto the scorching hot earth, where it instantly turned into dark red marks.

The tinnitus was still ringing, like someone was hitting his temples with a hammer, and the afterimages of flashbangs were still floating at the edge of his vision, making everything look like it was covered by frosted glass.

My right leg is completely numb from the knee down. If I try to move it, excruciating pain shoots up the bone.

The flamethrower behind me went off again.

The orange-red fire dragon licked the ground and rolled over, instantly curling and carbonizing the remaining blades of grass on the lawn. The pungent smell of burnt grass mixed with gunpowder smoke filled the nostrils, and the scorching heat wave made the clothes on the back of the body almost catch fire.

There was no time to catch your breath, no time to tend to your wounds. The shadow of death loomed close at hand; a second's delay would mean being burned to ashes.

Liu Zhen gritted his teeth, tried to get up by supporting himself with his right hand, but as soon as he propped himself up halfway, his right leg buckled and he fell back down heavily.

My elbow rubbed against the rough, scorched earth, scraping off a layer of skin, and it stung painfully.

He spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva, dug his fingertips into the soil, and with that little strength, he managed to prop himself up.

At the same instant, a cold hand reached out and braced his arm.

It is Meng Zhaowen.

Shrapnel was still embedded in his left leg, his trouser leg was blackened by blood, cold sweat dripped down his chin, half of his lens was broken, and sharp shards of glass cut a bloody gash on his cheek, blood droplets rolled down his jawline and fell onto the scorched soil, spreading into small, dark, damp stains.

His other hand was still tightly gripping the morning glory seeds in his trench coat pocket, his knuckles white from the force, and the blood seeping from between his fingers made the seed shells shine.

"Let's go." Meng Zhaowen's voice was hoarse, like sandpaper had been scraped. Without saying anything more, she grabbed Liu Zhen's arm and swerved to the side.

The bullets thudded into the mud at their feet, splashing mud that pierced their trousers, leaving dark brown holes.

Flames swept in from the left, and Meng Zhaowen grabbed Liu Zhen and lunged to the right. The two rolled into a shallow crater created by a grenade. Sparks flew past Liu Zhen's head, scorching a few strands of his hair.

There is no safe place.

Behind him was a dense barrage of fire, to his left and right were lines of off-road vehicles blocking his way, and above him were snipers' cold guns; every inch of space to move was sealed off by bullet trajectories.

Meng Zhaowen crouched in the shell crater, quickly scanning his surroundings—the windows of the main building were dark, like open eyes. Twelve mercenaries in black combat uniforms emerged from behind the off-road vehicle, advancing in a fan shape, their guns all pointed at the shell crater where they were hiding. The sound of their footsteps on the scorched earth grew closer and closer.

Ahead lies the main building, where Song Mingzhang resides, and their destination.

Behind them was the edge of the lawn blocked by the fire net, leaving no room to retreat.

"We can only move forward." Meng Zhaowen's voice was soft, but it carried a resolute determination, like burning one's boats. "Charge in, kill Song Mingzhang, and we'll have no chance of survival."

Liu Zhen nodded, pressed his left hand on the wound on his left shoulder, and pressed hard. The pain made him gasp, but the bleeding slowed down a bit.

A wisp of pale blue electricity leaped from his palm. Due to blood loss and the shockwave, the electricity was much dimmer than usual and its jumps were unstable, like a candle flickering in the wind.

He took a deep breath of the burnt air; his chest burned, but he forced himself to calm down.

Twelve people advanced in a fan shape, in groups of three, providing cross-cover, leaving no blind spots.

The three at the front were the slowest, and their flamethrowers were still emitting residual heat, posing the greatest threat.

Liu Zhen stared at the chest of the mercenary on the far right, where there was a gap in the combat uniform. If the electromagnetic induction could take effect, it could instantly penetrate his heart muscle and create a breach.

He closed his eyes and dispersed all his mental energy, trying to capture the bioelectric field fluctuations within the three people's bodies.

Just as his mental tendrils were about to touch the other person's nerves, a sharp pain suddenly exploded from his temple, as if someone had forcibly inserted a red-hot steel needle into his brain.

"Ugh—!" Liu Zhen groaned, his body swaying as he nearly fell over.

It is an electromagnetic interference device.

Those people had already prepared equipment to target his electric field, with the frequency precisely positioned on the resonant band of human nerve electrical signals. His outstretched mental tentacles were instantly shattered as if they had hit an electrified wall.

The violent backlash made his vision go black, the ringing in his ears became louder, and a warm liquid flowed from his nasal cavity, dripping onto his hand—it was blood.