Starting from Robinson Crusoe

Chapter 332 143: Massacre (Part 3)

...

The trigger of the flintlock gun resting on Chen Zhou's waist twitched slightly, and the bullet loaded with a large amount of fine metal shrapnel burst forth.

The gunpowder burned and exploded, the hot gas rapidly expanded, converting its internal energy into the bullet's kinetic energy, propelling the sharp, jagged metal fragments to fly like hail onto the bodies of the Indigenous Warriors.

The shrapnel easily pierced through the tattoos and graffiti that they proudly bore, symbolizing the benevolence of the Celestial God.

Their skin, capillaries, and even tendons and fascia were destroyed by the terrifying storm of metal.

The person closest to Chen Zhou was injured the most, with a few shards of metal flying into his eyes, turning his world to darkness, accompanied by a sharp pain.

His fierce attack was diverted by the pain, the Wooden Spear thrust straight into the sand, his hands tightly gripping his weapon released their grasp, tremblingly covering his eyes, from which blood was flowing.

In addition, his chest, neck, and even waist were affected, with wounds everywhere, pain communicated to his brain from all over, rendering him completely incapable of fighting.

The other two Indigenous Warriors, although not unfortunate enough to have the metal shrapnel directly blind them, fared no better, also covered in bloodstains, also wailing in pain, also collapsing on the ground.

...

In just one face-off, three of the brave and loyal warriors of the Celestial God Benamaki fell.

The two other Indigenous Warriors who were about to reach Chen Zhou's front saw this scene, and their impulsive and conformist mindset wavered, while the painful cries of the three warriors further intensified their terror and hastened the collapse of their fighting spirit.

Before they reached the attack range, the two of them simultaneously turned around and ran towards the canoe——

Only the Celestial God could defeat the Demon; they, mere mortals, could not decide the outcome of the war of the Gods.

They felt they should return to the tribe as soon as possible, report this to the Leader and another Priest, and perhaps never return to this island again, as the sacred land occupied by the Demon could no longer be used as a sacrificial site.

...

Watching the Indigenous Warriors retreat, Chen Zhou did not stop them.

He dropped the short-barreled flintlock gun in his hand, picked up the long gun, and finished off the lives of the three Indigenous Warriors, then leisurely picked up the long-barreled flintlock gun he had previously thrown down and reloaded it.

Perhaps he had rehearsed it thousands of times in his mind, or he naturally possessed enough talent, or perhaps he was controlled by the thrill of killing.

Chen Zhou felt he was calmer than ever before, calm enough that he was ready to kill all the Indigenous Warriors, having planned their methods of death and the order in which they would die.

...

The canoe had been pushed to shore by the force of the tide, and the tide had not yet receded. Relying on the strength of a few retreating Indigenous Warriors to push it back into the sea in a short time was pure wishful thinking.

While they were making futile efforts, Chen Zhou had already put down his Shield, finished loading the bullets into four long-barreled flintlock guns, and was gradually approaching with heavy steps.

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

Each gunshot represented a life lost.

The first to fall were two Indigenous Warriors still drawing bows, attempting to mount a last-ditch resistance.

Subsequently, two more fell among those pushing the canoe, plunging into the seawater, their bodies drifting with the ebb and flow of the waves.

At this moment, the clever Indigenous Warriors realized that escaping the island by canoe was impossible, so they turned and ran toward the distant woods.

During their escape, they brushed past Indigenous Warriors running frantically toward the beach.

Perhaps too terrified, perhaps harboring ulterior motives, perhaps too distracted, they did not call out to warn their companions——

"Do not return to the beach."

This oversight led to more easy killings, more deaths.

Chen Zhou found that he didn't even need to use melee weapons; he merely repeated the step of reloading bullets, firing, reloading, firing, like practicing target shooting in a small courtyard, easily claiming life after life.

Indigenous Warriors still pushing the canoe, Indigenous women lying on the ground, Indigenous people collecting firewood returning to the beach...

The smell of gunpowder gradually could not cover the scent of blood, large patches of blood stains were everywhere on the beach.

Bodies, bodies in all kinds of postures;

Wounds, exceptionally ferocious wounds;

Organs, torn and deformed organs...

They lay there in plain view, being absorbed by Chen Zhou's eyes as he advanced and inspected.

His fevered brain finally cooled down and returned to normal.

He watched as the fastest Indigenous youth ran into the woods, leaving the range of the long-barreled flintlock gun, looked at the corpses scattered everywhere, looked at the pits dug by the Indigenous people on the beach, looked at the bright red blood seeping into the sand, and finally felt nausea, felt panic and discomfort.

He wanted very much to follow his body's instincts, put down the flintlock gun in his hand, and squat at the seaside to vomit profusely.

But he couldn't do so because there was still the last living person watching him here——an Indigenous captive.

...

The Butcher's hands were quick, and Chen Zhou's timing was very precise.

Of the five Indigenous captives brought onto the island, just when four were killed, he acted decisively.

At this moment, only the last captive remained, the youngest of the Indigenous youths, lying on the sand, struggling to lift his head, staring at the corpses scattered everywhere and the instigator of this massacre, already exceedingly frightened, delirious, and foolish.