The shoulder beneath the arm didn't escape either. After shattering the elbow joint with his weight, Chen Zhou's heel then kicked and broke the collarbone of the Indigenous Warrior.
In an instant, the situation took a drastic downturn.
If the Indigenous Warrior had any hope of escape left, it was now replaced by despair.
The excruciating pain contorted his brown-black face, making his expression even more ferocious.
But contrary to his fierce appearance was his dire predicant.
Chen Zhou, having tossed the revolver behind a buttress root, gripped the dagger tightly, pinned the Indigenous Warrior's body with his foot, and aid straight for his eye socket.
Facing doom, the Indigenous Warrior hurriedly grasped Chen Zhou's calf, pressing it against him with his left hand, trying to wrench it off while tilting his head to avoid the stabbing blade.
Yet his strength was no match for Chen Zhou's.
Even at full strength and a full belly, he couldn't gain the slightest advantage over this large, muscular man.
Not to ntion, at this mont, he was exhausted after hours of fleeing, severely injured, and utterly drained.
The adrenaline pumping through his veins temporarily masked the pain and increased his strength.
His heartbeat raced like a frenetic drumbeat. His bony hand clutched tightly to Chen Zhou's pant leg, his knuckles bending, yearning to dig into Chen Zhou's flesh, yet it was to no avail.
The heavy foot pressing on him made it hard to breathe, rendering him unable to move it an inch.
As for the dagger stabbing towards him, he barely managed to evade the first strike.
But what then?
Chen Zhou's eyes flashed with a hint of displeasure, annoyed by the Indigenous Warrior's desperate resistance.
He reached out with his other hand, grabbing the crown of the Indigenous Warrior to immobilize him, then delivered an accurate stab.
The dagger plunged precisely into the Indigenous Warrior's eye socket, thrusting deeply.
The Indigenous Warrior emitted a half-uttered cry of despair, his anguished scream resonated like a worn-out bellows, heavy and piercing, cutting off abruptly midway.
Blood and a yellowish-white unknown fluid gushed from his eye socket, and the Indigenous Warrior's emaciated arm lost all strength, dropping weakly to the side.
Soon, his heart ceased beating, his body gradually lost its warmth, becoming rigid and cold.
…
Driven by anger, Chen Zhou, in a mont of impulse, executed a living man in such a brutal manner.
The mont he released the dagger, he even felt slightly weak-kneed.
The blood, screams, the look of a person on the brink of death, and the odor emanating from the corpse symbolizing death, all converged to assault his senses, affecting his thoughts.
Stepping back two paces, leaning against the buttress root, Chen Zhou could feel his heart pounding chaotically.
He found it hard to describe his feelings at that mont.
Perhaps a bit of nausea, a vague empathy for the suffering of another being.
But more than anything, a fear of himself, unfamiliar with the ferocity and cruelty he had shown.
Shooting soone and killing in close combat are completely different.
No gunpowder smoke, no distance to open up, no instant thrill of one shot, one kill; only the intense sensory stimulation and surging adrenaline.
Chen Zhou stood quietly for a long while before he could regain so composure.
Lai Fu had already relaxed its grip—its muzzle fur stained red.
Sensing its owner's unusual emotions, it approached Chen Zhou affectionately, mouth opened in a fawning gesture, rubbing against his thigh.
Yet, no matter how it tried to ingratiate itself, it still looked sowhat fierce at this mont.
Chen Zhou felt a bit downcast. He rubbed Lai Fu's furry head, comforting this brave big guy, then climbed over the buttress root to pick up his gun.
Beside the gun, he saw a broken twig with so yellowish hairs stuck on one end, only then realizing that the Indigenous Warrior had used this stick to hit Lai Fu, causing its painful yelp.
Silently, he collected the gun, ticulously checked Lai Fu's body.
Upon confirming it was uninjured, Chen Zhou didn't take back his dagger, nor did he move the body, but just wiped his hands with a broad leaf, and retraced his steps back the way he had co.
His face was especially calm, and his steps steady, yet his heart, contrary to his deanor, was destined to be turbulent for a while.
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