Starting to Gain Experience from Push-Ups Chapter 1431 - 691:

The clouds of the summer night pressed extremely low, with not a bit of starlight penetrating the wilderness.

The storm was approaching, and a fierce wind suddenly arose.

The howling wind bent the fields of green corn stalks flat to the ground, rushing along and crashing towards the solitary Peace Farm on the outskirts.

This farm, usually inconspicuous, now seemed like a dormant wild beast in the night wind.

Three low houses surrounded a central two-story main building, with only a few dim lights seeping through.

"Bang—"

The glass windows in the downstairs living room shook violently from the wind, as if ready to shatter at any moment.

A calloused hand reached from the side, lifting a corner of the curtain.

This was a thin, bamboo-like man.

He squinted, his gaze passing through the dusty glass via the slit in the curtain, coldly sweeping the dark wilderness outside.

The man had a miniature communicator tucked in his ear.

In the dim light, an eerie green indicator light flashed rhythmically.

"Position One, clear view, no abnormalities."

A deep male voice came from the communicator.

"Position Two, secure, not even a stray cat seen outside."

"Position Three, all normal."

Several different reports emerged one after another in the channel.

The thin man listened, slightly tilting his head, waiting for the final confirmation.

About five seconds later, a faint electrical sound came through the communicator.

Followed by an emotionless mechanical voice:

"Command post, clear vista, zero targets, completed."

The thin man released his fingers, and the heavy curtain fell again, isolating most of the wind noise outside.

He turned around, his gaze sweeping over the messy living room.

The family portrait frame on the wall was shattered, glass fragments scattered everywhere.

The sofa was slashed open with several large gashes, revealing yellowed sponge inside.

And in the deepest corner of the living room, the original owners of this house, a family of four, were curled up on the floor.

The male head of the family was bruised and swollen, with a blood clot on his forehead, dark red blood congealing at the corner of his eye.

The female head of the family had her hair disheveled, clothes in disarray, trembling as she shielded the two children in her arms.

The twelve-year-old older sister and eight-year-old younger brother were pale with fright, whimpering.

All four were bound hand and foot, their mouths wrapped three to four times with thick industrial duct tape.

The little boy’s tears mixed with mucus flowed incessantly, smearing the edge of the tape, his sobs muffled in his throat.

The couple watched their children suffering, their eyes full of anguish and fear, unable even to speak comforting words.

They dared not make too much noise, fearing harsher torture.

They could only press their legs tightly together, trying to use their frail bodies to shield the children from the sight of the criminals.

The thin man walked over to the tattered sofa and sat down, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and placing it in his mouth.

At the other end of the sofa, a burly, tattooed bald man bowed his head, methodically wiping a serrated military knife with an oily cloth.

In the slightly swaying incandescent light, the blade reflected a chilling glint.

The burly man paused, turned his head, and surveyed the family of four repeatedly.

"I really don’t understand what use it is keeping these pigs breathing?"

He huffed disdainfully, complaining:

"The whole room reeks of fear-induced urine, giving me a headache, dizzying me. I say, slicing their throats would be much easier."

The thin man lit the cigarette, exhaled a puff of smoke, and sneered:

"Blood Jackal, you’d better control your hands before the hunt begins. You know the boss’s rules, he detests the smell of rotting corpses."

The man called "Blood Jackal" snorted discontentedly, sliding his dagger into the leg sheath on his outer thigh.

Then he stood up, his military boots thudding heavily on the wooden floor.

He strode over to the corner, towering over the huddled family of four.

The woman trembled violently, desperately shrinking back into the corner.

The little girl squeezed her eyes shut, tears flowing uncontrollably.

"Heh, why bother with all this trouble?"

Blood Jackal grinned, revealing rows of yellow teeth.

Then he slowly crouched down, extending thick fingers to lightly scrape the little girl’s cheek, his voice filled with a nauseating hankering:

"If the boss allowed, I should have butchered them yesterday and hidden them in the fridge."

"The food in this damn East Capital is bland as sawdust, my stomach’s just lacking grease. These two kids look tender, if roasted, I bet they’d taste great."

Upon hearing this horrifying statement, the father’s eyes widened in shock and rage.

He emitted a muffled growl like a trapped beast and, disregarding his bonds, fiercely used his shoulder to thrust at Blood Jackal, trying to shove this demon away from his children.

"Bang!"

Blood Jackal remained unmoved at the spot, backhanding a vicious slap to his face.

The father flipped over on the ground, the tape around his mouth ripping open, spitting out two blood-stained molars.

Yet despite this, he curled his body, desperately struggling to move in front of his family, trying to protect them.

The thin man leaned back on the sofa, watching his companion’s crazed behavior, inwardly cursing him as a psycho, giving a warning:

"Blood Jackal, curb your sick tendencies. After dealing with those Illuminati rodents tonight, you can do as you please with this family. But for now, don’t invite trouble."