Arga turned with a sharp gaze, his eyes alight with conviction. "If we're late, there may be nothing left for us to do."
Those words, simple yet profound, silenced any further protests. Patimura swallowed hard, recognizing the steadfast resolve of his leader. A faint smile crossed his face, despite the exhaustion gnawing at his body. In the silence that followed, he felt a sense of pride in carrying out this mission under the command of a leader who prioritized his people above all else.
Two more hours passed, and the shadow of the Kashgar valley village finally came into view. Yet, an unsettling sight greeted them. All the lights in the village were extinguished, leaving a blanket of darkness. Only a single faint light shone from the village hall, a place typically used for gatherings. Arga raised his hand, signaling the group to halt.
"Patimura," he said quietly, his voice nearly drowned by the rain. "And you two, how long have you been soldiers?"
Patimura straightened his posture. "I was a sniper, Your Majesty. My country mandated military service, so I'm well-versed in combat, both offensive and defensive."
Arga nodded, then patted his shoulder with trust. "Good. You're someone I can rely on."
A faint smile formed on Patimura's face. The fatigue seemed to dissipate under the weight of that praise. Arga then turned to the other two soldiers.
"And you two?"
"I served in the special forces, Your Majesty," one replied confidently.
"I'm a martial artist. I became a soldier after serving Lady Ningning before," said the other.
Arga nodded again, his tone now calmer, as if to reassure them. "No matter. What's important is that you follow the plan well, and you'll be fine."
A brief silence followed. Only the sound of rain filled the air, wrapping them in an atmosphere thick with tension.
"What weapons do we have?" Arga asked.
"We have fifteen arrows, two bows, four swords, and two knives," Patimura answered without hesitation.
"Any explosives?"
Patimura shook his head. "No, Your Majesty. In this world, there's no such thing."
Arga exhaled deeply. His gaze swept the surroundings, searching for answers in the darkness. The night was pitch black, with only faint moonlight reflecting off puddles, just enough to outline the distant village.
"We need to know their numbers before we attack," he finally said, his voice firm with unwavering determination. "Patimura, how many of your soldiers are holding out?"
"I stationed five here, Your Majesty. But after their last report of the raid, there's been no further information."
Arga pondered briefly before locking eyes with Patimura. "You're a sniper, right? I want you to sneak in and observe. Estimate their numbers."
"Understood, Your Majesty."
Without wasting time, Patimura dismounted. He took his bow and arrows, then disappeared into the shadows of the night. Only the sound of rain remained, its rhythm accompanying those who waited with bated breath.
Under the darkened sky and the relentless rain, Arga gazed far ahead. His resolve remained unshaken, even though this journey had only just begun. In his mind, he held one unyielding goal: to protect his people, no matter the cost.
Patimura crouched beneath the shadow of a large tree, feeling the cold, damp earth seep through his fingertips. Around him, the wind whispered softly, rustling the leaves with gentle motions, as if murmuring memories of the past that never truly faded. The days when he served as a military sniper flitted through his mind like hazy shadows. But now, his focus had sharpened once more, as though the barrel of a rifle still rested in his grasp, though all he had now were his eyes and instincts.
He drew a deep breath, calming the steady pounding of his heart. Each step he took was part of a silent symphony, a melody heard only by those who understood the art of hunting in stillness. Patience, the ultimate weapon of a sniper, had brought him here—creeping closer to the main hall of Kahsgar village, the epicenter of tonight's tension.
As Patimura approached the hall, his well-honed instincts took over. He crouched behind thick bushes, his eyes calculating the distance with near-perfect precision. About fifty meters from the main door, three guards stood with a half-hearted vigilance. Their eyes occasionally scanned the area, but their slouched postures betrayed their belief that any threat was far from reality.
From his hiding spot, Patimura mapped out an attack plan in his mind. Those three guards could be taken down with three precise shots, if only he still had his old rifle. But this time, all he had was a bow and arrows—weapons that demanded a closer, riskier approach.
His focus shifted to a partially open wooden window of the hall. Through the gap, he could see movement inside. Beyond the slit, fifteen armed men gathered, some standing stiffly on guard, while others talked and laughed casually. In a corner of the room, hostages sat huddled, frightened and powerless. Patimura quickly counted their numbers, noted their positions, and marked potential escape routes.
In the far corner of the hall, he noticed a large crate bearing a familiar emblem. Explosives, he thought, his trained military instincts confirming his suspicion. Worst-case scenarios began forming in his mind—a massive explosion that could destroy far more than just the hall.
Patimura recalled his long training as a sniper. The cold days filled with hunger, exhaustion, and endless waiting for a single perfect moment. He remembered lying motionless for hours, merging with the shadows and letting the silence become his ally. Tonight, all of that training proved invaluable.
One of the guards moved away from the main door, creating a small opening Patimura could exploit. With movements almost imperceptible, he crawled closer, adjusting his angle to gain a clearer view. He ensured no detail escaped his notice before finally deciding to retreat.
The journey back felt like a silent ritual, every step measured carefully, every breath kept steady. When he reached his group, Arga and the other soldiers greeted him with hopeful expressions.
"Your Majesty," he whispered, his voice steady despite his sweat-soaked and dew-covered body. "Thirty men. Fifteen inside the hall, three guards outside, and the rest scattered around the building. They're fully armed, and there's a large crate inside the hall. I suspect it contains explosives."
Arga nodded slowly, appreciating the detailed report. His gaze was sharp, yet there was a warmth that instilled confidence. "Well done, Patimura. Tonight, you are our eyes and ears."