At the site of the wrecked vehicle, Steve Owen was still unaware that someone had unilaterally decided the fate of him and his group. At that moment, the others were thanking him—if not for the car explosion he had caused to scare off the anaconda, they would all be dead by now.
"Alright, enough. We'd better get out of here immediately."
Owen stopped the others from expressing their gratitude and reminded them of the danger. No one knew if that beast might come back, so the sooner they left, the better.
The group resumed their journey, though everyone now looked far more disheveled.
This time, the dynamic had subtly changed. Everyone, whether consciously or not, stayed close to Owen. He had unknowingly become the backbone of the group—pure jungle law at work.
After enduring two consecutive ambushes, the group was exhausted and parched. While the Amazon is a rainforest with abundant water, that water isn't always safe to drink.
In such hot and humid conditions, drinking unclean water and getting sick or inflamed could be deadlier than wild animals. Microbes and disease could kill you just as easily.
"Hold on."
Owen suddenly halted the group because Monica seemed to spot a familiar plant in the dense forest—water vine. Adrian was called over to confirm, and sure enough, it was water vine.
Adrian used his hunting knife to cut the vine—this was the same knife he had stabbed into the anaconda earlier. They'd thought it lost, but the blast had knocked it loose and returned it to him.
Adrian sliced the vine, pressed his mouth to the cut, and squeezed. Water flowed out like from a tap. After demonstrating, Owen followed suit, then Monica, and eventually everyone had their turn drinking their fill.
To be honest, the water from the vine didn't taste great—it had a strange flavor and astringent plant aftertaste. But it was clean and safe to drink, and that was all that mattered.
There was only one hunting knife among them, so Adrian acted as the group's server, helping everyone drink. When one vine ran dry, he cut another, continuing until everyone was satisfied.
"Thanks."
The last to drink, a young Black man named Danny, thanked Adrian. Adrian smiled and waved it off. The next second—whizz—a sharp arrow shot from the side, piercing through Adrian's skull and pinning him to a water vine. Blood flowed down, mixing with the vine's sap.
"Ahhh—!"
Carol let out a terrified scream.
A second later, another arrow flew toward her. Owen kicked her aside just in time, saving her life by a hair's breadth.
Owen pressed Monica down with one hand and rolled toward Adrian's corpse, grabbing the hunting knife from the ground and hurling it toward a thicket ten meters away.
As a professional counter-terrorist operative, Owen's reflexes were leagues beyond an ordinary person's. While most would respond to Adrian's death with fear and screaming, Owen immediately sought the shooter.
By tracing the arrow's trajectory, he quickly located the archer—a camouflaged man wielding a compound bow.
"Run—!"
Owen's thrown knife disrupted the archer's rhythm, and with his shout, the group scattered. Moments later, only Adrian's corpse remained pinned to the vine.
Owen led Monica in a zigzag dash through the woods, constantly changing positions. Every few seconds, an arrow embedded itself in a nearby tree—always dangerously close.
Indeed, the archer had locked onto Owen. That thrown knife had enraged him, and now he had abandoned all others to focus solely on Owen.
Up above, a drone recorded everything, transmitting it live to the broadcast studio and then streaming it to every viewer of the Killing Game.
Over the footage, the host's voice—Nick—began his commentary: "The contestant you see on screen is a professional hunter. Viewers who followed last year's broadcast should remember him. His nickname is 'Olympic Archer,' and he finished second in last year's game. He earned that title because he was once a professional archer for his country, having represented it in the Olympics and won a silver medal. His weapon is a compound bow, and the number of people who've died under that bow is countless…"
As the host gave his usual background spiel, the footage took another turn. Owen and Monica fled, with the archer relentlessly pursuing, his arrows landing just inches away each time.
Owen guided Monica, using trees for cover as they ran. The archer was an expert—not only was his aim deadly accurate, but his control of distance was impeccable. No matter how he chased, he maintained a consistent ten-meter gap, a range where Owen couldn't easily throw a knife or close in.
The sound of rushing water came from ahead. Owen ran toward a riverbank. The trees near the river were sparse, offering little cover. Just as he was about to change direction, he slipped on some moss, and both he and Monica fell to the ground.
At that moment, the archer loosed a deadly arrow—striking while they were down.
An intense sense of danger kicked in—time seemed to slow. In his vision, the arrow's four-edged tip spun toward him. Owen grabbed a broken branch and held it up just in time to block the shot.
The arrow was stopped by the wood, but its kinetic force sent both of them tumbling into the river. The current was strong. Owen failed to hold on, and they were separated by the rapids. They shouted, reaching for each other, but nature's power was overwhelming.
The archer reached the riverbank and tried to take another shot, but the two were now vanishing in the churning waters, sometimes visible, sometimes not. After a moment, they were gone. Frustrated, the archer gave up.
In the water, being separated from Monica left Owen in a panic. He kept trying to grab something, but the riverbed was slick, and he couldn't get a foothold. Finally, he was carried to a spot not far from shore, where he managed to grab a branch and stabilize himself.
Clambering ashore in a sorry state, Owen looked upstream—he had to find Monica. But in the river, he hadn't even seen which direction she had gone, and now he had no clue where to begin.
A sharp pain radiated from his left side—only now did he realize a jagged wound had opened on his left abdomen, likely from being scraped by rocks during the drift.
Blood mixed with river water dripped down. He had to stop the bleeding and disinfect it immediately—otherwise, he might be dead long before he could even think of finding Monica.
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