OPTC Chapter 201 - I Thought Tom Could Win a Fight Normally
When Shark Chili took a closer look, he realized all the bricks and rubble flying his way had actually been thrown by Tom. His anger quickly subsided.
At that moment, Kumashi brought over another group of animal zombies to attack. Shark Chili stopped paying attention to Tom and charged at the zombies instead. Since his transformation time hadn't run out yet, he decided to use the chance to practice his Fishman Karate leg techniques.
Meanwhile, Tom seemed to be searching for someone.
Yes, he was looking for the gunman who wielded four pistols, digging around like he intended to unearth the entire battlefield.
Tom bent down, tossing aside chunks of building material and debris from the ruins one by one. Occasionally he glanced left and right, completely unaware that he had accidentally smacked Shark Chili earlier.
Not just Shark Chili—even Absalom, who had turned invisible at the start of the battle, had been bonked on the head by one of Tom's throws. He almost got exposed because of it, nearly falling prey to Ye Yan.
Even Artoria had been forced to dodge a flying rock mid-fight. It wasn't that it threatened her ahoge—it was just that getting hit by one of Tom's throws really hurt.
Tom was puzzled. He was sure he saw the gunman hide behind this pile of junk, so why had he vanished?
After clearing two heaps of rubble and digging three massive pits without finding a trace, Tom stood with his hands on his hips, bouncing on his toes in frustration. His face was full of unhappiness.
What he didn't know was that the gunman zombie hiding underground was just as frustrated. What kind of cat was this? Digging with two paws faster than he could with four hands? He had nearly been discovered.
It wasn't cowardice. The gunman had personally witnessed Tom skewer four bullets that weren't even on the same trajectory, stringing them together like candied hawthorns. Even the swordsman zombie among the generals might not have managed that feat. Charging this cat in melee would've been suicide.
All he had wanted was to test his guns on a random target and scare the enemy a little. Since when could cats become master swordsmen after death? The world had changed too much.
Tom frowned, thinking hard. Suddenly a little lightbulb seemed to pop up above his head. He stabbed his rapier into the ground, reached behind his back, and pulled out a stethoscope.
The gunman zombie shrank back in his tunnel. That sword tip had nearly skewered his head. Maybe he should dig farther away before coming up again.
Completely unaware, Tom placed the stethoscope's chest piece against the ground, eyes drifting upward as he listened carefully.
Three seconds. No sound. He moved.
Another three seconds. Still nothing. He moved again.
Three more seconds. This time, something! Tom hurried back to the previous spot and pressed down to listen more closely.
Rustle, rustle. The rhythmic sound of digging. Tom's head bobbed along in time with the beat.
The gunman zombie poked his head out—only to find a stethoscope's chest piece right against his forehead. He grabbed at it, intending to yank it away. But seeing the cat's earnest little expression, he smirked instead and raised a pistol to the stethoscope.
Bang!!!
The gunshot roared like thunder directly into Tom's ears. His eyes went blank, his skull felt like a kettle lid blown off and slammed back down, and he staggered woozily, mind spinning.
"Heh heh…" The gunman chuckled disdainfully. To think a cat with the skills of a great swordsman would lose to such a silly mistake. Pathetic.
Spinning his pistols with flair, he aimed and fired at Tom. This dazed target should've been easy to hit—he could've done it blindfolded. But… miss?
He shot again. Still missed?
Unbelievable! The gunman raised all four hands, pulling the triggers wildly. Bang bang bang bang—the shots rang out until every bullet was spent. He was left gasping for breath, but hadn't so much as grazed a single hair on the cat.
Tom, staggering like he was drunk, weaved left and right, his "drunken steps" accidentally dodging every bullet. Finally, he collapsed onto the ground.
The gunman zombie's composure cracked. This was the most humiliating moment of his life. Less than two meters away, and he couldn't hit a woozy cat?
"This is impossible!" Furious, he grabbed Tom's rapier and thrust it down into the prone cat. He watched the blade pierce through Tom's body and finally burst into laughter. "Hahaha!"
As a gunman, having to resort to a sword made his victory both bitter and sweet. But his laughter was cut short.
A towering panda zombie with an oversized meteor hammer loomed over him. "Feeling proud, are you?"
The gunman blinked in confusion, until the panda zombie turned and pointed at his own backside. His once plump rear was now riddled with bullet holes, looking like a hornet's nest.
The panda zombie was furious. He had been preparing to team up with the others to brawl against a shark freak and a stool-wielding weirdo, when out of nowhere he'd been shot—in the butt—by one of his own allies.
"Mistake! It was a mistake!" the gunman cried in panic.
The panda zombie swung his meteor hammer, smashing the gunman straight into the ground. Casually, he turned away. "That was a mistake too."
When Tom finally shook off the dizziness, he pulled his sword out from under his armpit and struck a triumphant pose. "Aha!"
Looking left and right, he saw his opponent crumpled in a pit, beaten to a pulp.
He wasn't sure what had happened, but it seemed like he'd won. Tilting his head, he grinned happily.
Compared to Tom's chaotic battle, Artoria's fight was far more elegant. Four fully armored zombies were encircling her.
In her silver armor and blue dress, Artoria moved as though she were dancing. Though she appeared surrounded, she always dodged three of their strikes with perfect precision, clashing blades with only one opponent at a time.
Their faces were hidden by helmets, but after a few exchanges, admiration crept into their voices. "Such refined skill. You fight like a warrior who has carved through thousands on the battlefield. Not even in life did I ever see a knight as strong as you."
Artoria said nothing, though a faint shift appeared in her expression.
"What does that look mean?" one of them asked. "Pity? Heh, pity for nameless men like us, forgotten in life and enslaved in death? Perhaps we deserve it."
"No," Artoria replied softly. "It is regret. Knights like you should not be defiled in death. I would have preferred to cross swords with you at the height of your strength in life."
The zombies laughed. "Then we're fortunate. To meet a knight such as you, even in death… if you truly feel regret, then show us the full extent of your power!"
The four knights gripped their weapons, readying their strongest techniques. Whether by intention or instinct, they attacked one after the other instead of all at once.
"Then forgive me," Artoria said, her sword glowing gold. Her hair and armor fluttered in a windless aura as she dashed past them.
"To us, there is no apology," one of the zombies said as they collapsed. "Only the highest honor."
Their shadows slipped free of their bodies, finally liberated.
If they had met her in life… perhaps they would've chosen to follow her.
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