Chapter Seven Hundred Eighty-Two Old Fox

Gao Yang didn't have to wait too long—about twenty minutes later, three Tuareg people jogged leisurely over. When they discovered the bodies scattered on the ground, the panting trio didn't seem too surprised.

Under extreme exhaustion, one tends not to take things too seriously, and after Gao Yang's continuous attacks, which had already killed several of their group, the Tuareg people had become accustomed to occasional casualties. However, they only showed real anger after the veils covering the faces of the bodies were pulled off.

The person running at the front raised his gun and fired aimlessly around a few times, then simply sat down on the ground, and the other two followed suit, sitting listlessly.

"Rookies. These are three rookies," Gao Yang felt somewhat disappointed. Rookies weren't much of a threat to him, but he had yet to find a perfect opportunity to take out the Tuareg elder, whom he most wanted to eliminate.