Chapter 331 - 143: Massacre (Part 2)
The powerful force generated by the gunpowder propelling the lead bullet was something even knights in full plate armor could not withstand, let alone mere flesh and blood.
An indigenous boy had half of his head directly flattened by the bullet, his neck bending backwards with the force, his whole body almost flying away.
His brief life thus vanished on this desolate beach, but there was no one left to care.
...
When Chen Zhou dropped the third flintlock gun and picked up the fourth, the Butcher in the forefront finally approached within ten meters of Chen Zhou.
His vision shook with his running and heavy breath, clearly seeing the huge form and strange outfit of the "monster."
Behind that strange, white-reflecting board, he glimpsed Chen Zhou's icy gaze.
It was an expression he had never seen before, neither as fervent and savage as warriors of rival tribes nor as fearful and timid as slaughtered captives, nor as ignorant as the look of beasts and fish.
That expression was something he utterly couldn't comprehend, just as if their minds and worlds were a canyon apart.
Feeling inexplicably uneasy, even though overcome with anger and blood, this Butcher, who had already taken more than a dozen lives, began to think of retreat.
However, it was already too late.
Chen Zhou's fourth bullet was for him.
At this moment, their distance was only seven or eight meters, Chen Zhou didn't need to aim; using the long-barreled flintlock gun like a shotgun, he could hit the indigenous.
Such a short distance even wasted the bullet's kinetic energy, the lead bullet directly pierced through the Butcher's abdomen, embedding into the sand.
But the Butcher, whose ears were filled with gunfire and under the influence of surging adrenaline, didn't even feel pain.
His facial expression twisted together, mouth wide open, revealing yellow-black teeth; like a tribal clash, he swung his wooden saber, accompanied by splattering blood from his abdomen, at Chen Zhou's shoulder armor.
The thin iron sheet inlaid in the vine armor forcefully bore this strike, not leaving even a scratch.
...
Holding the Great Shield, with two short-barrel flintlock guns and a long spear behind him, together with vine armor, Chen Zhou's weight was now close to 220 pounds.
Standing on the sand, he was like a small mountain.
The Butcher's thunderous yet ineffective attack couldn't shake him, not even change his expression.
One hand unaffectedly took down a short-barrel flintlock from his back, while the other casually pressed against the indigenous's chest.
The effect of adrenaline fades quickly; after all, severely injured, with even his intestines severed, the Butcher caused minuscule harm to the "monster" with his momentary blood courage, then fell to the ground upon Chen Zhou's shove, never to move again.
...
The vanguard had fallen, but the subsequent indigenous rushing forward did not stop.
As planned, this would be the time to fight while retreating to the mountains, utilizing the terrain and pre-set obstacles and traps to harm the enemy.
But plans can't keep up with changes.
Chen Zhou didn't expect progress to be so smooth.
Forget the four bullets killing four enemies, among the remaining nineteen Indigenous Warriors, five carrying firewood hadn't returned;
The only female indigenous was still lying on the ground mourning;
Four more were hurriedly pushing the canoe, trying to escape back to the tribe by boat;
Of the remaining nine, only five mustered courage to rush forward, scattered in a line, with nearly a hundred meters distance between the first and last person.
The other four stood far away, some preparing to shoot arrows, some watching their companions by the canoe, hesitating whether to follow them and leave—
Owokaki, who could communicate with the Celestial God, was already dead. Without divine protection, they couldn't possibly defeat that Demon.
Given the situation, fighting while retreating seemed to have little meaning.
Having felt the power of the Butcher's wooden saber, and knowing he had two short-barreled flintlock guns with great close-range destructive power and a revolver, Chen Zhou knew he had secured victory.
As long as he continued steady and did not make any major mistakes, he might not even need the revolver to completely annihilate this ragtag crowd.
...
Gripping the handle of the short-barrel flintlock gun tightly, he watched the approaching indigenous warriors, expressionlessly waiting.
Once they entered the range where the short-barrel flintlock could fully exert its power, Chen Zhou would teach them with a bloody lesson what a technology gap beyond their era meant.
...
At this moment, the indigenous far away finally initiated their first wave of ranged aggression, pulling bows and drawing arrows.
The sea breeze was mild; however, their archery was executed perfectly, drawing a graceful arc, accurately striking the Demon unaware of dodging.
But they had no metal. All of the arrows had wooden heads, effective against unarmored targets but useless against Chen Zhou, this creature wearing armor and holding the Great Shield.
Chen Zhou merely crouched slightly, lifting the Great Shield sideways over his head, covering his entire body, warding off three incoming wooden arrows.
While he lifted the shield, the five indigenous warriors in the forefront finally arrived one after another.
Among them, three first approached Chen Zhou, including the most threatening long spear warrior.
Seeing the monster block the wooden arrows with that strange board, he dared not to repeat and throw the long spear, opting instead to thrust at Chen Zhou's legs.
But at this distance, the bullet's speed far exceeded his thrusting speed.
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