Path of Dragons - A LitRPG Apocalypse (BOOK TWO STUBBING AUGUST 15)

Most people were under the impression that, if someone wanted to be a sniper, the most important skill to possess was being a good shot. While being able to hit what you were aiming to hit was necessary, Gun held a different opinion. To him, the most important trait was patience.

He’d never been on a mission where completion didn’t hinge on it.

Once, he’d spent two days lying in a field as fire ants ate at his legs, creeping forward a couple of feet an hour so he could get in range of his target. He didn’t eat. He barely drank. He just focused on doing what was necessary to complete the mission. If he’d moved any faster, the patrols might have found him. If he’d come from a different direction – one with real cover – they definitely would have. So, he’d done what he had to do.

And he had completed his assignment, much to the surprise of the probably-CIA operatives who’d recruited him for what they thought was a suicide mission. After that, he’d become their go-to assassin, and they’d made a habit of, every now and again, showing up and snatching him out of the barracks to take out high-value targets well behind enemy lines.

No spotter. No squad. Just him and the mission.

It was meditative, in a way. Even with all the hardships and danger that came with going it alone, he found the simplicity of it soothing.

The same feeling enveloped his mind as he lay in a crevice between two rocks, observing the man he was going to kill. He’d watched Elijah Hart for almost three days – no easy feat, given the man’s ability to transform into what appeared to be a rainbow-colored dragon. Still, Gun was more than capable of following his path, which had led to the camp of oddly large goblins.

To Gun, they seemed perfectly at home in what had once been the Himalayan Mountains. Impressive, really, considering how much larger and more dangerous the range had become. The wildlife had followed suit, with mountain goats as big as horses and predators capable of hunting prey of that size.

But nothing in the area could hold a candle to Elijah Hart.

The man moved through the wilderness with impunity. A rarity in a world fraught with threats that would make anyone think twice about traveling overland. Of course, Hart flew as often as he ran, and any creature stupid enough to attack him would soon find itself on the wrong end of natural selection.

Gun watched through the scope of his new rifle as that monster-in-human-skin pretended to be what he so obviously was not. He played the role of jovial wanderer, but anyone with a lick of survival instincts would recognize him for what he was – an apex predator.

Still, Hart stuck to his part, even handing fruits to the goblin children. Even from so far away, Gun could see them sway on their feet, evidence that those were no normal fruits. Likely, they were packed with ethera – and he’d watched Hart eating them like candy.

And then it happened.

Mid-conversation, the man jerked his head in Gun’s direction. His heart leaped into his throat, but he didn’t move a single muscle. He didn’t even blink. His finger crept to the trigger as he readied himself to take the shot.

By all rights, there was no way Hart could sense him in any way. Gun was hidden beneath a ghillie suit that perfectly matched the terrain, and on top of that, he’d used Low Profile as well.