Chapter 641: Hunting Expert

Winter sunlight filtered through the sparse canopy, casting dappled spots of light across the forest floor. A gentle, cool breeze swept past, rustling the branches of the towering eucalyptus trees. At the sound, the hounds pricked up their ears, sifting through the ambient noise to pinpoint their prey.

Dressed in a sharp hunting outfit with a single-barreled shotgun slung over his back, Duke looked every bit the exceptional hunter, his tall frame and rugged features perfectly playing the part.

In reality, however, he was an absolute hunting novice.

"Shotguns fire buckshot, so you don't need pinpoint accuracy."

Leaning against a eucalyptus tree, Tom Cruise held his hound's leash and explained the basics. "But the recoil has some kick to it. With your arm strength, it shouldn't be an issue, but just make sure to control it..."

Though his films were never short on gunfights and explosions, that didn't mean Duke was proficient with firearms. His actual shooting experience was pitifully scarce.

In his past life, the chance to handle a real gun had been exceedingly rare. In this life, when his production crew collaborated with the Pentagon, the military-provided soldier extras used real, unloaded firearms. He had done a bit of private target practice back then, but only a handful of times.

As for hunting, the busy director had virtually zero hands-on experience.

Tom Cruise waved at Duke and took the lead into the depths of the woods, with Duke following closely behind.

The terrain was more scrubland than forest. Aside from a few thickets, only a sparse scattering of towering eucalyptus trees dotted the area. The wild grass, however, grew remarkably tall, its slightly yellowed blades bowing in swathes whenever the cool breeze swept through.

During dinner the night before, Tom Cruise had mentioned that their targets for this trip were wild deer and rabbits. In the vast, isolated continent of Australia, the lack of native apex predators like wolves, lions, or tigers meant that large herbivores had no natural enemies and often multiplied to plague proportions.

Here, herbivores like wild deer and rabbits posed a massive threat to commercial farms.

Barking suddenly erupted. The hound shot past Duke like an arrow from a bow, charging straight into the thicket ahead. A few bleats echoed from the brush as several startled wild deer bolted out.

Duke immediately unslung his shotgun, chambered a shell with decent proficiency, and jogged over to a camphor tree. Using the trunk for support, he aimed at the fleeing deer.

Tom Cruise's hound had clearly undergone professional training; it circled around, herding the deer back toward where the two men were stationed.

Reciting the shooting fundamentals in his head, Duke locked onto a large-antlered buck. Just as the stag was forced to slow down and turn to navigate around the trees, he pulled the trigger.

Recoil slammed into his shoulder. As the sharp gunshot rang out, Duke quickly looked up, only to find the buck completely unharmed. It continued its frantic sprint—and, spurred on by the gunshot, ran even faster.

Wincing, Duke pumped the shotgun again. This was perfectly normal; hitting the target would have been the real surprise.

His sights stayed on the buck. Before it could completely escape his range, Duke pulled the trigger once more. The gun roared, kicking up a spray of shredded grass from the dirt some 150 feet away. The deer let out a long cry, and then... successfully bolted out of sight.

Just as Duke was sighing and resolving to practice his marksmanship when he had the time, Tom Cruise pulled the trigger from behind another eucalyptus tree. Channeling his inner Ethan Hunt, Tom fired. The gun cracked, and a doe instantly collapsed about 120 feet to Duke's front left.

Duke clearly saw the spray of blood erupt into the air.

"Nice shot, Tom."

Duke flashed him a thumbs-up.

Tom Cruise looked back with a smile, then pinched his fingers to his lips and let out a sharp whistle. The hound raced toward the fallen deer like a gust of wind.

With the rest of the herd scattering in all directions, Duke slung his shotgun over his shoulder and walked over to the fresh kill alongside Tom.

"I just got lucky." Tom Cruise stepped on some dry grass, the stalks crunching beneath his boots, and spoke with evident relief. "I usually couldn't hit a thing even if I fired ten shots. Looks like today is my lucky day."

Hitting a running animal was incredibly difficult. Duke knew that even luck required a baseline of shooting experience.

For a rookie like him, even if that deer had stood completely still a hundred feet away, a hit was far from guaranteed.

The Hollywood trope where any random person could pick up a gun and massacre an army only existed in the movies.

They bypassed a few camphor trees and waded through knee-high weeds. Before they even reached the carcass, the thick stench of blood hit Duke's nose. Instead of the thrill of the hunt, the metallic smell just made his chest feel tight.

He still had a very long way to go before becoming a hunting expert.

Then again, given how busy he was, whether he could ever become a competent hunter in this lifetime was highly doubtful.

Stepping around the blood-soaked grass and dirt, Duke looked down at Tom's kill. The doe seemed to have stopped breathing, leaving only its buckshot-riddled body twitching faintly.

Tom Cruise pulled out a walkie-talkie to notify the farm staff to come collect the animal. After checking in with Duke, the two men and the hound pressed further into the wild.

Over the course of the half-day excursion, Duke fired well over a dozen shots. Aside from a single lucky pellet catching a wild rabbit in the leg, he had nothing else to show for it.

As the hours wore on, Tom Cruise's true skill level also revealed itself. He only managed to bag one rabbit—and even then, the hound did most of the work. The rest of his shots all hit empty air. His marksmanship wasn't much better than Duke's.

As the sun dipped toward the horizon, Duke and Tom walked out of the woods, hopping into an off-road vehicle to head back toward the farmhouse.

After exchanging a few words with the driver up front, Tom Cruise turned his attention back to Duke. "How do you like the place?"

"It's not bad."

If he ever retired, he wouldn't mind finding a place like this to spend his golden years. It was an honest thought.

Tom Cruise pointed toward the north side of the vehicle. "Over there, right next to this farm, the Kidman Family has a large tract of land for sale. If you're interested, you could have Nicole contact them."

The Kidman Family was arguably the largest landowner in Australia, though Nicole Kidman's blood ties to them were actually incredibly distant by now.

"If I have time tomorrow, I'll go take a look."

As long as the environment and price were right, Duke could just send someone to buy it.

"But even if I get my hands on it, I won't have much time to visit. I still have a pile of projects waiting for me."

"Speaking of work..." Tom Cruise temporarily set the farm topic aside. "Duke, have you ever thought about us working together again?"

"You should know my upcoming schedule." Duke shrugged. "Tom, do you really want to play second fiddle to a bunch of robots?"

If Tom Cruise was actually willing, Duke would consider having the script revised. After all, Tom's box office draw was incredibly potent.

"I know you always have a ton of ideas."

Needless to say, Tom Cruise definitely didn't want to play a supporting role to CGI robots. "We're bound to find a suitable project over the next few years, right?"

Duke shook his head. "Let's wait until I have a good idea; then we'll talk."

In truth, he had already asked Nancy to register a sci-fi script with the Writers Guild, but he just hadn't figured out when to actually put it into production.

Besides, original films would find it increasingly difficult to survive in the Hollywood of the future. The studios would rather throw their money at adapting third-rate comics and novels than invest a single extra dollar in a highly risky original project.

After spending three days at Tom Cruise's farm, Duke left Brisbane. He met up with Scarlett Johansson in Sydney—she had just finished her reshoots—and the two embarked on a South Pacific vacation.

While Duke enjoyed his holiday, someone else was in a foul mood.

Inside a soundstage at ABC Television in Los Angeles, Donald Trump stepped off the stage with a dark scowl, having just wrapped up recording a new talk show episode. Ever since Ivanka Trump brought back the bad news, his temper had grown exponentially worse. He had even gotten into a screaming match with the director right before the taping.

A crucial opportunity for the Trump Group was slipping through his fingers.

Heading backstage to remove his makeup, Donald Trump prepared to leave ABC Television and catch the earliest flight back to New York. The current financial and real estate markets were extremely delicate, even showing signs of an impending crash. For a conglomerate built around real estate like the Trump Group, this was unequivocally disastrous news.

"Hey, Donald."

An unfamiliar voice suddenly called out. Donald Trump turned his head and saw Walt Disney's former president, Dick Cook. Giving him a slight nod, Trump asked with a hint of arrogance, "Did you need something, Cook?"

The disgust in Dick Cook's eyes vanished in a flash. "Michael wants to speak with you."

Donald Trump walked over slowly, his brow furrowing. "Why would he want to see me?"

"I heard you ran into quite a bit of trouble with Duke Rosenberg?" Dick Cook simply relayed the message in a flat tone. "Don't you want to get what rightfully belongs to the Trump Group?"

After mulling it over for a few seconds, Donald Trump gave a slight nod. He followed Dick Cook out of the ABC Television building and onto the enclosed skybridge that connected it to Disney's headquarters.

No one resigned themselves to failure willingly, and Donald Trump was no exception—especially not when billions of dollars in assets were on the line.

He knew perfectly well that, thanks to the Pixar Studio situation, Disney harbored a deeper hatred for Duke Rosenberg than any other company in Hollywood.

The enemy of his enemy could definitely serve as a temporary partner.

It wasn't until the following day that Donald Trump finally boarded a flight back to New York.