Chapter 391 - 169: The Brave Resisters (Part 2)
In an instant, it was as if a terrible invisible force brushed past him, striking the edge of the canoe in front of him.
A burnt smell rushed into his nostrils, the flying splinters plastered the aboriginal’s face, bringing with them an indescribable feeling, like death’s sneer.
The roar of gunshots still seemed to echo in his ears. The tall aboriginal was terrified, staring blankly at the part of the canoe that had been hit for two seconds before finally reacting, scrambling back to the beach.
...
The loud noise from afar and the explosion of the canoe naturally sparked a new wave of commotion.
The aboriginals fell into panic, fearing that divine punishment might befall them.
Some even lay flat on the ground, heads lowered, beginning to beg for forgiveness from God, speechless terror overwhelming everyone’s hearts.
In this almost desperate atmosphere, there was one person who was overjoyed.
That person was Werner, hiding in the wooden house, waiting anxiously for the next gunshot.
God knows how hard this time has been for him.
The entirety of his previous twenty-plus years combined did not seem as torturous as these ten minutes. Just as he doubted whether that "ghost" would fire a third shot, he finally heard a gunshot from the direction of the beach.
"He needs to reload!
This is my chance!
Run! Run, Werner!
Run for your life, back to the Archipelago!
Wealth awaits you, nobility awaits you, women await you, even those who once disregarded you will lick your boots for your discovery!
As long as you make it back, you’ll be a greater explorer than Columbus and Magellan combined, the most renowned sailor in history!"
Continually encouraging himself in his mind, bolstering his spirits, head lowered, Werner took a step and hurriedly rushed outside the wooden house.
The beautiful future dangled like a carrot in front of a donkey, enticing him, compelling him to summon the courage to dash out, even at the risk of being shot.
Werner fancied himself dashing as he dashed out, but reality soon gave him a harsh blow—
As he took only two steps, he stepped on a branch, tripping and falling hard to the ground.
In that moment of hitting the ground, Werner felt his heart chill completely.
He was too scared that the time he wasted falling might allow the gunman to reload and then hit him.
Damn aboriginals, those cowards, had all fled long ago, leaving only him; he was the sole target, the most conspicuous presence in the entire forest.
Once that gunman finished reloading, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
"Ugh!"
His ankle seemed to have twisted, sending a wave of sharp pain.
Werner let out a painful scream, struggling to prop up his body with his arms, managing to stand up with the support of his good leg.
In a panic, he glanced back, fearing he would see a cold-blooded gunman aiming at him.
But there was none.
Not seeing an enemy injected Werner with new strength.
He picked up the thick branch that had tripped him, using it as a cane to support his body, limping but relentless, he continued to sprint towards the beach.
...
Chen Zhou was oblivious to the intense pressure he inadvertently exerted on Werner.
At this moment, he kept his eyes wide open, holding his gun steadily, watching as Saturday and Sunday advanced.
The two hundred plus meters were not long, and before Werner reached the beach, some sharp-eyed aboriginals noticed the two young boys clothed, each holding a Long Saber.
Although Saturday and Sunday were not like them, naked, their appearance and skin color from the Archipelago couldn’t deceive.
Someone just deduced these oddly dressed "kin" were their own people.
Before he could speak, everyone heard Sunday’s voice, still tinged with youth.
"Do not resist, squat down and hold your heads, God will not punish you!"
...
In this particular time, to hear their language from kin popping out from some unknown corner seemed more trustworthy than anything but was also easier to spark suspicion than anything.
Had Saturday and Sunday not been clothed, it would have been fine, but since they were, they stood out starkly against the naked crowd.
Moreover, the pair were too young.
At such an age in the tribe, one is often bullied, and no adult would take their words to heart.
Had it been a white-haired old Priest, perhaps they might have been convinced.
Additionally, Sunday’s accent was different from theirs. It sounded not of the Great Tribe, more reminiscent of the conquered small tribespeople.
This not only sowed doubt but also aroused some arrogance and disdain.
After Sunday’s voice faded, not a single aboriginal spread out on the beach changed their actions as instructed.
Except for those lying prostrate on the sand, every aboriginal still standing on the beach glared coldly at Saturday and Sunday, their icy stares chilling the pair.
The tall warrior with white stripes painted on him intended to be the first to stand up, playing the "Leader", questioning why these two spoke so condescendingly.
But before rising, he suddenly remembered the splinters exploding before him, and his scant courage dissipated, lowering his head again, silent, quietly observing the actions of others—
There would always be someone to be the first to speak.
...