Chapter 327 - 142: Take Action
The canoe in the telescope is slowly moving, its speed seemingly tied to Chen Zhou’s heartbeat.
The blurred, tan-colored heads on the canoe formed a row, making it impossible to distinguish between men and women.
The paddles stirred the waves, creating ripples and surges.
The wind atop the mountain suddenly turned fierce, taking a deep breath; besides the salty tang of the ocean, there seemed to be a metallic blood scent carried along.
...
Chen Zhou had already put down the flintlock gun slung over his shoulder, opened the cloth bag, and, head bowed, meticulously wiped and inspected all the firearms.
These deadly weapons had ejected many bullets during practice, yet hadn’t claimed any human lives.
Now, their peaceful facade had been removed; it was time for the fangs to be revealed.
Chen Zhou always valued things concerning life highly; these firearms were inspected weekly to ensure they performed excellently in actual combat.
Facing the battle ahead, Chen Zhou dared not be careless. He silently calculated the time the indigenous people would land onshore, and inserted all preloaded bullets into the reserved bullet bags on the guns, unhurriedly.
Once all the firearms signaled readiness to fire, he began to connect the rifle’s barrel and head.
The threads disappeared circle by circle. Clutching the barrel, feeling the familiar texture with the calluses on his palm, he was aware he hadn’t slackened these past months; in this moment, Chen Zhou was filled with courage and strength.
Next, he checked the revolver in the waist gun bag—
This future weapon was well-maintained, not even a scratch on it, with golden bullets pressed inside. Its heavy weight and metallic sheen gave Chen Zhou his final confidence.
He felt within his ability, he had done his utmost. If such effort couldn’t achieve the goal, surely there wouldn’t be any hope in rescuing the indigenous captives.
...
Wind blew overhead, the armor pressed against Chen Zhou’s ears, muffling the world’s noise.
Before the life-and-death struggle, a suffocating tranquility enveloped his heart.
He tested the bowstring, ensuring the longbow wouldn’t fail during the firing process, then checked the long arrows; on this outing, he only brought twenty arrows, all using modern willow leaf arrowheads from a two-year anniversary gift.
Each arrowhead shimmered with blinding cold light, especially the few arrows with blood grooves, akin to the sharp teeth of a beast, yearning to pierce flesh and absorb the enemy’s life.
Finally, Chen Zhou pressed the Great Shield beside him—this shield was always kept on the mountain for use since being crafted.
Grasping the handle of the shield, testing the weight, feeling it wouldn’t affect him much, he thought the preparations were mostly done, so he lay once more behind the rock, picking up the telescope to observe the indigenous people.
...
At this point, there was nothing left to practice, nor anything to prepare. All Chen Zhou could do was adjust his mindset and clear his mind.
He wasn’t a veteran-trained special forces soldier, nor a swordsman from martial arts novels who walked on eaves and ridges to enforce justice. Before undertaking this challenge, he was just an ordinary person, having only killed animals like chickens and sheep.
Perhaps he didn’t suffer from blood-related ailments, didn’t feel dizzy or nauseous upon seeing blood, and was braver and more robust than some, but ultimately, he was an ordinary person.
He didn’t know what situations he would encounter next, nor what accidents or dangers awaited. All he could do was not overthink and prepare seriously for battle.
...
Unlike the internal conflict of Chen Zhou, the indigenous folks had no awareness of the impending danger, cheerfully paddling, ready to revel in the feast.
At the bow of the first canoe sat Owokaki, still the elder who landed two years prior.
The tribe, frequently victorious in conflicts, had now expanded its scale several times over, almost occupying the entire island.
As an elder communicating with the divine, his status and position had risen accordingly; even the Tribe Leader respected him, allowing him to preside over festivals several times, brightening his face.
Two years on, the wrinkles on his face hadn’t deepened or intensified but appeared more plump and full.
He still wore a necklace made from human and beast bones, with a slightly straightened humpback, and the yellow-white feather crown on his head seemed even more vibrant.
Indeed, just as joy makes the spirit exuberant, he was no exception.
At this moment, gazing at the distant island, he was likely already envisioning the tribe’s unstoppable advance, unifying the island, thinking of how exalted his status would be, and how glorious his legacy was.
...
The indigenous warrior responsible for executing captives ceased paddling as the canoe was about to reach the beach, drawing a wooden saber from beside.
He fiddled with the blade of the saber, chatting animatedly and enthusiastically with the person behind him.
Meanwhile, the captives bound hand and foot inside the canoe saw the stinky blade and, thinking of the impending pain it would cause, couldn’t help but pale.
Yet, they didn’t struggle.
This act of cannibalism, being members of other tribes, they had previously experienced, hence they clearly understood their current status.
If, before defeat, they were Benamaki’s loyal, brave warriors, after defeat, they became insignificant livestock, and livestock has no rights to struggle or resist.