Barton felt sowhat powerless at the sight.
In fact, these explosive shells were not ant for use with smoothbore cannons, but to be launched by short mortars to create explosions.
But since all three cannons were smoothbores, Barton couldn’t directly fire the explosive shells. He could only watch helplessly as Dismas charged forward.
When he snapped back to reality, he saw the General risking his life and the warriors facing death without fear. A surge of fervor ignited in his heart; he could only join their madness.
"Damn it! Bring up my Sixteen-Pounder Cannon!"
Amidst Barton’s shouting, the absurdly large cannon appeared. This was a piece of equipnt that seldom even saw use in training.
Barton placed his hand on it. All the firing data was clear in his mind. Still, he wondered if it might feel unfamiliar after so long without use...
His gaze settled on the rampaging monster in the distance. When he saw Dismas drawing near, he roared.
"Ready—FIRE!"
The fuse ignited. A blast far louder than the previous two shook the earth. The cannon recoiled, and a huge cloud of gunpowder smoke billowed from the muzzle. With it, the roaring iron cannonball tore through the smoke, hurtling towards the monster.
Dismas felt as if he could hear the shell whistling past his ear. He didn’t look back but ran with all his might, for the fuse of the bomb in his hand was about to burn out.
The might of the Sixteen-Pounder Cannon was fully unleashed upon the monster. The iron cannonball unequivocally penetrated the creature, entering through its chest and bursting out its back, leaving a gaping hole visible even from hundreds of ters away.
But the monster’s twisted body had no discernible weak points; it was a mass of uncontrolled Spiritual Essence, and Flesh was rely its external covering.
Soon, the massive hole began to be filled again with regenerating Flesh. At that mont, Dismas had already charged forward, heedless of the monster’s wildly flailing tentacles.
The price for such self-sacrifice was a brutal lash from a tentacle that sent him flying. Yet, at the last mont, enduring the pain, he raised his arms and stuffed the bomb into the wound.
His thick coat offered so protection, but it was still torn open by the spikes on the tentacles, which slashed across his body, drenching him in blood almost instantly.
Not to ntion the sheer force transmitted from the tentacle; just one hit made Dismas feel his internal organs churning.
But still, he stubbornly climbed to his feet, his eyes fixed on the wound that was already being refilled by Flesh.
But where was the explosion? Why hadn’t it detonated? Had the fuse been snuffed out by the Flesh?
BOOM!
Before he could think further, an explosion erupted from within the monster. This ti, the creature’s sturdy muscles had ford a more effective sealed space, amplifying the bomb’s power.
It created a hole even larger than the one made by the Sixteen-Pounder Cannon, big enough for a man to crawl through, nearly tearing the monster in half.
The splattered Flesh, along with the shockwave, sent Dismas sprawling just as he had managed to stand up. After a series of fierce battles, he was utterly exhausted; sheer willpower alone had kept him going until now.
Seeing his task completed, his resolve finally gave way, and he collapsed, unable to rise again.
"My task is done..."
But this alone was not enough to kill the depraved monster. Its Flesh began to regenerate once more; the gaping wound was being filled by sprouting new Flesh—slower than before, but undeniably regrowing.
Seeing this, the others showed no fear or despair. A soldier dropped his weapon and, without waiting for an order, snatched up an explosive shell and charged forward, shouting, "Hamlet Must Win!"
The other soldiers also reacted. So didn’t even wait for their officer’s command, which made Barton roar in anger.
"Idiots! You didn’t light the fuse!"
This remark turned the grimly heroic scene sowhat comical. Among the artilleryn holding linstocks, one realized the oversight and quickly rushed forward to light the fuses for the charging soldiers.
However, Dismas’s attack had severely damaged the monster. Even though it was regenerating, it couldn’t recover quickly, and most of its mobility was destroyed. This significantly reduced the danger for the soldiers planting the explosives.
They now only needed to throw their bombs from a distance, and violent explosions rocked the monster’s body.
One box contained only twelve bombs, and they were all quickly used. Seeing no more explosives, so soldiers even considered hauling a barrel of gunpowder over.
"Stop, stop, stop! The monster is already dead!" Balistan and Barton struggled to control the frenzied soldiers, then organized a thodical approach. Under the barrage of explosions, even the Flesh Monsters were reduced to shreds.
Yet, faint twitching could still be seen among the remains; it had not completely lost its vitality.
"Nobody touch it! Dismantle the camp, gather wood, and burn these monstrous remains on the spot! Purge them completely!"
Soon, under orders, the makeshift straw-hut camp was dismantled. The materials were dragged over, doused with gunpowder, and ignited. In an instant, fire engulfed the monster’s remnants.
The prudent Barton even had his n collect all scattered fragnts with tools and throw them into the fire. Those whose clothes or skin had co into contact with the monster’s Flesh were ordered to wash themselves thoroughly imdiately, their contaminated clothing stripped off and burned as well.
When things finally cald down, a chilling aftershock of fear ran through almost everyone. Looking at the dead and wounded comrades lying nearby, a wave of grief washed over them, spreading uncontrollably.
But no matter what, the monster had been killed. The survivors, having cheated death, finally breathed a collective sigh of relief.
Reynard lay in a separate room, his body wrapped in bandages. Beside him lay his blood-stained Armor, which was so deford in places that removing it had been a considerable effort.
User Comments
0 comments from readers