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I'm bombarding the Supernatural World with my firearms

Chen Miao transmigrated to a supernatural world, where everyone had their own profession, such as "Student", "Fighter", "Thief", and so on. After much contemplation, he activated the "Gunslinger" profession. From then on! While the foreign races brandished their claws to invade, and others tirelessly trained their physical fitness and learned skills. Chen Miao silently ventured into secret realms to collect all sorts of materials, crafting Occupation Exclusive weapons like the "Thompson Submachine Gun," "Falling Blossom Sniper Rifle," "Inferno Gatling," "Matrix Sky-Eye Cannon," and so on. ... One day, people suddenly noticed that a very unfamiliar Supernatural Occupation had appeared on the city's Combat Power rankings. And in the crowd. Chen Miao, bare-chested under a black suit jacket with sunglasses on and a cigar in his mouth, held two Inferno Gatlings in his hands, looking up slightly at a group of scoundrels in front of him with the corners of his mouth turned up. "Don't wait for me to stuff the gun barrel in your mouth before you admit you were wrong."

Medieval rabbit · Ficção Científica
Classificações insuficientes
478 Chs

Chapter 229: One Two Three Four Five, Little Chicken Stew with Mushrooms.

"Maybe we should reconsider, see if there are any other ways?"

The burly man spoke cautiously, not because he was timid, but because he was unclear whether the villager's warning of a "crisis at night" referred to a crisis within the secret realm or a plot-triggered death. If it was a crisis within the secret realm, then it would be much simpler: they could fight their way out based on strength.

Even if their strength wasn't sufficient, retreating back into the house should pose no problems.

But if it was a plot-triggered death, then they really would be pissing in front of the Supreme Elder Lord, courting death.

Plot-triggered deaths mean that once certain special conditions are triggered, death is almost certain, irrespective of a person's strength, like that young man carrying a rocket barrel, whose strength did not even get used to a tenth of its capacity before he was impaled by three spears.

"What's up?"