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墨書 Inktalez
The villagers quickly gathered. Those with hooks and sickles crouched behind the pit, while those wielding flails hid beside the walls. Groups of three armed with pitchforks stood back to back. Lin Dahe climbed up the gate tower and saw the scar-faced man leading his men toward the village entrance—just stepping on the first fluorescent marker!
"Pull!"
The buried rope suddenly tightened, and the first three bandits fell into the pit, letting out inhuman screams. As the others attempted to go around, several flails suddenly swept in from the darkness, targeting their kneecaps. The sickening sound of shattering bones mixed with the thunder, sending chills down their spines.
"Fire!"
Lin Dahe pulled the trigger of the crossbow, and bamboo arrows dipped in tranquilizer whistled through the air. This modified crossbow could shoot three arrows at once; although its range was less than fifty paces, it was deadly enough in a chaotic rain-soaked battle.
The scar-faced man suddenly blew a bone whistle. The bandits quickly rearranged themselves into groups of five, standing back to back and wielding long knives—an improvised version of a mandarin duck formation!
"Boom!"
A flash of lightning struck down, illuminating the battlefield. Lin Dahe finally saw that these "bandits" were wearing matching leather boots, and some even had standard-issue tassels hanging from their waists. The system urgently scanned: [Weapon characteristics match: Wei Su deserter].
The one-armed veteran also noticed something was off, his single eye turning bloodshot: "They’re soldiers who have mutinied! Be careful of them..."
Before he could finish, a cold arrow shot from the shadows, striking him in the shoulder. The old man staggered back a few steps but suddenly burst into laughter: "Good! Good! Back in my day at Sarhu..."
The second arrow pierced through his thigh. The veteran collapsed to the ground but continued to swing his steel knife with his one arm: "You bastards! Come on!"
The bandits were enraged, and five or six burly men lunged at him simultaneously. In a critical moment, a small figure leaped down from the rooftop—it was Cui Xiaoman! A glint of silver flashed as she brandished her needles; the foremost bandit suddenly screamed while clutching his eyes.
"Paralysis Needle!" she shouted in the rain, "Close your eyes!"
Lin Dahe immediately understood and grabbed a prepared bag of lime, throwing it with all his might. The white powder formed a smoke screen in the rain; those bandits hit by the paralysis powder began to weep uncontrollably, flailing about like headless flies.
Just as the battle seemed to calm down, a synchronized sound of marching footsteps came from the south. Lin Dahe's heart sank—it was the second wave of enemies! He was about to raise an alarm when he heard a familiar battle cry:
"Hey yo! Hey yo!"
Li Zhuang's reinforcements had arrived! More than twenty young men charged into the fray with hoes and rakes, led by an old man wielding a peculiar long spear—crafted from a disassembled plowshare!
"My old friend!" the one-armed veteran spat blood as he smiled, "Is that plowhead still sharp?"
"It’s more than enough to plow your old bones!" The old man flipped over an attacking bandit with his spear.
The tide of battle turned instantly. The bandits retreated step by step under the combined assault of the mandarin duck formation and lime powder. The scar-faced man blew the retreat whistle. Just as Lin Dahe was about to breathe a sigh of relief, an alarm blared from the system: [Firearm signal detected]!
In the woods outside the village, three dark figures were pushing a strange cart—mounted on it was a dark iron tube. Lin Dahe felt all the blood drain from his face: that was a makeshift fléchette gun!
"Get down!" he screamed at the top of his lungs.
"Boom—!"
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