Infinity: Kill your way through the movie world.

Forty-three years ago, during the demon invasion, he led a twelve-man squad to defend Montana's last line of defense.

The battle lasted seven days and seven nights, and only four people survived.

He had more than thirty scars on his body, three of which were so deep that the bone was visible. The army doctor at the time said, "It's a miracle that he survived."

He retired twenty years ago.

It wasn't that he couldn't fight anymore, it was that he was tired. Too many people had died in those years, and every name he knew eventually became an inscription on a tombstone.

He bought the abandoned farm, started raising sheep, and lived a simple, quiet, and peaceful life.

Then the angel fell down.

He sat at the entrance of the barn, watching the occasional blue light streak across the distance and the constantly updated battle reports on his communicator.

Watching Chicago being destroyed, watching Los Angeles being destroyed, watching the number 170 million people appear on the screen.

He took the old hunting rifle out of the attic and began to clean it.

In the 'Past Combat Records' section of the application form, he wrote simply: "Demonic Invasion Incident: Killed 27 demons; in the following 30 years, dealt sporadically with some escaped demons and vampires."

Twenty-seven demons.

This number, if placed today, would be enough to make any young Witcher's eyes widen.

But when Marcus wrote, he simply typed it out calmly, line by line.

Only two of his recommenders are still alive.

One was a former comrade-in-arms who is now in a wheelchair and can barely speak; the other was a former subordinate who is now in the North American theater of operations, named Dean Winchester.

He sent Dean a message: "Please recommend me."

Dean replied with three words: You fucking still alive?

Marcus looked at those three words and his lips twitched slightly.

His hand was very steady when he pressed the submit button.

Seventy years have passed.

His hands remained steady throughout.

A field hospital behind the Paris defense line in the European theater.

Twenty-seven-year-old Leila lay in her hospital bed, her left leg hanging limply below the knee.

She was a Parisian native and an ordinary emergency room nurse before the incident. She was on night shift at the hospital on the day the angel fell when the entire ceiling collapsed.

She crawled out of the rubble, dragging her broken leg for two hours, and found six survivors.

She dragged the six people to a relatively safe corner, bandaged them with a first-aid kit she found in the rubble, and then used the faint light of her phone to illuminate the surroundings while waiting for rescue.

When the Witcher found her, she had already held on for fourteen hours.

Her left leg infection was too severe, and the field hospital had limited resources, so in the end, they had to amputate the part below the knee.

Leila stayed in bed for three weeks.

For three weeks, she watched the stretchers coming and going outside the window, the soldiers burned by the holy light, and the civilians who would never wake up again.

She watched the nurses working tirelessly, watched the medicines run out little by little, and watched despair spread across everyone's faces.

She wasn't a witcher, had no combat experience, and couldn't even fire a gun.

But she is a nurse.

She knew what she could do.

On the day the application forms were issued, she filled them out word by word using her old phone with a screen that was cracked into a spider web.

Name: Leila.

"Age: 27." "Affiliation: None. But I spent 21 days in a field hospital and saw 472 wounded soldiers. I know how to treat Holy Light burns, what the early symptoms of angel energy pollution are, and what a person's pupils look like before they die."

"Past combat record: None; but I crawled for two hours under artillery fire and rescued six people with a broken leg. I have never killed an angel, but I have saved people who would have been killed by an angel."

"Reason for signing up: Every day, wounded soldiers die in field hospitals, not on the battlefield, but because there is no medicine, no equipment, and not enough manpower. If I can become stronger, carry more medicine, run faster, and prevent fewer people from dying in front of me, then I must become stronger."

She pressed the submit button.

The phone screen flickered and then went completely black.

Leila tossed her phone aside, lay back down on her pillow, and stared at the mottled ceiling of the field hospital.

She didn't know if the Demon Hunter Knights needed nurses.

But she knew that if she didn't even try, she would regret it for the rest of her life.

On the edge of the African war zone, somewhere in the Sahara Desert, a surveillance outpost.

Karim, 22, is a local.

His family lives in a small village in northern Sudan, not far from the Egyptian border.

On the day of the crash, he was working in the fields when he saw countless blue streaks of light streak across the sky. He thought they were shooting stars and even made a wish.

But the village was gone the next day.

His wish was clearly to become the richest person in the village.

Now his wish has indeed come true, because he's the only one left in the village! And nobody told him his wish would be fulfilled this way, damn it!

It wasn't the angels who did it; it was the chaos that followed.

The routed army, the armed militants who took advantage of the chaos, and those people with glowing blue eyes who crawled out of the ruins.

Karim didn't know what it was; he only knew that those people killed anything they saw, regardless of age.

He ran for three days and three nights until he reached the desert.

When the Witcher patrol found him, he was so dehydrated that he was delirious. They took him back to their base and fed him water for three days before pulling him back from the brink of death.

Karim stayed at the outpost for a month.

In one month, he learned to fire a gun, to lay landmines, and to use binoculars to observe the pale golden shield in the distance.

He knew that eighteen thousand angels were hiding inside the shield, that those angels were the ones that had fallen from the sky, and that they could rush out at any moment to continue killing.

He asked the captain of the outpost: Can I fight them?

The captain said: You can't win like this.

Karim said: How can we beat them?
The captain did not answer.

Three days later, the Demon Hunter Knight Project was announced.

Karim borrowed the captain's terminal and filled out the application form word by word. His English was not good, so he looked up many words on the spot, writing them down one by one.

Name: Karim.

Age: 22.

“Affiliation: None. But I guarded this stronghold for a month, watching that shield every day. I know the direction the wind blows, how the sand dunes will move, and which places can hide people at night and which cannot.”

"Past combat record: None; but I can shoot now, and the captain said my marksmanship is better than some new recruits."

"Recommender: None. The captain said he wasn't qualified to recommend me, but he's willing to write me a letter to prove that what I said is true."

"Reason for signing up: The thing inside that shield destroyed my village; my parents, my three younger sisters, my neighbor's old man, and the date palm tree at the entrance of the village that I used to climb since I was a child, all gone; I want to kill a few with my own hands, killing one is enough, killing two is a bonus, the more I kill, the fewer people will die in the future."

He pressed the submit button.

The 'Sending' message on the screen spun for five seconds before 'Application Submitted' finally appeared. (End of Chapter)