Chapter 71: Krampus Is on His Way Riding a Horse

"You know, my gun has never jammed that many times before."

The Clown calmly ejected the bullets from the revolver, inspecting them one by one, then reloaded new bullets one by one—the revolver itself, even its ammunition, was custom-made, simply terrifyingly large.

"Ho ho ha hee hee hee."

"Solomon! Snap out of it!"

Ma Ma Zhaodi leaped out from behind a wall; at the same moment, Solomon Grundy, eyes red and laughing wildly, smashed the entire wall to pieces like a big truck—Ma Ma Zhaodi was very glad that Solomon currently had little rationality, his attacks becoming quite blind and frenzied, otherwise he probably would have found it hard to dodge that collision.

"But today it really jammed, and three times in a row. I'm thinking—perhaps you really are a Santa Claus? But where are your reindeer? Could this big guy be one?"

While Ma Ma Zhaodi dodged Solomon's fatal attacks with a racing heart, the Clown did not step forward to finish him off, merely standing aside and laughing: "This is truly the darkest joke I've heard all year; it could almost shatter my childhood—"

"Santa's reindeer is a huge, ugly zombie that can casually kill a dozen children? Ha, I should add that to my joke collection."

"Solomon!" Ma Ma Zhaodi quickly pulled a pumpkin head from the bag and put it on his face: "Do you recognize me? Born on Monday! Baptized on Tuesday!"

However, Solomon Grundy had indeed lost most of his rationality at this moment; the Clown's insane laughter gas had invaded his already not-so-functional brain, almost turning his brain matter into a paste.

"Ho ho ha hee hee hee."

His already terrifying big face was now almost squeezed into a lump; the laughter gas made his facial muscles contract wildly, displaying a laughing expression that became especially eerie and horrifying under the moonlight. Yet Solomon was a zombie; the lethal laughter gas could not kill him, leaving him only able to charge around wildly with that terrifying grinning face.

The Clown's attention now shifted to the pumpkin on top of Ma Ma Zhaodi's head. He noticed that this pumpkin headgear, capable of making people lose their sanity, was somewhat unusual—a good thing for spreading fear: "Oh ho, this pumpkin head is interesting; it's as ugly and scary as this big guy—is this a Christmas gift for me?"

"For you—what! Grundy, leave here first!"

Ma Ma Zhaodi casually pulled another sealed bucket of milk from the big bag and threw it directly at Grundy, while drawing the Colt from his waist. This bucket of milk was not an output of the Horn of Plenty; food produced by the Horn of Plenty could not remove abnormal status effects.

"A bucket of milk"

Price: 2,000 USD Asset Points

Note: Milk transported across realms, of course it must be a bit more expensive—HIM"

"Bang"

The milk bucket was shot to pieces mid-air, drenching Grundy completely. After drinking a large amount of milk, the creepy smile on his face finally vanished; his brain retook control of his body, and his sharp intelligence once again occupied the high ground. Immediately, he let out an angry roar at the Clown, who had just tried to strike a deadly blow.

"Solomon Grundy! Born on Monday!"

"Grundy, not now. Leave first!"

"Solomon Grundy, born on Monday."

The big man's actions were halted by Ma Ma Zhaodi's shout. Although he looked quite unwilling, he still restrained the impulse to pin the Clown against the wall and rub him in, then reluctantly jumped out through the broken window hole.

"Hah? That's unfair!" The Clown muttered discontentedly: "I worked so hard preparing a Christmas gift; why should it be dismissed by Santa's bucket of milk? This is cheating—he can even shoot. What kind of Santa Claus is that?"

"Only laughter gas that can infect even zombies is cheating." Santa Claus flipped off the middle finger: "Not only can I shoot, I can also call for backup. If you have the guts, wait one minute; my friend Krampus will be here to mess you up immediately!"

"Haha, a Nordic Santa Claus, hee hee hee hee—then he'd better come quickly—"

Saying this, the Clown put away his pistol and casually pulled out a small knife and a crowbar.

"Because I'm a bit unwilling to keep playing."

Ma Ma Zhaodi didn't respond to his words; instead, he shouted again: "Clinton!"

"Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!"

In less than two seconds, six gunshots rang out as densely as popping beans. Six bullets rushed at the Clown like splashing water, and under the moonlight, a bald head reflected a faint glow.

"You called me just to deal with such a freak? Even dragging in another freak."

"His name is Solomon Grundy. He has a name, Clinton."

"Whatever. Damn it, a month ago you were held at gunpoint by thugs at your doorstep, and now you're being held at gunpoint by a clown madman—I'll see you lying dead on the street one day."

"When will your temper ever"

"Hey, hey, hey, gentlemen!"

The Clown's shrill voice dragged both men's attention back: "Why ignore me directly? Do you really think that little mouse hiding can hit me?"

Facing the incredibly fast six shots, the Clown remained unscathed. Ma Ma Zhaodi glanced at the six bullet holes on the wall, gritted his teeth; the opponent's movement was such that even Clinton couldn't lock onto him. At this moment, guns probably wouldn't work much on him.

"Clinton, leave first. There's no chance anymore."

"What nonsense are you talking? I'm here to get the job done for the money."

"You can only get the money if you go back alive—"

"Right, right, right, blah blah blah blah."

The Clown impatiently interrupted the two men's conversation: "So boring. How can a Santa Claus make Christmas even more boring? Let me liven up the atmosphere, shall we? How about a fireworks display!"

He solemnly adjusted his suit, snapped his fingers, and suddenly colorful lights began to flicker on the dark Christmas tree, illuminating the entire house a bit brighter.

"Please allow me to introduce this painstakingly crafted masterpiece! It's called—uh—right, it's called the Fireworks Christmas Tree!"

What the hell fireworks Christmas tree. Ma Ma Zhaodi looked at the light bulbs flashing on the tree and instantly recognized them as apple-shaped bombs—the Harvey family's house had just been bombed once, repaired only now, and was about to suffer a second time. The Clown really wasn't acting human.

"Now, gentlemen." He bowed slightly to the two men, displaying the red button in his hand: "Let's see whether Santa Claus actually likes Christmas trees. Hahahaha—"

Click. The explosion switch was pressed. The Clown looked at the bomb-laden Christmas tree with expectation, while Ma Ma Zhaodi rushed straight at him.

"You won't see the fireworks display tonight!"

(End of Chapter)