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The scavenging operation lasted less than half an hour.
The two met at the entrance of the "mansion" they had selected earlier.
"How'd it go? Find anything good?" Leon patted his bulging pockets, stuffed with shotgun and handgun ammo, a triumphant look of success on his face.
Noah didn't answer, simply handing over the items in his hand.
One was the crude regional map, and the other was the leather notebook recording the ecology of the parasites.
Leon took the map first, unfolded it for a look, and raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Farm, Church, Lake... It seems Hunnigan's intel was correct. Our next destination is clear."
Then, his gaze fell upon the leather notebook emitting a strange odor.
He flipped through a few pages, and as he saw those morbid, twisted drawings of parasites, the smile vanished from his face, replaced by a professional seriousness and disgust.
"These damn things... Looks like this is what's controlling those Villager." He snapped the book shut and shook his hand in disgust, "I really want to burn this hellhole to the ground."
The two briefly exchanged information and, without further delay, began heading toward the windmill direction Hunnigan had pointed out.
Just as they were about to leave this bloody block and prepare to cross a narrow alleyway, Noah's steps suddenly halted.
He didn't turn around, but merely tilted his head slightly, his gaze crossing his shoulder toward the towering mountain cliffs in the distance.
Leon was looking down, checking the safety on his shotgun, and didn't notice Noah's subtle pause.
"What's up?" he asked casually.
"Nothing," Noah's voice was calm. "Just thinking the scenery here is actually quite nice."
The night was deep, and thick fog surged through the mountains.
But on that far-off cliff edge, outlined by the moonlight, a red figure stood quietly, like the only splash of bright color in the dark night.
It was a tight-fitting red hip-hugging sweater, and below were black leather pants wrapping around long, slender legs, outlining breathtaking curves.
The distance was too great to see her face clearly, but that iconic outfit and that aloof, solitary aura said everything.
A trace of warmth still lingered on the muzzle of the sniper rifle in her hand; clearly, she had watched the entire battle on the rooftop from start to finish.
Taking advantage of the moment Leon looked down to organize his gear, Noah raised his hand and waved toward that distant splash of red.
On the distant cliff, Ada clearly captured Noah's movement through the lens of her binoculars.
She saw his calm profile and his waving hand.
The corner of her mouth behind the lens curled into a helpless yet slightly playful smile.
She lowered the binoculars and leaned against the cold rock, shrugging her shoulders.
This man always managed to discover things others couldn't.
The red figure merged cleanly into the darkness behind the cliff and disappeared.
Noah withdrew his gaze, acting as if nothing had happened.
The two soon arrived at the "mansion" whose door Leon had kicked open earlier.
This place was much more spacious than the other dwellings; inside, besides the essential daily necessities, there were some things that seemed out of place.
A massive bookshelf was filled with various religious texts and some old books with yellowed covers.
A large, crudely stuffed bear skin hung on the wall, the bear's head still frozen in a roar, its glass eyes reflecting a faint light in the gloom.
Leon's gaze was quickly drawn to a large oak table placed right in the center of the room.
The table was cluttered, scattered with empty wine bottles, dried inkwells, and a pile of metal parts of unknown purpose.
Amidst this mess, a spread-out piece of paper covered in writing stood out particularly vividly.
Leon stepped forward and picked up the paper.
Noah leaned in as well.
The texture of the paper was rough, and the writing was in a dark ink, the handwriting scribbled yet forceful.
[Village Alert Order]
"Recent intel indicates that American agents will be investigating this village. Be careful not to let them come into contact with 'that person'."
"In any case, that person has been moved out of the Farm and is currently locked in the Waste Area. Once preparations are complete, he will be transferred to the heavily guarded Valley."
"Until then, do not let the Americans get near him."
"Additionally, we need to figure out why the U.S. government has targeted this village for search. After all, at this point in time, it hardly seems like a coincidence. We must accelerate our actions."
"Stay alert, do not be negligent."
At the end of the paper was a flamboyant signature.
— Village Chief Bitores Mendez
Leon gripped the paper, his expression sinking bit by bit.
"Someone leaked our whereabouts."
This wasn't just a matter of increased mission difficulty; it meant that within the organization he and those behind him represented, there was an invisible enemy.
A threat from behind was far more lethal than a chainsaw-wielding madman charging from the front.
"Nothing to be surprised about."
Noah's voice interrupted Leon's thoughts.
He took the order from Leon's hand and read it again, his expression unchanged.
"There are always some restless characters."
Leon looked up at Noah, reading something deeper from the other's overly calm expression.
"You don't seem surprised at all?"
"Why be surprised?" Noah folded the order paper and put it in his pocket.
"Whether it's the government or some companies hiding in the shadows, the interior can never be a monolith. Where there is light, there must be shadows. Some do it for ideals, some for power, and some... just for money."
He paused and added: "Our mission information is, for some people, a commodity that can be sold to the highest bidder. That's all."
Leon fell silent.
Having been an agent for so many years and having experienced countless life-and-death crises, he naturally understood this truth.
It was just that when betrayal actually landed on his own head, the anger of being sold out was still hard to suppress.
"Fine." Leon took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing the fire in his heart. "Complaining won't help now. At least we know two things."
He held up two fingers.
"First, the order mentions 'that person' and specifically instructs not to let us contact him. This shows that 'that person' is very important to them, and he might... not be one of them."
"Second, 'that person' might have been moved to a place called the 'Waste Area', and the next location is the 'Valley'."
Noah nodded in agreement.
"An imprisoned person of unknown identity. Maybe another investigator with the same goal as us, maybe a local resistance fighter, or even... possibly a villager who knows the inside story."
"No matter who he is," Leon clenched his fist, "we have to find him. He's likely the key to unraveling all the mysteries here."
The two said no more and left the Village Chief's house.
With a clear goal, their actions became more direct.
Following the map and Hunnigan's guidance, they soon found an intersection gate made of two thick wooden planks at the western edge of the village.
The gate wasn't locked, just barred from the inside with a thick wooden bolt.
Leon stepped forward, grabbed the bolt with both hands, and applied muscle. With a harsh scraping sound, the heavy wooden bolt was slowly pulled open.
Together, they pushed open the creaking wooden gate.
Behind the gate was a muddy path winding downwards.
On both sides of the path were steep earthen slopes and sparse, twisted trees.
The mist in the air seemed even thicker than in the village, mixed with a unique scent of livestock manure and rotting fodder.
They walked along the path for a distance.
A fair-sized Farm appeared before their eyes.
Several low sheds and barns were scattered around the Farm. In the enclosures surrounded by crude wooden fences, a few cows were grazing leisurely, and a flock of sheep huddled together, letting out "baaing" sounds.
In the mud nearby, several black pigs were rooting for food, and a few chickens strolled around them as if no one were there, pecking at grain on the ground.
Everything here looked startlingly normal.
The cows, sheep, pigs, and chickens had shiny coats and healthy physiques, showing no signs of infection.
This vibrant scene formed an incredibly absurd and eerie contrast with the dead, blood-soaked village they had just left.
It was as if they hadn't just pushed open a gate, but a boundary separating Hell from the human world.
In the distance, a massive wooden windmill was facing the wind in the Valley, making a monotonous "creak-creak" sound, turning round and round tirelessly.
It was like a silent giant, overlooking this secluded land.
Leon led the way cautiously with his gun raised, his boots making "squelch-squelch" sounds as they stepped into the wet, soft mud.
His nerves didn't relax in the slightest.
This abnormal "normalcy" made him more uneasy than facing monsters directly.
"Careful," he lowered his voice, "it's too quiet here."
Noah followed behind him, his gaze like radar, quickly scanning every corner of the surroundings.
His senses were heightened to the limit.
The sound of the wind, the turning of the windmill, the distant calls of livestock, the sound of feet treading on mud... every sound entered his ears clearly.
However, amidst this normal background noise of the Farm, a discordant static noise abruptly intruded.
It was a heavy, wheezing sound... the sound was weighted, like an old bellows being laboriously pulled. Every inhalation and exhalation carried a viscous quality, as if the throat were filled with thick phlegm.
Wheeze... gasp... wheeze... gasp... The sound drew closer, seemingly moving slowly from behind the largest barn not far away.
Leon heard it too.
He stopped abruptly, turned sideways, and pressed his back tightly against an abandoned Farm trailer, his shotgun already aimed at the direction of the sound.
The previous ease was gone from his face, replaced only by total alertness.
Noah ducked behind a large haystack. He didn't raise his gun immediately but lowered his center of gravity, his ears twitching slightly as he carefully discerned the source and distance of the sound.
That wasn't human breathing.
Nor was it a sound any animal he knew could make.
It was massive, heavy, and filled with pain and suppressed rage.
Wheeze... gasp... the sound got closer, and he could even feel the ground beneath his feet vibrating extremely slightly, almost imperceptibly, with every step the thing took.
The animals on the Farm that were originally leisurely also seemed to sense the threat.
The cows stopped chewing and raised their heads, flicking their tails uneasily.
The sheep began to stir, huddling together and letting out bursts of terrified bleating.
Even the pigs rolling in the mud stopped their movements and pricked up their ears alertly.
Wheeze—!
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