Chapter 395 - 171: Execution (Bonus Update for the 20th)
"I’ll repeat this one last time!
Put down your weapons, clasp your hands over your head, and squat!
If you don’t comply, that’s your fate!"
Sunday no longer looked directly at Werner, as if he were just a goat or an even more cowardly rabbit.
He turned his head, repeating it for the fourth time.
This time his voice was not as loud as the third repetition, but carried much more threat.
The crimson blade, the native with the back of his head blown open, the corpses of companions killed by throat-cutting, the mysterious ’divine punishment’ claiming lives in unknown ways, all these factors combined, finally made the natives abandon their futile resistance.
A few of them lay on the ground, seemingly petrified, still facing the sand, like the rumored ostriches burying their heads in the sand, deceiving themselves.
The remaining conscious natives hurriedly followed Sunday’s instructions, dropping their weapons, squatting down, displaying unprecedented obedience.
...
Werner was ignored by the natives who had always obeyed him without question, taking insults and beatings.
He very much wanted to kill the hateful native obstructing his escape, but he had a lame leg.
The explorers of the great seafaring era didn’t dominate the world by skilled use of cold weapons or physical prowess.
They relied on sturdy ships and artillery, on firearms.
Of course, perhaps adding greed and shamelessness, as that’s their most commonly used passport.
Close combat was not his specialty, and especially now that he was missing a leg; having seen firsthand Sunday’s nimble movements and merciless actions, Werner dared not act despite his dissatisfaction with Sunday’s behavior.
Moreover, he no longer had the courage to incite the natives—
"At a time like this, God doesn’t even know if that young warrior will put a blade to his throat."
Don’t be fooled by Vinar’s endless courage to embark on an ocean voyage for riches; truly asking him to risk life and death in a confrontation with the natives, he still refuses.
His eyes darting back and forth, on the brink of despair, Werner strained his brain figuring out how to escape the island.
The canoe lay on the beach not 200 yards away.
But this distance, usually covered in an instant, today became an insurmountable chasm.
"Maybe, when they aren’t paying attention, I sneak back into the forest...
If I can hold out for a few days, that bastard Kilian will definitely send someone to find me..."
His mind racing, Werner made up his mind to quietly slip away, find a hiding spot, and wait for his comrades’ rescue.
Just then, the young native gestured toward another clothed native, speaking a language he had never heard.
Soon, the other native nodded and walked towards him with a bundle of rope.
...
"Damn it!"
Realizing he was about to become a captive of these two natives and the ’ghost’ who’d never shown himself, Werner naturally wasn’t going to comply.
He struggled to prop himself up with a stick, making his figure appear straight and tall, while raising the Long Saber in his other hand.
This Long Saber, crafted by a famous Blacksmith, was purchased from a fallen noble by a close friend, the chief mate, and gifted to him. The hilt was laden with engravings, the blade extraordinarily sharp — both aesthetically pleasing and practical, it was one of Werner’s favorite weapons.
This exquisite weapon surpassed the natives’ Iron Blades several times over.
Yet even while holding this prideful Long Saber, Werner still lacked confidence.
"Get lost!
Don’t come closer, or I’ll kill you!"
He shouted while swinging the Long Saber in his hand, intimidating the approaching native.
...
Saturday had just been reassured by Sunday to tie up their captives; little did he expect the first captive he encountered to be so difficult.
Seeing the sharp Long Saber in Werner’s hands, he couldn’t help but pause, daring neither to advance nor use more aggressive tactics like Sunday.
Emotionally, art-loving individuals often waver indecisively.
Saturday was a prime example.
Thankfully, not only did Sunday single-handedly control the situation, there was Chen Zhou overseeing from afar.
...
"Bang!"
The Mini Bullet spun out from the gun barrel, striking the sand next to Werner and sending sand flying.
The sudden gunfire shattered the courage Werner had painstakingly built up.
Faster than any native, he quickly dropped the cherished Long Saber in his hand, mimicking the natives by squatting with his head held.
But due to his ankle injury, he could only hold his head with one hand while the other supported the stick to prevent losing his balance.
"Don’t kill me, don’t kill me..."
This sailor, who always considered natives "Wild Monkeys" and claimed to be of superior race had been dealt consecutive blows, nearing collapse.
He dropped the disdain of "superior men" for "inferior men" and began humbly learning how to bow under the threat of death.
...
Drawing enough courage from the support of the ’Celestial God,’ Saturday felt his cheeks burning.
He was ashamed of his cowardice and hesitation, gritting his teeth as he tried to act more decisively than before, walking up to the brown-haired person and tying his hands.
Then, like herding sheep, he used the rope to tie up each native one by one, stringing them into a line after they surrendered.
...
As Chen Zhou appeared from afar, armed with a gun, slowly approaching Werner.
The remaining 11 people, including Werner, the sailor from the ’Civilized World,’ and 10 natives, formed a line under Sunday’s command, all squatting silently under the blazing sun on the scorching sand, not a single one daring to utter a sound.