Chapter 239: Acknowledgment

Only now did he finally understand that 65 points didn't signify trouble but a real threat.

Yet, the difficulty of the 65-point reward was within his acceptable range.

So, when York said he alone was sufficient, it wasn't just talk; there was indeed some confidence behind it.

The main thing was, he was confident he could keep himself alive through those 65 points.

If worst came to worst, he could always run.

What he didn't realize, however, was how this made Father Matty become even more silent, pondering unknown thoughts.

So much so that even after they had left the Ascension Cathedral of the Holy Church and were on their way to the Yellow Bridge Church under his charge, Matty remained silent.

It wasn't until they were halfway there that he finally spoke up, "Do you need any more help, York?"

York glanced at him. He had been waiting for this question. He could have asked, but Matty's demeanor was so downcast, and with the streetlights casting shadows over his face, York found himself unable to broach the subject.

"I need more guns."

York watched as Father Matty, momentarily taken aback, followed up with, "Magazines that hold 100 rounds of the Calico M960, the more, the better."

He had made a mistake in judgment this time, bringing only 9mm holy bullets.

And the Calico M960 could use this caliber.

As he spoke, York's mind was already filled with details about the gun.

The Calico M960, a submachine gun with a 100-round helical magazine, firing 9x19mm pistol rounds.

"A 100-round Calico M960?" Father Matty frowned, unfamiliar with the term. He was just a priest; how would he know what that was?

"It's the name of a submachine gun. You could try to find it with the help of Thai official forces. If not, then the Belgian FN P90."

Seeing Father Matty's bewildered look, York added, stepping back a bit, "If that's not available, then the 15+1 round magazine Beretta 92 handgun."

At his level, with enchantments adding damage and holy buffs increasing critical hits, he could afford to not care about the firepower of the weapons, focusing instead on their ammo capacity.

Father Matty took note of these names seriously, giving York, who still maintained a daunting presence even just sitting there, a deep look.

It was then that he suddenly understood what Bishop Richard had meant back in the cathedral.

This guy really was an oddity, just as he thought. What kind of priest would specialize in this stuff? There were so few, it was pitiful, pitiful that he didn't even know what these guns looked like.

"Thailand is one of the Southeast Asian countries where it's legal to own firearms," York said, noticing the change in Father Matty's expression, trying to console him.

"With its scale, it should have these guns."

"Mhm," Father Matty resignedly replied, "I'll ask around."

York nodded, checking the time on his phone [8:01]:

"There's still four hours left, no need to rush."

Father Matty showed a helpless look but also a deep envy for York's calm and composed demeanor, as if he could remain unfazed even if the sky fell.

"If there are any, it won't take too long."

York nodded again, thanks to the real-time 3D map in his mind, he saw the structure of the church from a distance of twenty meters, and with a calm demeanor said,

"We're here."

As the car moved, the Yellow Bridge Church, where Emilia and Saxton had been, appeared in front of them.

[8:46]

York was alone in the church, silently preparing his equipment.

The hefty knight's sword was already strapped to his waist.

With his magic and mental stats not yet at a wasteful level and his physique increasing, his combat style had shifted towards more energy-efficient melee combat.

Of course, that would only be a last resort, when out of ammo.

His trump card in melee was his supernatural strength.

Starting to fill the brought ammo belts with holy grenades, then hanging them on himself, the space in his backpack grew even larger.

The two holy time bombs were particularly conspicuous.

"Ten kilograms each with a double buff of a hundred points, equating to the explosive power of one ton of TNT," York exhaled softly.

"Hope I won't have to use them."

Filling the belts with thirty grenades, York now had three ammo belts hanging on him.

"What's next is…"

York's gaze settled on a pile of Belgian FN P90 submachine guns and Calico M960s next to him.

It was said they were even taken from shooting ranges.

"With only three hours left…"

York narrowed his eyes, staring at the heaps of 9mm bullets in his backpack, his right hand clenched.

Invisible ripples appeared out of nowhere.

Under his will, his telekinesis spread throughout the room, bullets floating up one by one, forming a dense wall.

Then, without even looking, he used his telekinesis to grab the pile of submachine guns next to him.

In that instant, as the guns floated, their magazines automatically fell out.

And in that moment, the floating bullets automatically filled the magazines.

For a time, in the silent church, the click-clack sounds were profound.

"Done."

York placed the only handgun, a Beretta 92, into the holster at his waist.

The floating submachine guns automatically packed themselves into the nearby backpacks.

One after another, a total of twenty guns all packed into two backpacks.

"In the end, I still can't do without a backpack."

York shook his head, continuing to use telekinesis to zip the bags closed.

"If only I had a space storage like other transmigrators, it would save a lot of hassle."

Thinking of the novels he had read in his previous life, York let out a rare sigh, picked up the backpack with the holy bombs with his left hand, combined the straps of the remaining two backpacks with his right hand and lifted them up, looking ahead.

In the real-time 3D map in his mind, someone was coming in.

As that 3D map approached the church, Father Matty also appeared in York's field of view.

"Finished?"

Father Matty, rushing over and seeing York fully armed, was shocked as a priest.

In the candlelit church, a robust priest combined with the equipment on him emitted a heavy pressure that made Matty hold his breath, even inexplicably smelling the scent of gunpowder and war.

"Yeah."

York, nonchalant, carrying the backpacks, walked forward, passing by the stationary Father Matty.

"Let's go, while there's still some time. I want to prepare some gifts to welcome them."

Saying so, York walked out of the Yellow Bridge Church.

Father Matty blinked, as if waking from a dream, and hurriedly followed.

Somehow, he had truly come to respect York, beginning to acknowledge the gap between them.

Thank you, everyone. I've silently read all your comments.

I won't say much, so as not to affect your reading. Just keep watching, even if you drop the book midway, I understand.

As the saying goes, the green hills remain unchanged, the flowing water endures; when we meet again in the rivers and lakes, we shall share a toast and revel in joy.

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