Black Sail
Chapter 190: CXC. Unemployed Wandering People

Chapter 190: CXC. Unemployed Wandering People

The gunshot overpowered the howling wind, the double-barreled gun spewing deadly tongues of fire.

Nerve reactions, murderous intent sensed, trajectory predicted.

Grim could deflect bullets.

But these were deer bullets, each containing twenty to thirty small lead pellets.

Even at the highest speeds, one couldn’t block everything in an instant—could someone really swing nearly a hundred shots in less than half a second?

The shotgun shells had already exploded violently.

The tip of the gun flashed coldly, picking up the severed leg of a previously fallen Magic Puppet from the ground, while Grim himself turned sideways, completely shielded by this rough iron.

Clang, clang, clang...

Sparks flew, but they couldn’t penetrate the rough iron, only leaving dozens of slight indentations.

With a spear sharp to the extreme and aided by Grim’s immense strength, leveraging the advantage of his sideways position, he stepped back with one foot, delivering a fatal thrust from an angle Morison couldn’t see, unstoppable as it passed through the rough iron, aiming directly for Morison’s throat.

Lightning fast, the sound of tearing the sky mixed with the wind, like the wailing of souls beneath the spear.

Morison was stunned for an instant.

Too careless.

Using this scrap iron for defense would undoubtedly be a death sentence.

He was a moment too slow.

Just as the spear tip was about to touch his throat, his exceptional reflexes kicked in, and he grabbed the spear an inch below the tip, firmly clenching it.

But there was still a piece of thick rough iron separating him and Grim.

The other hand immediately swung the whip blade, tracing a tricky arc around the rough iron, the cold light glinting, with the tip aiming for the side of Grim’s head.

Snap!

Cutting gold and splitting iron.

The spear’s gleam swept past, dividing Morison’s iron whip blade into two pieces, turning it into scrap, with the chopped half flung dozens of meters behind in the blink of an eye on a high-speed train.

Grim’s other hand swung, launching another deadly thrust. Morison could only dodge its sharpness, wrapping the remaining half of his whip blade around the spear, an inch below its head, binding it tightly, preventing any movement.

This man’s strength was terrifying to the extreme, to an exaggerated extent. Tearing a Magic Beast apart with his bare hands was not beyond him.

The fight could not drag on, it had to be quick.

Morison’s boots ejected a sleeve sword, gripping the spear shaft to leap into the air, his body twisting sideways with incredible agility, his kick aimed at the right side of his head.

An extremely beautiful and fierce half-moon kick, almost appearing as just an illusion.

Grim was greatly shaken inside. Was this movement really possible for a human?

An opening had emerged.

Morison’s current support entirely depended on Grim’s spear. If Grim realized this before Morison could kill him, Morison would end up in a dire situation.

However, Grim’s reflexes were not slower than Morison’s. As the sleeve sword sliced past his ear drawing a bit of blood, he swung both spears, taking Morison with him toward the ground beneath the train.

At this speed, being pressed into a pile of rubble would strip him down to the bone in less than a second.

Morison immediately released his hold on the spear, landing on the platform, the remaining half of his whip blade still tightly wound around the other spear. He pulled back with one quick motion, now entirely in close combat.

From the moment Morison fired his gun to the present, everything had happened in less than two seconds.

A spear was not a weapon to be wielded within three steps.

"You’re bleeding, is that all you’ve got?"

Morison spoke, toying with Grim’s mindset. This man was immensely powerful, far surpassing Zahak and not inferior to Marcus. He would be difficult to handle if he was fully armored.

Unfortunately, he wore plain cloth.

From his sleeve, the sleeve sword sprung forward like a piercing machine, his arms splitting as if into six, furiously striking like mad, a torrential downpour stabbing at Grim’s torso.

Grim, with a special large bow on his back and an Arrow Pouch—not only filled with spears but various different gun heads—let the silver gun tassel flutter. Grim abandoned the spears, drawing blade-like gun heads from the pouch, dual-wielding to block all of Morison’s attacks, sparks flying like waterfalls.

Morison’s arms, transformed into Wing Blades, intensified his onslaught, but Grim could block it!

Grim was only reacting unconsciously, his body honed to perfection fashioned a response speed that parried every attack through pure muscle memory.

The sparks that erupted on the narrow platform were dazzling and blinding, with the clang of metal reverberating by the eardrum.

Morison’s sleeve sword, Wing Blade, and another dagger pulled from the strap on his upper arm, would have overwhelmed any ordinary man.

But Grim managed to block them all, his forearm muscles bulging and his speed exaggeratedly heightened.

Morison was all battered metal, and in the blink of an eye, the sleeve sword was completely worn, one severed by the gun tassel, both daggers also cracked, only to be blocked by another strike from Grim.

Bang!

One dagger shattered completely.

The mechanism of his left arm’s Wing Blade jammed, failing to retract.

Morison hastily retreated, leaping back and stepping onto the platform’s railing, then jumping onto the roof of the car, pulling out the last few Flying Knives from his strap and launching them at Grim, along with firing Crossbow Arrows.

A barrage like a pear blossom rainstorm, targeting the vitals.

Clang! Clang! Clang!

All deflected with the gun tassel while taking advantage of this distraction.

With a snap.

Morison whipped out his whip, pulling back a long gun from Grim’s Arrow Pouch and gripped it tightly—the man’s strength was even more outrageous than his speed, leaving Morison’s breathing somewhat disordered as he stood on the top of the car gazing down at Grim.

Geez, what kind of major player was in that compartment to have such a tough watchdog?

"What’s your name then? You’re surely not a nobody."

Grim wiped away a negligible speck of blood from his ear and serenely asked, stepping onto the railing and then onto the car roof.

On such a narrow rooftop, Morison had become a live target.

This kind of bow had to be drawn horizontally in front of him, because it was taller than Grim, who rested the long gun on the Big Bow, a solemn expression on his face.

Holding the long gun, Morison fancily flicked some gun flowers to try it out—the high-grade equipment meant it was ready for Hell.

"Just a vagrant, currently moonlighting as a robber."

Morison flicked his gun, gouging a few centimeters deep on the outer shell of the carriage—this guy wasn’t someone to be trifled with using junk.

Bang!

The long gun released from the bowstring not with a swoosh but like a gunpowder keg igniting.

Morison swept his gun horizontally.

The metal collision was deafening, like thunder smashing down.

The webs of his hands started bleeding, bright red, as he was pushed back more than twenty meters, barely stabilizing his body on the 18th carriage, his arms slightly trembling, despite having expertly dissipated some force.

The force of the arrows had shaved a half-centimeter deep giant conical mark out of the metal rooftop, terrifyingly.

This was the upper limit of Grim’s power; he had to exert all his strength to draw this Big Bow.

"Shit."

Morison shook his hands, his gaze growing increasingly solemn, ready to show his true skills.

Alanee, hearing the commotion outside, couldn’t contain her worry; the noise was too horrific, and Grim had come across an opponent he couldn’t instantly kill—how formidable must that opponent be?

She also had learned a move or two from the Magic King, which might aid Grim.

As she pushed open the door.

That instant was what Rein had been waiting for, darting from the nineteenth carriage’s door, he headed straight for Alanee.

"Dammit!"

Grim couldn’t draw his bow in time, pulling out an Arrow instead, unable to use his full force, but he had thrown it with his fastest speed, utilizing all his knowledge to avert the crisis.

The wind and thunder roared.

Crack!

The long gun struck precisely near Rein’s left chest, at the heart, the gun head sinking seven or eight centimeters in.

Blood poured out.

The soaring Rein suddenly paused, then collapsed heavily onto the ground, his once-faded red coat drenched in fresh red.