The Return of the Cannon Fodder Trillion Heiress - Chapter 781

Chapter 781: Chapter 781 Making A Move
“Go, look for them! They’re all heavily injured, probably dying by now. We just need to find their bodies and bring them back to the boss. He’ll have his fun with that motherfucker before sending him to hell. After all, that bastard still has that pretty face—wouldn’t be a waste to have some fun with it, even if he’s already dead. His ass will still work just fine.”

The words came out like venom, dripping with vile intent, and the man laughed cruelly.

Hera’s blood turned to fire at the sound of those words. She clenched her fist so tightly that her nails dug into her palm, her entire body trembling with rage.

Without thinking, she wanted to charge in, tear that bastard’s tongue out, and make him regret ever speaking about Leo like that. But she knew she couldn’t—she had to stay calm. Her fury, though, burned through her like an unrelenting storm.

The enemies’ laughter rang out, loud and carefree, as if they were completely unaware of the danger that silently surrounded them. They didn’t even notice that they had already been trapped, flanked by their unseen enemies.

Instead of grouping together in smaller, more strategic teams, they wandered aimlessly through the area, their movements disorganized. They poked their rifles through the tall, tangled grass, unaware of how exposed they were.

One of the men, spotting a half-dead rabbit twitching weakly in the grass, grinned cruelly. He shoved the barrel of his rifle into the gaping wound the rabbit had sustained from the earlier explosions.

The rabbit convulsed, its life fading away in agonizing spasms. The man laughed, an ugly, mocking sound, as if the sight brought him pure amusement.

As if that wasn’t enough, he pressed the muzzle of his rifle directly to the rabbit’s head, and with a savage grin, he pulled the trigger.

Bang… Bang… Bang…

The sound of the gunshots echoed through the jungle, a sharp, unsettling noise that pierced the air. Instantly, his comrades froze, their laughter dying away as they became alert. From a distance, one of them called out, his voice tinged with unease.

“What was that?!”

“Don’t worry! I’m just putting a dying rabbit out of its misery!” the man shouted with a twisted grin. “Aren’t I a good man?”

He guffawed maniacally, staring down at the rabbit’s headless corpse before spitting on it with cruel satisfaction.

But before he could laugh again, something—no, someone—moved.

A shadow leaped from the foliage, swift and silent. A gloved hand clamped tightly over the man’s mouth. His eyes widened in shock, but he couldn’t scream. A blade flashed, and in one clean, practiced motion, his throat was slit open.

Reflexively, his fingers twitched on the trigger of his rifle. A burst of gunfire tore through the air again—sudden, sharp, and loud.

But this time, no one came running.His comrades, still under the impression he was fooling around with dead animals, paid it no mind and continued their search, laughing and shouting in the distance.

The assassin quickly dragged the lifeless body into the tall grass, letting it disappear into the undergrowth, just another corpse in the chaos to come.

“Young Miss, one man down,” the captain reported calmly as he returned to his position beside Hera.

Hera had witnessed everything—that man, cruelly and perversely tormenting a dying animal. There was no doubt in her mind: these men were the worst kind of scum, the kind who caused nothing but harm.

Without hesitation, she gave a subtle nod to the captain at her side, wordlessly instructing him to take action.

Moving with practiced ease, the captain dropped low and began crawling across the uneven ground, the tall grass and scattered debris offering partial cover.

His movements were precise, each movement deliberate as he slithered through the underbrush like a shadow. The enemy, oblivious and caught up in his sadistic amusement, never noticed.

When the man fired at the rabbit, the captain seized the opportunity. The loud burst of gunfire masked the faint rustle of dry leaves under his approach. Drawing closer with each shot, he timed it perfectly.

Just after the man shouted his sick joke into the open air, the captain made his move—swift, silent, and lethal.

And sure enough, after the man loudly confirmed he was just fooling around, no one gave the next gunshots a second thought. Even as more shots echoed through the area, his comrades dismissed them as part of his sick game.

The enemy had spread out carelessly, without even the slightest coordination or regard for watching each other’s backs. They were too arrogant—too convinced that Leo and his team were already as good as dead.

Blinded by overconfidence and the thrill of potential rewards, all they could think about was being the first to find Leo’s dying body.

The idea of dragging him back to their boss, broken and beaten, was all the motivation they needed to keep pushing forward—reckless and unaware that they were walking straight into a trap.

Swoosh!

One by one, the enemy vanished into the shadows.

Hera’s soldiers struck with ruthless precision, dragging their targets silently into the underbrush. In a blur of movement, throats were slit or necks snapped—each kill swift and efficient. The veterans pinned their victims with practiced ease, straddling them from behind, limbs immobilized under their weight, muffling their mouths before a sound could escape.

Yet, despite their comrades disappearing one after another, the rest of the group remained oblivious. Scattered in loose formation through the forest, dozens of them wandered aimlessly, unaware they were already being hunted.

Hera didn’t stay idle—she seized her chance, just like the others. At first, the veterans tried to hold her back, worried for her safety, but she slipped past them when they least expected it. Her smaller frame made it easier to maneuver through the forest; she was light, quick, and agile.

Every step she took was measured and silent, blending seamlessly with the rustling of grass and the sinister, constant laughter of their enemies. The sounds masked her movements well, allowing her to vanish into the shadows like a ghost.

It wasn’t until the sniper team caught sight of Hera crouched behind a tree—her stance poised like a leopard waiting for its prey to turn—that they realized she had made a move. The sniper’s hands trembled as he whispered into the comms, “Y-Young Miss, y-you might get hurt…” Despite his concern, he was ready to back her up the moment anything went wrong.

His warning alerted the others. A few snipers instinctively turned their scopes toward her position, while the rest of the main team began stealthily repositioning to provide support. But before anyone could reach her, they saw her spring into action.

With breathtaking agility, Hera launched herself into the air, using the tree trunk as leverage to push herself even higher. Her legs hooked around the neck of her unsuspecting target from behind, and with a swift, fluid motion, she slammed him to the ground.

A final twist of her body—and a sickening crack—signaled the end of her target before he could make a sound.

For a moment, silence filled the comms. The veterans near Hera and the snipers watching from afar were stunned. None of them had expected this.

Hera’s movements were swift, fluid, and precise—each one executed with the confidence and control of someone highly trained in close-quarters combat. Her mastery was undeniable.