The tide surged, the sea breeze remained gentle.
The sunlight shone brightly on the beach, the overwhelming scent of blood drew the seagulls, they spread their wings and circled in the air, casting shadows on the sand as they eagerly cried.
The long-barreled flintlock gun had only one bullet left.
It was originally prepared for the native boy who had fled into the woods, but now that boy had vanished without a trace.
Gripping the gun, staring at the beach littered with corpses he had created with his own hands, Chen Zhou pointed the barrel skyward.
Frequent firings had caused the flintlock gun to emit a strong smell of gunpowder, mixed with the fishy and organ smell of the seaside, it was especially pungent.
He slightly turned his head, glancing at the young captive tied up next to him, Chen Zhou pulled the trigger, shooting the last bullet into the sky.
Bang!
