Chapter 214: Killing the King (11)

Many people mistake the B51 in Counter-Strike for the M60 general-purpose machine gun, but that's actually wrong.

The B51 in CS is called the M249 squad automatic weapon. Because it fires 5.56 caliber rounds, this gun has a high rate of fire and is lightweight, which is why Culture Thief could carry it and run around everywhere.

But what Qian Tieshan has mounted on the bow, ready to fire, is the genuine American M60 machine gun.

This is a general-purpose machine gun similar in appearance to the M249, but it uses 7.62mm rounds: a 17th-century crossing army has no need for sissy 5.56mm rounds, because there are countless enemies who don't know how to hit the deck and charge in dense formations, and they need 7.62mm rounds to punch through them — just like right now.

At Qian Tieshan's command, the three boats that had already beached instantly unleashed a sheet of bullet rain. The hail of fire from 21 MK17s and 1 M60 machine gun firing simultaneously lasted only one minute.

One minute later, amid furious cursing over the walkie-talkie, Qian Tieshan gave the order to cease fire — if they kept shooting, Comrade Liu Zhe, Fleet Commander-in-Chief and overall Landing Commander, was going to pass out.

Why pass out? Because for this expedition, the ammunition allocated by the Great Office was registered under the Navy's name. In other words, if they used fewer brass-cased rounds today, the Navy could secretly pocket the remainder into its own treasury afterward.

So Qian Tieshan, that bastard spending someone else's money, got chewed out, and even from several hundred meters across the sea, he could feel a certain someone's fury. But he had no regrets — being able to swindle a bit of the Navy's ammo for his men to do live-fire shooting... that was well worth it.

The shooting results were, of course, perfect.

A charge of a mere three-hundred-odd pirates was utterly meaningless against 21+1 later-generation automatic weapons. In fact, before everyone had even emptied their first magazine, the brave warriors had already begun to rout: the sight of heads exploding in strings swept away every ounce of courage. The pirates were not the Allied troops storming Normandy Beach; they didn't have the guts to charge into machine-gun fire.

Watching the remaining few dozen scattered bandits flee toward the island's east, Qian Tieshan did not order pursuit. Instead, he sent the boats back to ferry more men and ordered his troops to stand guard in place. Time was on the Transmigrators' side now — Luci was only this palm-sized tiny speck of land; where could Zheng Zhilong, carrying a locator beacon, possibly run?

A full hour later, the fleet's leisurely landing operation finally concluded: 90 Army reinforcements and a dozen or so Transmigrators stepped onto the beach.

And during that time, the high-speed motor sailboats patrolling the outer waters in rotation had already gunned down every pirate who tried to swim for it in the clear Coral Sea.

Additionally, three pirates who came waving white flags to negotiate were personally headshot by Qian Tieshan from 200 meters away: the Crossing Faction had spent so much time and resources precisely for this moment, hadn't they? By this point, all that remained was kill or be killed... and only now they thought of negotiating? Didn't they think it was a little late?

Seeing their envoys killed, the pirates led by Zheng Zhilong had nothing more to say and retreated one after another into the cliff-shore area of the Northeast Cape.

The cliff-shore area was formed by a stretch of jagged rocks. Anyone who visited Luci in later generations as a tourist would know that there are stone caves in those cliffs, and Zheng Zhilong was inside one of those caves right now.

However, that was of no use whatsoever. At the end of that short stone cave, beneath one's feet lay the sea — the extremely clear Coral Sea. Moreover, the Xingang Creek destroyer was on the open water less than 200 meters away. So this was not a path to life; it was a path to death.

The pirates knew this very well, and they had also read the cold, ruthless signal the Transmigrators had sent earlier, so many chose to burst out from the jagged rocks for one final desperate stand... or to seek death.

The 90 Army soldiers, wearing cowhide combat boots, had now formed a scattered skirmish line and were slowly sifting through the rocky area under the direction of a handheld loudspeaker. These soldiers held Type 38 rifles with fixed bayonets, constantly gunning down pirates who charged out with faces full of despair and furious roars.

Occasionally, a few more agile pirates would dart in close, but they were quickly picked off with pistol shots by the Marines dispersed among the Army soldiers — the Marines had now slung their assault rifles and switched to M9 pistols specialized for close-quarters combat.

Half an hour later, the arc-shaped search net had shot dead every pirate hiding in the reef area, and the soldiers began to converge toward the cliff cave. And the Zheng Clan's final charge arrived right on cue: a dozen or so last pirates, brandishing blades, burst from the cliff cave with frenzied howls.

Dozens of Twenty-Eight Style rifles, with their beautiful rosewood stocks and laser-engraved patterns, immediately opened fire. Amid the swirling gunpowder smoke, not a single pirate slipped through the net — all were shot dead at the cave entrance.

Just then, a sudden change occurred.

From within the dense smoke, atop a large boulder behind the soldiers, a figure suddenly leaped down. The top of this boulder had a natural groove, visible only from the higher ground at the cliff cave entrance. And so, Zheng Zhihu — a man only 22 years old, yet the Zheng family's mightiest warrior — had lain in ambush here.

The moment Zheng Zhihu's front foot touched the ground, he used the momentum to spring up to his full height. Shua shua — two slashes, in less than half a second, cut down two soldiers from behind. Amid the thick gunpowder smoke, the soldiers, their attention focused forward, had no idea what had happened. In the next second, a flash of snow-bright blade light glinted, accompanied by a faintly discernible figure, and two more soldiers were instantly cut down.

Just as Zheng Zhihu intended to use the last of the smoke to kill a few more foes, several shouts rang out simultaneously behind him: "Turn around! Enemy!"

Zheng Zhihu, his eyes already bloodshot, of course heard the warning cries, but he paid them no heed. He even hoped the enemies behind him would hurry up and shoot — in this thick, swirling smoke, firing into a tangled knot of bodies... would surely help him kill a few more.

And so, on Zheng Zhihu's usually fierce and imposing face, a rare trace of a savage grin was revealed. He raised his blade, aiming for the neck of a recruit who had just turned his head, saw him, and was so terrified he had dropped his rifle — ready to strike down.

Just then, Zheng Zhihu heard a "Qianglang!" — the sound of a blade being drawn behind him. A veteran of a hundred battles, he instantly checked his step and twisted his waist; the goose-quill saber originally aimed at the recruit now, borrowing the force of his turn, hacked downward behind him with even more ferocious momentum.

A loud "Clang!" rang out as the two blades met. Amid the tooth-grinding screech of metal friction, the two warriors, separated by the crossed steel blades before their eyes, strained their arms and locked gazes, sizing each other up.

The one who took Zheng Zhihu's momentum-driven slash was a short man. This man had a leopard's head, round eyes, and dark skin — short, stocky, and solidly built. Wielding a chrome-steel short Tang Blade that Cao Chuan had originally wholesale-distributed to the Pingfeng Stronghold bandits, he was now locked in a contest of strength with the tall and towering Zheng Zhihu.

This man's name was Chen Huoding.

The former Second-in-Command, who had come to Dayuan to enlist for the sake of future titles and glory for his wife and children, had now shaved off his full beard, revealing the youthful face of a man only 23 years old.

In the next instant, both sides let out a simultaneous shout, exhaling and using their blades to push the opponent away. After a single brief breath, the snow-bright blade light followed right on its heels — after bracing their rear legs to halt their retreat, both men simultaneously stepped forward, seizing the initiative and launching into a mutual assault.

Shua shua shua — after several more exchanges, both sides' styles had been revealed. Zheng Zhihu was tall with long arms, his saber technique grand and sweeping, every slash aimed at his opponent's vitals. Chen Huoding, short in stature and with a short blade, had his feet nailed firmly to the ground, utterly immovable; the Tang Blade in his hand was wielded with fierce, ferocious precision, parrying move for move and not yielding an inch.

One was a southern titan, a Wave-Quelling Fierce General who commanded thousands of troops; the other was a reincarnated baleful star who had dominated the outlaw world, a born warrior of savage might. The two finest young warriors of the 17th century tangled and fought viciously, just like that.

This sudden life-or-death duel was decided very quickly.

On the battlefield, there is no such thing as a three-hundred-exchange epic fight. In a scene where every slash sought to kill, even ten moves were too many, and so, after exchanging over a dozen blows with Chen Huoding, Zheng Zhihu suddenly took a large step back.

Zheng Zhihu was tall with long legs; one large step back meant he had disengaged from the combat circle. And Chen Huoding, who had strictly adhered to the principle of defense and counterattack, did not pursue at this moment — he needed to first figure out his opponent's intent.

Zheng Zhihu, covered in blood, turned his head and swept a glance around. As expected, those soldiers wearing front-buttoned short jackets with short swords fixed to the muzzles of their fire lances had long since surrounded him on the perimeter. And two giants, dressed in colorful motley and standing a full six feet tall, held gleaming silver short guns in both hands, watching him coldly from not far away.

Slowly raising the long blade in his hand, the young Zheng Zhihu saw that its edge was already covered with over a dozen notches. So he threw his head back in a long laugh, said to Chen Huoding, "Good blade!" — then raised his sword once more and charged.

Chen Huoding, naturally, was fully on guard.

In the next instant, Zheng Zhihu, having rushed before the short man, suddenly seemed to slip, appearing to reveal an opening and expose his left chest.

And Chen Huoding, without the slightest hesitation, slashed down with his blade.

"Good friend, let's go on the road together!" Zheng Zhihu, a smile on his face, flicked his wrist. Relying on his innate advantage of longer arms, he struck later but arrived first, hacking into Chen Huoding's left chest at the same moment Chen Huoding's blade landed on his.

Chen Huoding staggered briefly, then quickly steadied himself. Zheng Zhihu, however, had already collapsed in a pool of blood.

"What thing?" Zheng Zhihu asked.

"Soft Hedgehog Armor." Chen Huoding sighed.

"Good armor... This round doesn't count. We'll compete again in the next life." With those words, Zheng Zhihu breathed his last.

In a sudden rush, before Second-in-Command could react, several Transmigrators who had come along today just to rubberneck swarmed over — some patting his head, some clapping his shoulders, all putting on the ugly faces of fawning fans: "That was an eye-opener, now that's real combat skill! Second-in-Command, so cool..."

There were also the "even Earth's destruction won't stop my selfie" party members holding up their phones, and the media folks with mini digital camcorders hanging around their necks, all shouting: "Slaying Zheng Zhihu in battle — got it on film! Pinned thread on the forum when we get back!"

The thrilling interlude had passed. Like beating a boss in an online game, the Transmigrators and the army they had painstakingly trained had endured trial after trial and finally arrived at the final stage.

A dozen or so Transmigrators now stepped out from the crowd, forming a semicircle before the cliff cave. One of them bellowed: "Zheng Zhilong! Got any more tricks to play?"

In the next moment, a long sigh came from within the cave: "Zheng is willing to come out and surrender himself into your hands. I only hope that before I die, you noble sirs can grant Zheng some clarity."

Hearing these words, all the Transmigrators simultaneously looked toward Commander-in-Chief Liu Zhe.

And Liu Zhe, after glancing left and right, gave a slight nod.

At this, the main force, following hand signals, withdrew just a little, leaving a space for Zheng Zhilong and the Transmigrators to talk.

After all this was done, Zheng Zhilong — tall and slender, with a coolly handsome face, dressed in a blue long robe — walked out from the cave.