Three Hundred and Thirty Seventh Church Evening Bell

Henna walks through the deserted narrow stone alley like smoke.

In the military city of San Carlos, more than 80% of the residents are soldiers stationed here. There are no natives, no slaves, and even the servants chosen by a few nobles are decent whites. Sold or thrown away, of all kinds.

The reason people come here is either to work or to pay for money. They work at sunrise and rest at sunset. They have neither the willingness to socialize nor the space for enjoyment.

This presumably brings a sense of security to the people in the city.

But because of this, there is always a lack of breath of life here. It was not too late at night, but there were no people in the streets or alleys.

Hana likes this curfew-like environment very much.

In the dead of night, with no one around, she can run freely with her hands and feet free, without worrying that the exclamation of passers-by will drag her out of the hidden shadows.

this is the best.

Henna also seems to be running, tracking the darkness and shadows scattered everywhere in the night. All solid things are pathways for her, whether it is stone alleys, eaves, walls, debris, or trees planted in the yard, ropes hanging on the balcony facing the street...

The huge hem of the black smock unfolded against the wind, like a mass of dark clouds moving close to the ground, and drifted silently right under the steeple of the church bell tower in a short while.

The only door on the tower was open, and beside the door lay a priest, lying in a pool of blood.

He opened his mouth and opened his eyes, his gray eyes staring blankly at the moon in the sky. There was a huge wound in his throat, which had already bled completely, and the hidden branches could be faintly discerned from the dark red rolled flesh.

Hana stood against the wall against the corpse, her soft-soled leather boots were less than a fist away from the pool of blood, and she listened carefully to the sounds from the door and the bell tower.

She didn't look at the corpse that was close at hand, because the details that needed attention had already been seen clearly when she flew close, and the details of the priest's murder were not difficult to guess.

What's more, the life and death of an unknown believer in God has nothing to do with her. She only needs to confirm one thing, and that is whether the gunman on the clock tower is still there.

After waiting for more than four minutes, the third round of gunfire sounded as promised, slow, firm, and crisp, revealing the shooter's strong confidence and relaxed state.

The interval between shots is steady.

Not the kind of inflexible rigid fixation,

Every shot of the gunman pressed against the villa's counterattack. Although the villa's gunshots were not interrupted, Haina could clearly hear the bewilderment and panic on the other side of the villa.

Got you……

Hana took off her hood, watched the light smoke that was about to dissipate on the clock tower, tiptoed, and got into the steeple.

...

The third gun was fired again, and Nacien sat down against the wall of the clock tower.

He took out a paper shell from the bullet pouch, bit open the paper shell, poured the preloaded gunpowder into the Kentucky slender barrel, then took out a separate lead shot, stuffed it into the gun chamber, pulled out the cleaning rod and pressed it inward. Reality.

The American-made Kentucky is the farthest and most accurate gun in the world.

Holding this gun, top hunters can achieve assassination at a distance of more than 300 meters, and even ordinary excellent gunners can extend their effective range to 100 meters away.

This statistic is quite unbelievable in this day and age.

Because as far as the mainstream rifle data is concerned, the old brown bass has a theoretical range of only 300 meters, and the cutting-edge Charleville is farther, with a theoretical range of 380 meters, but the effective range of the two is the same, only 30 meters.

Kentucky’s barrel is longer than Brown Bass and Charleville, with a theoretical range of 450 meters and a tested effective range of 80 meters.

But even so, Kentucky is still an unpopular weapon. Not only people in other countries rarely use it, but even the Americans who invented it are actually equipped with very few people.

With the development of front-loading flintlock guns to the present, pre-loaded paper shell bullets have long been standard equipment for increasing the rate of fire.

The preloaded bullets of other guns are packed with gunpowder and lead bullets. As long as they are torn apart, the powder is poured, and the gun is compacted with a cleaning rod, the firearm is ready to fire. Well-trained gunners can easily do it 30 seconds or even 20 seconds round.

But not Kentucky.

Success is rifling, failure is rifling, and rifling causes Kentucky barrels to lose the airtightness that muzzle-loading guns rely on.

In the normal loading mode, the kinetic energy of the gunpowder ignited is largely dissipated along the rifling, and the remaining force is barely enough to push the lead bullet out of the barrel, let alone use it to achieve a super-distance assassination attack.

So Kentucky buckshot is special.

Wax, wrapping paper or cloth in the outer layer is mostly directly used with large lead pellets slightly larger than the caliber of the barrel, squeezed in by rotating with a cleaner, and compacted with the firing charge.

To put it bluntly, it is to rack your brains to process a projectile with a spiral pattern that perfectly fits the rifling of the barrel itself during the loading process.

This anti-human loading design directly ruined this perfect gun.

Pierce doesn't like Kentucky, because others have short hands and limited strength, and it takes 5 minutes to reload each time. If it is on a swaying sea, they have to bear an additional misfire rate of more than 50%.

Nacien likes Kentucky very much. As an experienced veteran hunter, he can compress the reloading time of each gun to one and a half minutes. Even if he is in the sea, the misfire caused by the excessive deformation of the ammunition will not More than 20%.

Of course, opportunities to use Kentucky at sea were limited.

When the warship is on board or approaching, the distance between the hunter and the target rarely exceeds 100 meters. For them, an ordinary rifle that reloads quickly can play a greater value, and it is more deterrent than a Kentucky that can be fired every few minutes.

Hunters are invincible.

As the god of death on the battlefield, the hunters always believe that only the hunters can kill the hunters.

Just like today's scene.

In Nacien's view, the gunman who was shooting at him in the villa was undoubtedly conscientious, conscientious and vigilant.

But that's all.

He couldn't threaten Nasien. The distance of 350 meters was the limit of Nasien's accuracy, and it was far beyond the limit for the shooter.

His counterattack was futile, and there was no possibility of hitting him at all. On the contrary, because he needed to probe during the shooting process, he was almost shot by Naxien twice.

A shot means death, it's only a matter of time.

Nacien hummed a song boredly, put down the loaded gun, and picked up the second gun from his hand.

He suddenly heard a very thin and very faint sound of wood rubbing, the location... came from under the tower.

Nacien was taken aback.

The spire of the bell tower is connected to the gate of the tower only by a slender and coiled wooden staircase. Because of the long-term relationship, there will indeed be a sharp grinding sound when stepping on it.

But that sound should be much louder than what I heard just now, like this staircase will collapse at any time, and it is impossible for people to miss it anyway.

But what happened to the sound just now?

cat? dog? mouse? Or... a person with particularly light feet?

Nacien's expression became serious. He put down the gun slowly, stood up while firing the gun, drew his most trusted gun blade from his waist, pulled the trigger with his fingers, and protected his chest.

He had already held his breath, pondering over the possibility of auditory hallucinations in his mind.

The possibility of auditory hallucinations is greater than 70%.

There were no pedestrians in the night alleys of San Carlos, and the gun battle and turmoil tonight kept those who hadn’t slept obediently confined to their rooms, even sporadic movements disappeared.

In this case, the secret whistle sent in the east, west, north, south will certainly not miss the people approaching the bell tower.

And at this time, who can track the bell tower?

Almost all the living people in the Port Authority were killed by the head, and the few who were still alive were also suppressed in the villa.

There are a lot of sailors gathered on the pier, but the fires there are scattered and the reflections are disorderly. With no leader in the group, it will obviously take a lot of time for them to organize themselves.

The other two in the stronghold are even less worthy of attention.

The night cannot hide the gunshots and riots. They have not taken any action so far, and there will be no timely action tonight.

From this point of view, it seems that it can only be an animal running around...

Nacien took a deep breath and cautiously leaned towards the stairs.

"Let me see, which restless little thing it is..."

The coldness suddenly appeared!

A cold light flashed at the moment when Naxien probed, and turned into a bright red streamer, shooting directly at the center of his brow.

The red light was too fast, too fast, Nacien didn't even have time to react, he could only watch the red light approaching.

Ding!

A wide-bladed flying knife fell from the sky, brushed Nacien's cheek and hit the red tip, making a crisp sound, and the two fell to the ground.

A hoarse voice growled from the top of the bell: "Nathien, step back!"

Naxien scrambled back and forth, and at the moment of retreat, black smoke filled the air, and Hana, holding a short knife upside down, attacked directly from the darkness at the stairs.

A few strands of loose hair fell down.

Nacien stared blankly at the falling hair, and then over the hair, at the coffee-colored Grim Reaper, who was so dexterous and inhuman.

hum!

The wall clock trembled slightly, and a short gray shadow fell from the clock, and landed between Naxien and Haina, cutting off the sight of the two.

This person wore a smock similar to Henna's, which was pure gray. He wears a hood that covers his head and face, and is short in stature, like a child.

He bent forward like a wild beast, his sleeves fluttered in the wind, revealing two iron hooks that pirates love most, and the cold light flickered.

Hana rolled over and landed, squinting at him.

"Are you the hunter's protector?"

"I am the shadow warrior Zaniin." He responded with a hoarse voice, "Look at your actions, is it Assassin?"

"Assassin Henna, Henna Yesra."

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