From Robinson Crusoe

There is no mercy in war.

The moment Chen Zhou decided to completely wipe out the archipelago, the personal hatred between Sunday and the tribal chief became a conflict between the two forces.

Such disputes are ruthless, even if a volley of gunfire takes many lives, even if those people could become the island's future workforce.

But now, as they gather in the dense forest, armed to the teeth, they are not ordinary natives, but enemies—

Being merciful to the enemy is the same as being cruel to yourself!
……

Although Risoben has not appeared before the tribe members for a long time, his prestige has plummeted due to his atrocities.

But people still remember his identity as the chosen warrior and believe that the wars he participates in will always be victorious.

The tribe has been dormant for too long and needs a brutal, bloody conflict to awaken people's numb senses.

Without any pre-battle declaration, when Risobben appeared among the native warriors with his weapons and raised his long sword, all the native warriors roared excitedly like wild beasts smelling meat.

Looking at their companions, they felt as if they had returned to a few years ago, to the last conflict initiated by the tribe, and to the time when they enjoyed the "whole-person feast" after the victory.

The hungry soldiers could faintly smell the aroma of roasted meat, and those yearning to vent their pent-up emotions longed for the sight of bright red blood.

Awooooo!
They formed a chaotic line and, led by their leader, charged toward the enemy's high ground.

From afar, Lisoben saw a row of neatly erected vine shields on the mountain, and these unusual tools made him feel inexplicably uneasy.

He frowned, his gaze fixed on the rattan shields, trying to see the enemies hiding behind them.

However, none of the sailors, including Sunday, were willing to expose their limbs outside the bunker, and Risoban's observations were ineffective.

It was daytime, and the sun was clearly illuminating the highlands, but Risobben felt as if he were in the dead of night, facing a ferocious beast whose claws and teeth he could not see.

He didn't know if it was just his imagination, but he always felt that his death was imminent.

Thinking back, the reason why we were able to win the conflicts so easily was because we relied on the help of outsiders.

Feeling uncertain about the situation, just before reaching the foot of the hill, Lisoben could no longer contain his unease and summoned a trusted confidant.

Only after instructing his trusted confidant to go to the intruders' settlement as quickly as possible and report the news of the island's invasion did Risob feel somewhat relieved.

In his mind, large-scale conflicts never end in a short time.

The island was not large, and the outsiders lived near the sea. The native warrior could run to the outsiders' residence in no time, by which time he should have just started fighting the enemy.

Even if the outsiders arrive late for various reasons, they will not be defeated; everything seems to be under control.

……

The thought of seeking help from the Spanish had already consumed most of Lissoben's mental energy, leaving him no time to observe the enemy's movements.

As he led the native warriors forward, he noticed that some overly excited tribal members were rushing too fast, so he issued several more orders to slow them down.

Try to delay as much as possible so that we can receive reinforcements from outsiders sooner.

Moreover, the wooden spears and arrows have a limited attack range, and their location is below ground, so they do not have a terrain advantage.

Having fought many battles, Lisobben knew that rushing in rashly might result in heavy losses, so he planned to wait until they were within range of projectiles to the enemy before charging in all at once.

Although the vine shields erected on the hillside were huge, their number was not large, and Lisobben estimated that the total number of enemies was far less than theirs.

Despite having an overwhelming numerical advantage, Lisoben felt somewhat uneasy, yet also strangely confident.

After all, in wars between primitive people, a larger number of people meant an absolute advantage.

……

Lisoben was plotting something, causing the native warriors to slow down and advance cautiously.

He thought his decision was flawless, but little did he know that all his actions were clearly exposed under the observation of the telescope.

On Sunday, hiding behind a vine shield, he coldly watched the large, naked man protected by the natives in the middle of the group, his eyes burning with hatred.

His tribe, his parents, his relatives and friends, and the old priest who cared for him and told him stories, all died directly or indirectly at the hands of this tyrant who was supposedly a chosen warrior of God.

On Saturday, someone said that there is a Chinese idiom called "blood feud".

When he heard the explanation of that idiom, Sunday felt that it was the hatred he had been carrying all along.

Countless nights, lying on his soft bedding, he would feel regret as he recalled the time he spent in the tribe.

If the tribe had not been defeated, had not been forced to fight against the larger tribe, and had not rebelled against that tyrant, their fates might have been different. He and his parents might have been able to come to the big island and live a life where they could eat their fill every day and not have to suffer from the rain.

But there are no "what ifs," and the dead will never come back to life; this was what the leader told him personally.

As for the so-called Kingdom of Heaven, no one can prove its existence.

The leader said that if someone dies, they die and are gone from this world forever.

This is cruel for Sundays that are willing to believe in myths and legends, but based on the knowledge gained on Saturdays, it is the truth.

Life is precious because it offers no second chance.

It was difficult to recognize this, but it was precisely this recognition that made Sunday understand the meaning of life, and at the same time made him cherish the lives of his warriors even more, and unwilling to take any risky actions, even if he wanted to cut off the head of that "chosen warrior" with his own hands right now.

……

Patiently waiting, Sunday's eyes gradually narrowed—

The native warriors had entered the effective range of Chen's rifles, and at this distance, neither the natives' wooden spears nor their wooden bows posed any threat to them.

"Should we shoot now?"

I hesitated on Sunday.

He could imagine the chaotic scene on the battlefield when the gunfire rang out and the indigenous warriors at the forefront fell in rows like wheat being harvested.

The mysterious and unpredictable power of firearms would quickly make the natives realize—

They are fighting an invincible enemy.

What will inevitably follow is a rout, a complete rout, as the panicked natives hide in the dense forest, retreating into any corner where they can conceal themselves.

They might be too terrified to attack the sailors again, but there's another possibility: they might lie in wait like cunning wild beasts, using the jungle's cover to find an opportunity to ambush them.

That must be a very threatening hidden danger.

On Sunday, it was uncertain whether the indigenous people, after being shocked by the gunfire, would completely lose their will to resist.

He was an indigenous person, so he knew very well that indigenous people were creatures more ferocious than wild beasts. When their "nests" were invaded and their kind were slaughtered, the indigenous people were very likely to become crawling insects or lurking venomous snakes.

Moreover, these native warriors, gathered by the tribal chief, were elites loyal to the tribe. Letting them escape would pose a far greater threat than letting other tribal members escape.

……

Turning his head, Sunday saw that the sailor next to him already had his finger on the trigger.

Under the scorching sun, beads of sweat trickled down the sailors' still-youthful faces, their fingers lightly rubbing the triggers, as if they were about to fire a bullet at any moment.

"Don't be so nervous, they are no match for us."

Fearing that the sailors might fire prematurely and scare away the natives, he said gently on Sunday, while reaching out to press down the barrel of the gun of the soldier next to him.

Then he raised the binoculars and gave the order in a deep voice.

"Don't rush, let them get closer. If you're scared, take a deep breath first, and remember to aim before you shoot. Don't worry, the range of a gun is several times that of a bow and arrow. Even if they rush over, they'll just be sitting ducks for us."

"Recall how you felt when you were shooting at the firing range, raise your rattan shields, we will absolutely not lose this battle!"

Having reassured the troops, he remained silent on Sunday, keeping a close eye on the advance of the native warriors.

The figures in the telescope gradually magnified, and those with dark brown skin became increasingly clear.

Gradually, you could even see the bloodthirsty excitement on their faces and hear their beast-like roars.

The voices were vastly different from human speech, filled with primal bloodlust. If Chen Zhou were here, he would be horrified to hear their shouts.

……

More than a hundred people gathered together, forming a dense, dark mass.

The battle cries of their comrades rose and fell, igniting the fighting spirit in the hearts of the native warriors. Their eyes were bloodshot, and in their wide-open mouths, a sticky saliva stretched between two rows of blackened teeth. Their red tongues swayed, and their throats were vaguely visible.

Although the tribe had declined, they had never been afraid of anyone on the battlefield.

The leader, surrounded by his warriors, followed them forward.

As the enemy drew closer, the natives raised their wooden spears slightly, ready to launch their first volley once they were within range.

After forcing the enemy to scatter and flee, they would then pick up their wooden swords and charge forward to kill, easily securing victory in the battle as if slaughtering prey.

They had always done it this way before, and had never failed.

……

The distance was getting closer and closer; in just forty meters, all the sailors would be within range of the wooden bows.

On Sunday, noticing that the young soldier beside him seemed more nervous than before, he smiled slightly, put down his binoculars, and picked up the gun beside him.

"Everyone is ready for battle, aim at the enemy, and be ready to fire at any time."

The objective is to annihilate the enemy.

I'll repeat it again: Annihilate them all!

Don't worry about wasting bullets. When I fire, you all get a good blast!

Sunday's voice, though soft, is more effective than any loud speech.

All that training is for the purpose of personally taking lives with deadly weapons and achieving merit on the battlefield, isn't it?

At this moment, both the sailors and the Chen 1662 rifles in their hands seemed to be yearning for the sound of bullets exploding from the barrel.

As they drew nearer, the roars of the native warriors, along with their ferocious faces, drew closer.

On Sunday, the iron sights of his rifle were firmly locked onto the chest of an indigenous warrior, and he could almost see a heart beating beneath the flesh and bones.

Silently count to five.

At the very last second of the countdown, whether it was the sound of gunfire or Sunday's resolute "fire" order that rang out first, a burst of flames erupted from behind the vine shields on the high ground.

Then, thunderous firing followed one after another, completely silencing the natives' battle cries and turning the place into a sea of ​​gunpowder explosions.

……

The sudden, loud noise was like a dull thud, leaving the native warriors at the forefront of the charge in a state of mental blankness.

Most of the soldiers lost consciousness the instant the gunfire rang out.

Some people like to shoot the head, and the natives behind the target can see their companion's head explode with a "poof," splattering red and white matter all over their face.

Some people liked to shoot him in the chest. The natives next to the hit person would see their companion as if struck by some invisible monster, their body falling backward and crashing heavily to the ground, never to rise again.

A conspicuous scar marked his dark skin, from which blood gushed, a testament to the speed at which his life was slipping away.

……

Bullets were being loaded, and after the first volley of gunfire, one-sixth of the more than one hundred men had been killed.

At the front of the densely packed column, a clearing had been made. The native warriors lying on the ground couldn't even groan in pain; most of them had been shot dead.

The native warriors following closely behind them had no idea they would encounter such a situation.

The thunderous gunfire cleared their minds of all thoughts. They instinctively stopped walking, stopped shouting, forgot to throw their wooden spears, and forgot to draw their bows and shoot arrows.

In the ever-changing battlefield where life and death can change in an instant, such a system outage is undoubtedly fatal.

While they stood there in a daze, the bullets didn't stop; they were all loaded into the chambers.

boom!
bang bang...

Guns spat flames, and that terrifying sound rang out once more. This time, another large number of the natives fell.

A clever native warrior, looking at his helpless comrades, gazing at the terrifying square shield on the distant high ground, and at the enemy whose true face he had never revealed, finally realized what kind of opponents they were facing.

The smell of blood mingled with the smell of gunpowder, rising from the battlefield.

Despite the bright sunshine, a chill ran through him.

"run!

Run!

He was the first to turn around, making sure to loudly remind his companion.

As for the leader—

Ha, at this point, even if the leader were a chosen hero, or even if a god himself came, he might not be able to win this war.

They were not facing humans at all, but monsters from mythology that brought about the destruction of the world, demons sent by the gods to punish tyrants, and devils crawling out of the abyss...

……

Taking off, the native ran at the fastest speed he had ever been since birth.

His steps were light; he felt as if he were flying, leaping over bushes, over low grass, and skimming over stones and potholes on the ground.

The scenery around him blurred, but he could hear the wind whistling past his ears—a sound that represented hope and freedom.

Immediately, he heard that familiar, unforgettable, and perhaps unforgettable loud noise.

He felt his body stagger, as if someone had pushed him from behind, and then he fell headfirst to the ground.

Instinctively wanting to curse those who were interfering with his escape at this crucial moment, the native warrior quickly reached out to support himself on the ground, trying to stand up and continue forward.

However, the surging power in his body seemed to have been drained, and he couldn't even get up.

Not only that, the native also felt that he couldn't breathe, his vision was going black, and his ears were ringing.

He felt his chest was wet and sticky.

Squeezing out his last bit of strength, he touched his chest, raised his arm, and saw that his hands were covered in blood—

This was the last scene he witnessed in his not-so-long life. (End of Chapter)