When the plot-skips players into the game world

Chapter 634

Chapter 634: Chapter 43 Armed Gargoyle Chapter 634: Chapter 43 Armed Gargoyle The Stranger had barely opened his eyes when he was greeted with such a shocking scene, and he couldn’t help feeling a little weak at the knees.

“...Ah, ah ah...”

His throat made a croaking sound, emitting meaningless noises.

His pupils contracted, and his vision went dark.

The Stranger collapsed to the ground—not just from the “flying leg” strike but also because his brain felt empty and dizzy, causing his legs to buckle beneath him.

The Stranger was not afraid of corpses or of the dead.

As a Level Four Calamity Stitcher, even though he had not yet graduated from school, he had already handled and pieced together many corpses.

Even when he was not yet articulate, he had learned to suture corpses alongside his sister and father.

...

To him, human corpses were merely materials, no different from clay or building blocks.

One of his friends belonged to a family of watchmakers.

That fellow had been tinkering with pocket watches since he was a child, while the Stranger had been playing with corpses.

To him, it was the same.

—But this was the first time the Stranger had seen a living person turn into a corpse.

The outstanding dynamic vision of a Transcendent allowed him to see it all.

The old man’s face still bore an expression of fear and astonishment as his entire body twisted and shattered under the flames and pressure.

His body, crushed by the force, resembled a tomato stuffed with a firecracker.

The countless spurts of fresh blood were like innumerable needles, landing on him as if they were driving into his marrow.

The Stranger couldn’t even tell if the pain he felt was due to the blood having penetrative and impact force under high pressure, or if the pain was merely an illusion.

He didn’t even know what he was afraid of, but he knew standing in the middle of the street was definitely very dangerous.

So, although his legs were beginning to quiver and he could hardly stand up, his well-educated brain still urged his body to roll and crawl away from the blast-shattered corpses.

He had only crawled a few steps when he realized he had not taken the box.

So, he crawled back, used the box to prop himself up, stood with his back hunched, and stumbled toward a nearby residence for shelter.

He had just knocked on the door when it swung open.

Without asking anything, the other party pulled him inside.

It was an old woman.@@@@

“Master Nobel!”

She exclaimed, “Are you alright?!”

“...Heh ah, ha...

ha...

cough cough cough...”

The Stranger waved his hands and shook his head, unable to speak.

Heaving heavily, his breath was as labored as if he were suffering an asthma attack, gasping for air.

But what flowed into his throat was not fresh air.

—Only the smells of soil, fresh blood, and gunpowder.

Yet Stranger felt that he had to say something.

The words were stuck in his chest; if he didn’t speak them, he’d go crazy.

He looked around in panic and confusion, clenching and unclenching his fists.

He didn’t know what to do or where he was.

But at that moment, an old woman suddenly yanked him to the ground.

Even for an alchemist who hadn’t much enhanced his physique, his build was far stronger than that of the old.

Still, Stranger was so frantic and bewildered that he offered no resistance, and thus was pulled down to the ground.

The next moment, Stranger held his breath, his mind a blank.

Because something all too familiar appeared—

The sinister faces with long horns, the emaciated bodies like those of monkeys, the wings akin to those of bats.

Atop their heads shone eerie green runes, their bodies covered in a metal shell like a cage, inside which was flesh made cold and dry by the high-speed flight.

It looked as though human skin had been peeled away, only to have a metallic exoskeleton bound around it.

Their arms held machine guns bound with strips of iron, and two cape-like belts of ammunition wound around their backs.

Upon sighting them, they uttered sharp, monkey-like cries and dove down.

In the darkness of the night, the muzzles spat flames.

The old woman’s body was torn to shreds in an instant, like a scarecrow.

“Mom!

Damn it… Fuck you, damn monsters!”

A middle-aged man emerged from the house, roaring.

He was holding a shotgun in his right hand, and he violently pulled the trigger at the gargoyles.

—But the bullets were of no use against them.

The bullets capable of hunting bears only caused a gap the size of a baby’s fist on the stone.

The gargoyles’ movements were not delayed.

They didn’t even stop pulling the triggers; as casually as watering flowers in a garden, they simply turned the gun muzzles and the showering barrage tore the man to pieces.

...This was exactly the operational detail set by Stranger.

The gargoyles were not very intelligent, thus incapable of complex weapon operation techniques, and using firearms was definitely not among their skills.

But a command as simple as “pulling the trigger” could be accomplished.

Aiming was too difficult for them, and firing upon detecting an enemy often meant delayed reactions, which might result in bullets not being fired.

So, after six versions of testing, Stranger opted for a new approach: “never releasing the trigger”.

Once the gargoyles were in combat and there were no friendly targets in front, they would not release the trigger.

Even when turning the gun, they would maintain continuous fire.

The bullets poured out like a barrage could easily weave into a large net that tore any escapee to pieces, and for unarmored units, this firepower was deadly.

...Tear any escapee to pieces.

Stranger recalled the scene where he had proudly explained his new approach, his excited voice still echoed in his ears.

A severe sensation of nausea caused his abdomen to cramp.