Havier was not far away, and could clearly see that the man's calf seemed to have been pierced by a bullet, with fresh blood oozing out, making his heart chill—
To hit a moving person's leg accurately from such a distance not only demonstrated the shooter's excellent marksmanship, but also showed that the gun's range and accuracy far surpassed their matchlock guns.
To be honest, after drifting at sea for so many years, Havier had seen all kinds of guns and crossbows, but he had never seen a weapon like this one.
This gun even exceeded the scope of his imagination.
What kind of people could build such a weapon? The British Royal Family? The Dutch? Or the Portuguese?
One guess after another emerged in Havier's mind, only to be successively rejected by him.
Inwardly cursing the natives for causing trouble and bringing bad luck to himself.
Faced with such a change, Havier could not think of any coping strategy for the time being.
