The powerful force generated by the gunpowder propelling the lead bullet was something even knights in full plate armor could not withstand, let alone mere flesh and blood.
An indigenous boy had half of his head directly flattened by the bullet, his neck bending backwards with the force, his whole body almost flying away.
His brief life thus vanished on this desolate beach, but there was no one left to care.
...
When Chen Zhou dropped the third flintlock gun and picked up the fourth, the Butcher in the forefront finally approached within ten meters of Chen Zhou.
His vision shook with his running and heavy breath, clearly seeing the huge form and strange outfit of the "monster."
Behind that strange, white-reflecting board, he glimpsed Chen Zhou's icy gaze.
It was an expression he had never seen before, neither as fervent and savage as warriors of rival tribes nor as fearful and timid as slaughtered captives, nor as ignorant as the look of beasts and fish.
