High Martial Arts: From Mechanic to Sword Immortal

Chapter 67 Six Consecutive Shots, the Earth Dragon Dies!

Bang bang bang bang!

Six shots fired in quick succession!

This time, they weren't firing ordinary shells.

Each 30mm shell is covered with a visible, almost tangible, blood-red outer shell—that is "sword energy" compressed to the extreme, each shell consuming nearly a hundred points of qi and blood to condense!

Six crimson shells were fired from the barrel.

They drew six distinct and bizarre arcs in the air.

Like six bloodthirsty vipers with life.

It precisely bypassed all the obstacles of the carapace.

Their only goal is that basketball-sized wound created by the missile!

Puff puff puff puff puff!

There was no violent explosion.

There were only six muffled, chilling sounds, like sharp blades piercing flesh.

Six shells, like six red-hot knives cutting into butter.

They all burrowed deep into the body of the Black Iron Earth Dragon.

Their target is the most vulnerable and core hypopharyngeal ganglion!

boom-!

The violent sword energy exploded simultaneously within its body!

Time seemed to stand still at that moment.

The massive body of the Black Iron Earth Dragon suddenly stiffened.

The twisting motion came to an abrupt halt.

The next second, it collapsed to the ground, as if all its bones had been removed.

There was no more sound.

Inside the cockpit.

Han Feng was slammed into the seat by the enormous inertia.

My chest heaved violently, and every breath was accompanied by a burning pain.

The extreme maneuver drained him of all his strength.

His whole body was soaked in sweat, as if he had just been pulled out of the water.

On the system panel, the Qi and Blood value has dropped to a low of less than 100 points.

The numbers were displayed in a glaring, dying red.

But he won.

The communication channel was completely silent.

"That's it?!"

Wang Meng's voice had a dreamy quality, full of unreality.

"Resolved."

Zhang Hao's voice was equally powerful.

He stared intently at the still image on the screen, unable to calm down for a long time.

The next second, Lei Zhen's savage laughter echoed throughout the entire channel.

"Ha ha ha ha!"

"good!"

"Good lad!"

"Well done!"

"That saved me at least thirty acres of wheat!"

"I'll add another 5,000 to that 10,000 points red envelope!"

The high-pitched whistling sound of the turbojet engine gradually decreased in pitch.

The heavy landing gear slammed heavily onto the reinforced concrete ground of the tarmac, producing a dull thud that made your teeth ache.

The "gray donkey" has returned to its nest.

Ground crew rushed up immediately with fire extinguishers and coolant.

To their horror, they discovered that this normally cumbersome support aircraft hadn't lost a single speck of paint.

Besides the dark infrared glow emanating from the machine gun muzzle that distorted the air, the fuselage was covered in a yellowish-brown, foul-smelling bodily fluid.

The hatch slid open.

Han Feng took off his helmet and exhaled a breath of foul air that smelled of blood.

It feels so good to be alive.

But he immediately felt a piercing pain in his flesh.

Those few minutes of extreme burst of power just now used up a full ten mid-level recovery potions.

Two thousand five hundred contribution points went down my throat and into my stomach.

This doesn't even include the ammunition loss from the machine gun.

"This is way too expensive."

Han Feng muttered something as he jumped off the plane.

Fortunately, not all of this money was wasted; at least a portion of it has been converted into cultivation points.

Not far away, the corpse of the black iron earth dragon lay quietly on the edge of the wheat field.

Illuminated by dozens of searchlights, its massive body resembled a silent, black hill.

The air was filled with a strong, strange smell, a mixture of sour and burnt odors.

That was the smell of earthworm fluid reacting with metal, so strong it stung your eyes.

Captain Zhang Hao was squatting beside the wound on the dragon's neck, his expression strange.

Wang Meng, carrying his giant axe, approached.

"Captain, have you figured out what's going on?"

He asked in a muffled voice.

"Isn't this thing known for being incredibly resilient?"

"How did Han Feng manage that?"

Zhang Hao didn't answer immediately, but waved his hand, indicating that Wang Meng should see for himself.

It was a bloody hole the size of a basketball, the very opening Zhang Hao had blasted open with a missile.

However, inside this wound, flesh, bone fragments, and charred nerve tissue are all mixed together.

Like a pot of congealed, foul-smelling porridge.

Wang Meng turned on his tactical flashlight and shone it inside, and he was stunned.

"This trajectory is wrong—"

Although Wang Meng's fighting style was rough, as an elite pilot, he still had basic common sense.

"The missiles explode from top to bottom, that's fine."

"But the fatal wound is in the subpharyngeal ganglion, which is hidden under the vertebrae of the earthworm."

He suddenly raised his head and looked at Han Feng, who was chugging water not far away, with an expression as if he were looking at a ghost.

"Han Feng fired from a dive, so the bullet should have gone straight in."

"How could it possibly bypass the bone fragments and muscle in front, making a sharp 90-degree turn?"

"It even seems to have eyes, diving right down to the bottom?"

Several other B-level trainees who had taken the exam at the same time also gathered around.

Looking at that bizarre wound sent chills down my spine.

"That's outrageous! How could a fixed machine gun possibly produce an arc?"

"Six shots in a row?"

"Even the legendary lost art of gunfighting" involves using a pistol at close range and flicking the wrist.

"You're flying a plane that weighs over ten tons, show me how it shakes!"

"Could it be that our artillery shells have come to life?"

Han Feng gulped down more than half a bottle of water.

He had already prepared his explanation for the scrutinizing looks from the crowd.

"It was probably a ricochet."

He walked over, his expression innocent and composed.

"This big worm has such hard bones, I never expected to be so lucky."

"The bullet bounced off the bones inside its body several times before finally penetrating a vital spot."

He spread his hands and drew a conclusion.

"That's what they call 'fools have good luck'."

Ricochet?

luck?

All six bullets ricocheted in the same way, all thanks to "luck"?

And they all accurately hit the same vulnerable ganglion?

Ghost letter!

Zhang Hao's gaze lingered on Han Feng's face for a full three seconds, but he didn't expose him.

Everyone has their own secrets.

Especially in this era of psionic resurgence, mutated talents are incredibly diverse.

As long as Han Feng is one of our own, the more ruthless the methods, the better.

"Alright, stop thinking about it."

Zhang Hao stood up and patted the dirt off his hands.

"Luck is also a part of strength."

"If it weren't for Han Feng tonight, Director Lei's hundreds of acres of amethyst wheat fields would have been turned into wasteland."

"We might even have to resort to using ground stakes," which would result in huge losses.

Just then, a hearty laugh came from afar.

"That's right!"

"Damn, luck is a skill too!"

Lei Zhen strode over.

The mechanical prosthetic limb, gleaming with a cold metallic light, pounded heavily on the ground.

Zhou Ping followed behind him.

The chubby deputy manager was looking at the wheat field, which had been turned upside down, with a pained expression.

The calculator in my hand was practically smoking from all the typing.

"Minefield Chief."

The students greeted him.

Lei Zhen waved his hand and walked straight up to Han Feng.

A large, fan-like hand patted his shoulder twice.

boom!

boom!

Han Feng felt half of his body go numb and almost lost his balance.

"Good lad, you've got some skills."

Lei Zhen grinned, revealing two rows of white teeth.

"Three minutes is three minutes indeed, and that big bug is completely dead."

"You saved me at least a million in repair costs."