Henna walked through the crowded 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, bankrupt, committed crimes, unsatisfactory lives, and family members. There are a lot of sold or abandoned.

People come here either for work or for paying for money. They work at sunrise and rest at sunset. They have neither the will to socialize nor the space for enjoyment.

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

But it is precisely because of this that the breath of life is always lacking here. Tomorrow is not too late, but there are no people in the streets.

Henna likes this kind of curfew-like environment.

In the dead of night, there are no people in the wild. She can let go of her hands and feet and run freely, without worrying that the exclamation of passersby will drag her out of the hidden shadows.

this is the best.

Hina Fei also seemed to run, tracking the gloom and shadows scattered everywhere in the night. All real things are passages for her, whether it is stone alleys, porches, walls, debris, or trees planted in the yard, ropes hanging on the balcony facing the street...

The black cloak spread its huge hem in the wind, like a cloud of dark clouds walking on the ground, drifting silently under the steeple of the church bell tower in just a few moments.

The only door on the tower was open, and a priest fell down beside the door, sitting down in a pool of blood.

He opened his mouth and eyes open, his gray eyes staring at the moon in the sky without a thought. There was a huge wound in his throat, which had run out of blood, and the dark red rolled flesh could faintly discern the hidden branches.

Hina stood against the wall against the corpse, her soft-soled leather boots were less than a punch from the pool of blood, listening to the sound inside the door and the bell tower.

She didn't look at the corpse that was close at hand, because the details that needed attention were already seen when the flying body approached, 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 determine one thing, and that is whether the gunman on the clock tower is still in place.

After waiting for more than four minutes, the third round of gunfire sounded as scheduled, slowly, firm, and simply, revealing the shooter's powerful self-confidence and relaxed state.

The firing interval is very stable.

It's not the kind of rigid fixation without aura. Every shot of the gunman is pressed tightly on the villa's counterattack. Although it did not interrupt the villa's gunshots, Henna clearly heard the confusion and panic on the other side of the villa.

Got you……

Henna took off her hood and watched the light smoke going up the clock tower, with a little toe, she got into the steeple.

...

Once again, the third gun was shot empty, and Nacion sat down against the wall of the clock tower.

He took out the paper shell bullet from the bullet bag, bit the paper shell, poured the pre-loaded gunpowder into the slender Kentucky barrel, then took out a separate lead shot, stuffed it into the barrel, and pulled out the cleaning bar to press it inward. Reality.

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

With this gun in hand, top hunters can achieve assassinations at a distance of more than 300 meters, and even ordinary excellent gunmen can extend their effective range to 100 meters away.

This data is a bit weird in this era.

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

The barrel of Kentucky is longer than that of Brown Beth and Charleville, with a theoretical range of 450 meters and a test effective range of 80 meters. This is all the result of the exquisite handicraft-like rifling hidden in this slender barrel.

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 have very few actual equipment.

The pre-installed flintlock gun has been developed to the present, and the pre-installed paper shell bullets have long been the standard equipment to increase the rate of fire.

The pre-loaded bullets of other guns are filled with gunpowder and lead bullets. As long as they are torn apart, poured, and compacted with cleaning rods, the firearms are ready for firing. Well-trained gunners can easily do it. A round of 30 seconds or even 20 seconds.

But Kentucky can't.

Success is rifling, and failure is also rifling. Rifling caused the barrel of Kentucky to lose the air-tightness that the guns depend on for their livelihood.

In the normal loading mode, the kinetic energy of the gunpowder ignition is scattered along the rifling, and the remaining power is reluctant to even push the lead bullet out of the barrel, let alone use it to achieve an over-range assassination attack.

So the lead shot of Kentucky is special.

In the outer layer, wax, paper or cloth are more often used directly with large lead pellets slightly larger than the barrel caliber, which is rotated and squeezed in with a cleaning rod, and the firing drug is compacted.

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

This anti-human reloading design directly destroyed this perfect gun.

Pierce doesn't like Kentucky, because others have limited strength in their small hands. Each loading of a bomb takes 5 minutes. If it is on a swaying sea, it will have to withstand an additional 50% misfire rate.

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

Of course, the opportunities for using Kentucky at sea are very limited.

The distance between the hunters and the target rarely exceeds 100 meters when the warship is connected or approached. For them, a normal rifle with fast loading can play a greater value, and it is more deterrent than a Kentucky gun that takes a few minutes.

Hunters are invincible.

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

It's like today's scene.

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

But it only stops there.

He could not threaten Nacion. A distance of 350 meters was the limit for Nacion to maintain accuracy. For the gunman, it was far beyond the limit.

His counterattack was futile and there was no chance of hitting. On the contrary, because he needed a probe in the shooting process, he had almost been shot by Nasion twice.

Shot means death, it is only a matter of time.

Nasian hummed boredly, put down the loaded gun, and picked up the second one from his hand.

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

Nacion was startled.

The spire of the bell tower and the gate of the tower are only connected by a slender winding wooden staircase. Because of the age, there will indeed be sharp friction when stepping on it.

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

But what happened to the voice just now?

cat? dog? mouse? Or... someone with particularly light footsteps?

Nacion's expression became cautious. He slowly put down the gun, got up while releasing the gun, drew his most trusted gun blade from his waist, pulled the trigger with his fingers, and protected his chest.

He has held his breath, thinking about the possibility of auditory hallucinations in his mind.

The possibility of auditory hallucinations is greater than 70%.

There are no pedestrians in the night alleys of San Carlos, and tonight's gun battle and turmoil have kept those who haven't slept in their own room, and even the sporadic walks have disappeared.

Under this circumstance, the secret whistles sent to the east, west, south and north will certainly not miss the people approaching the clock tower.

And at this time, who can track down to the clock tower?

The living people of the Port Authority were almost killed by the group leader, and a few of the living were also suppressed in the villa.

There was a large number of sailors gathering on the dock, but the fire there was scattered and the reflections were disorderly. With the group of dragons without a leader, they obviously needed a lot of time to organize.

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

The night can't hide the gunfire and riots. They haven't moved so far, and there will be no timely movement tonight.

In this way, it seems that it can only be an animal running around...

Nacion took a deep breath and leaned carefully towards the stairs.

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

Cold light suddenly appeared!

A bit of cold light flashed at the moment of Nacion's probe, turning into a crimson shadow, shooting directly at the center of his eyebrows.

The red light was too fast and too ill, and Nacion didn't respond at all, and could only watch the red light approaching.

Ding!

A wide-bladed flying knife fell from the sky, wiping Nacion's cheek and hitting the red light end, making a crisp sound, and the two phases fell to the ground.

There was a hoarse voice on the top of the clock growling: "Nassien, get out!"

Nacion crawled backwards, and at the moment of retreat, the black smoke was empty, Henna holding the short knife upside down, and struck straight up from the darkness at the top of the stairs.

A few strands of broken hair fell down.

Nacion stared at the falling hair~lightnovelpub.net~ and then over the hair, looking at the coffee-colored Grim Reaper who was so dexterous and not human.

Hum!

The wall clock trembled lightly, and a small gray shadow fell from the clock quickly, falling between Nacion and Henna, cutting off the eyes of the two.

This person is wearing a large overall similar to Henna, which is pure gray. Wearing a hood that covers his head and face, he is short, like a child.

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

Henna rolled over and landed, squinting at him.

"Are you the protector of the hunting soldiers?"

"I'm the shadow warrior Zanin." He responded with a hoarse voice, "Look at your movements, is it Assassin?"

"Asahina, Heina Yesra."

txt download address:

phone-reading: