Ride and Cut

　　 "The mob." On the top of the car, Richard, who had no chance to throw a third gun, commented.

　　The barbarians still wanted to continue chasing the defeated Jackal, but their footsteps were blocked. Two rows of big goblin gun formations were placed on the way forward, firmly nailing the position, and not ready to give in a step.

　　 In the chaotic charge just now, the hobgoblins who have been maintaining the formation are at the end. Now that the entire army in front is defeated, they have become the only lucky ones left.

　　 A well-trained gun array is infinitely powerful, and can easily slaughter a mob several times the number of itself. Even against a king of land warfare like the cavalry, it is not without the power of a battle.

　　 Hobgoblins’ gun array is obviously like this—although their weapons are crappy, although their physiques are not strong. But just look at the neat line, calm eyes, silent soldiers.

　　 No one will be so arrogant that they think they are the same.

　　 Facing such a rigorous array, the barbarians stopped twenty steps away, and they raised their spears in unison.

　　 The next moment, they all threw them out.

　　...

　　 "How about casualties?"

　　 Richard can intuitively understand the casualties of his soldiers from the system panel, but he still has to ask.

　　 "Only a few brothers have accidentally suffered some skin trauma." A small battle was like the best warm-up for Gunther, and he was much more energetic at this moment than when he was in Coron.

　　 The barbarians defeated a double number of enemies, but they did not have any deaths. Gunther himself was surprised by the result.

　　 Regardless of physique or discipline, the highland barbarian can only be said to be slightly stronger, unable to reach the point of all-round crushing. The most important reason why there is such a disparity in battle damage ratio is the difference in equipment between the two sides.

　　 Steel spear throwing spear with leather armor, according to human standards, can only be regarded as mercenary equipment, it is not worth mentioning. But for the wilderness people who are still using wooden sticks, it is already an unimaginable weapon.

　　 Richard looked at the corpses all over the floor, sighing infinitely. Facts once again prove that war is money, and it is an unshakable truth wherever it is placed.

　　 "Boss, look at what we found!"

　　 There are some boring barbarians who are actually trying to search for loot from the impoverished robbers. What's more surprising is that they actually found something.

　　 "A bronze sword!"

　　The barbarians who were watching were all laughing presumptuously. After all, even the highland barbarian tribes who lived in the snow for a long time had already entered the Iron Age.

　　 Richard took this big sword, which was very different in shape from today, and recognized that it should be the weapon of the hapless hobgoblin chief.

He tossed with the sword in his hand, and after careful observation, he couldn't believe his eyes, "God! This is a beggar with a golden rice bowl. The olive leaf pattern decoration, the color is almost pure gold, it is a bronze of Nero's time! "

　　 It’s hard to imagine that it should have been placed in the collection room, receiving the antiquities sought after by naturalists, and playing the role of a combat weapon in a certain corner of the world.

　　 Gunther burst into laughter at once-he had no idea what the boss was talking about, but that didn't prevent him from making fun of his defeated men.

　　 "It is worth more than equal weight of silver, and it is at least one hundred gold coins on the Coron Antique Market."

　　 Richard didn't know how to evaluate this hobgoblin. The two contradictory characteristics of poverty and wealth blended in him wonderfully.

　　The barbarians onlookers heard that a broken bronze sword was worth one hundred gold coins, and immediately scrambled to come up and take a few more glances. He was rewarded by Richard, and all kicked to the side.

　　 "Boss, he still has an armor on his arm."

　　 Gunther has pointed eyes and bowed his head to tear apart the fragments of rags. The hobgoblin's blue-gray arm was clasped with a metal arm armor, the same olive leaf pattern, and the same color almost pure gold.

　　 This hobgoblin chief may be the only person in the bandit regiment with a protective gear, but unfortunately, this arm armor did not play any role at the critical moment. A throwing spear pierced the chest frontally, stirring up the ribs and internal organs into a mass of minced meat, and reaping the hapless life simply and neatly.

　　 Richard held it in his hand and looked at it for a moment, then smiled helplessly, "This guy is still a hardworking man."

　　 The hobgoblin chief obviously maintained the habits of a qualified swordsman during his lifetime, and cherished his equipment very much. Regardless of whether it is a big sword or arm armor, even if the condition is simple, maintenance is done as much as possible. Remove the patina accumulated in the long history, revealing the original bright metallic luster.

　　 Unfortunately, this kind of maintenance is a huge damage to the historical value of an antique that is irreparable. Originally the two pieces were sold together for three hundred gold coins without a problem, but now they are only worth one hundred and five at most.

　　 "Okay, it's quite profitable."

　　He suddenly felt that life was a bit strange-the southern provinces are known for being rich, and he only saved a hundred gold coins for ten years there. The wilderness has always been recognized as a remote country, but it only took one day to earn ten years of savings.

　　 Richard asked him to put these two bronzes away. He now owes a debt of more than 1,000 gold coins, and he doesn't want to let go of any extra money.

　　 "That, boss." A barbarian suddenly stopped Richard, with a rare twist.

"Um?"

　　 "I seem... as if I feel the effects of that medicine." He looked down at his hands, his expression was puzzled.

　　 The barbarians who had just dispersed were all gathered again.

　　 Frankly speaking, conscientiously speaking. He and the other barbarians didn’t believe that what they just ate was a magic potion—how impoverished they were, the guys didn’t see it, but the armed fifty-man guards almost fell to the point of selling their personal sabers. They were undoubtedly nobles. The kind in it is very poor.

　　Is it possible to believe that Haikou praised by a down-and-out nobleman?

　　 The secret medicine that strengthens the human body may really exist, but it is a precious treasure with my heels, not to mention 50 people at a time.

But…

　　 The barbarian samurai closed his eyes and slowly clenched his fists, feeling the power surging in his veins.

　　 This force came very suddenly, absolutely different from the slow growth brought about by one's own exercise. Thinking about it carefully, it suddenly appeared in the body after beheading a hobgoblin, which was exactly the same as the previous description.

　　—"This is a magical medicine from the depths of hell! Eat it, and from then on, you will fall forever the most vicious way of Shura, and you will gain unimaginable power in the killing!"

　　 Thinking back carefully, they were all absent-minded at that time, and Richard suddenly raised his voice, almost alarmist, that manner...like a demon like a demon!

　　 Gunther waited for a long time and did not wait for the following, watching the pain on his family’s face, like constipation, he waved his hand neatly and said, "What do you mean with your eyes closed?"

　　 "Boss, I actually seem to feel it too." Another barbarian warrior stood up.

　　 He was more agile, lifted a long spear, brewed for a while, and the gun burst into electricity in an instant. The lunge is straight, the side is picked, and the step is withdrawn to defend. The unpretentious gun skills are nothing fancy, only the dull sound of the air is continuous and shocking.