socalfunplaces Chapter 60 Taking Over the Steward's Residence
Chapter 60 Taking Over the Steward's Residence
"Retreat what?!"
Suddenly, a roar rang out from the front of the labor team.
Old John, his face weathered by time, gripped the pickaxe with its broken wooden handle tightly. His hands, calloused from years of bricklaying, didn't tremble at that moment.
Old John stepped forward, blocking all the laborers, pointed at the gangsters opposite him, and roared with bloodshot eyes:
"When we were carrying heavy loads at the docks, these old men in leather boots treated us like dogs! One lash from their whip was enough to kill a man! When we got sick, we could only rot in the mud like rats, to be eaten by wild dogs! And them? The money they lost in the casino in one night was enough for ten of us to buy our lives!"
The assassins let out a contemptuous sneer, but in old John's eyes, they were no longer the high and mighty masters, but dead men about to die.
Old John turned around abruptly and looked at Lynn, who was standing in the shadows in the corner, covered in blood.
"It was Lord Lynn who gave us shelter from the wind and rain! It was he who made sure we could drink hot soup with meat every day and eat bread that wouldn't hurt our teeth! He treated us like human beings! He let us know that the blood flowing in our lowly bones is also warm!"
Old John's chest heaved violently as he turned and raised the pickaxe high:
"Lord Lynn is in trouble today. If we back down, we're not even as good as dogs! Brothers, if we don't have weapons, we'll bite them! We'll tear a piece of flesh off these scumbags!"
At that moment, everyone fell silent.
Then, as if a spark had ignited a powder keg called Mortal.
"Kill them!!"
"For Lord Lynn! For the hot soup!"
"Damn these bastards!"
In the study and in the pipes, hundreds of the lowest-ranking Pearl Harbor laborers erupted in a deafening roar that even drowned out the sounds of fighting.
They lacked fine armor, advanced skills, and even the physique of novice adventurers, but at this moment, the ferocity in their eyes made the elite assassins on the other side feel a sense of dread.
It was a torrent of hundreds of souls driven to the brink of despair, a torrent bursting its banks.
Dozens of laborers, who had already climbed up the underground pipes to the study, charged forward one after another towards the sharp swords and blades. Those in front fell wounded, but those behind stepped over their comrades' bodies to keep pushing forward. Some, whose shovels broke, simply lunged forward and clung tightly to the legs of the assassins. Others, slashed in the shoulder, opened their mouths with bloodshot eyes, biting down on the enemy's throat like wild beasts!
This is a backlash from the bottom, the rage of ordinary people.
"Good! Very impressive! Now it's up to us contractors! You guys come back!"
Upon hearing the order, the laborers who had rushed forward all retreated, dragging their wounded comrades back with them.
Iron Pot Stew Da Ne excitedly leaped onto the smashed desk, like a fanatical commander directing a vast army.
Of course, the goose wouldn't let these laborers, whose fighting spirit had just been ignited, die in vain. He quickly waved his hand and roared at Elliott, who was organizing the formation below:
"Hey foreigner! Form up the defensive formation! Team One, smash all the bags of quicklime on the cart and throw them forward! Team Two, spray the acid!"
"YES! SIR!"
Despite being thrown into the role, Elliott did not hold back; he demonstrated excellent logistical coordination skills.
Instead of charging, the dozens of laborers spread out in perfect unison. Working in pairs, they lifted heavy sacks from the carts and slammed them down with all their might at the gap in the enemy's formation.
"Splitter it!" The leading warrior sneered, thinking it was some kind of sandbag used to smash people.
The broadsword in his hand once again glowed with a powerful white light as he swung it out.
The sack was torn apart by the sword energy in mid-air.
However, what was inside was not sand or soil at all, but high-purity dry quicklime powder carefully selected by Da'e and others!
The powerful sword energy not only failed to repel the sacks, but instead became the perfect blower. A cloud of white dust, like a small sandstorm, instantly enveloped the entire gap.
"What is that? Cough cough..."
"My eyes! Ah!!!"
A heart-wrenching scream echoed through the enemy ranks.
The warriors and gangsters were drenched in sweat from the fierce battle, their bodies covered in wounds and blood. The tragedy began when tons of quicklime powder came into contact with their sweat, mucous membranes, and blood.
A huge amount of heat erupted wildly on their skin, in their eyes, and even in their respiratory tracts where they inhaled dust.
The once arrogant first-tier warrior suddenly dropped his heavy sword.
They rolled wildly on the ground, covering their eyes, their piercing screams even drowning out the howling wind outside. Their faces were covered in blisters from the burns.
No matter how powerful the magic or how strong the sword energy, without protection, the human body absolutely cannot withstand the burning heat.
"Strike while the iron is hot! Second team, splash!"
The goose's command sounded precisely on time, like a death knell.
Without hesitation, the second group of laborers poured the highly concentrated industrial acid, which they had brought from the camp's chemical plant and stored in earthenware jars, into the dusty formation.
When the acid came into contact with the assassin's leather armor and flesh, it emitted a pungent white smoke.
"kill!!!"
No longer needing the goose to give orders, the frustrated monsters and snails, who had been holding back for half a day, took the lead and followed behind the crazed laborers, rushing up to beat the drowning dog.
Use shovels to smash them, use broken swords to stab them, and send those elite monsters who were screaming and covering their eyes back to their hometowns one by one.
The back of the hall.
The fat steward watched as his last trump card was slaughtered in an unbelievable way by a group of bricklayers, his face ashen. His legs gave way, and he collapsed to the ground, too weak to even draw his musket.
Old John, accompanied by several strong laborers, rushed forward and, as if crushing a fat pig, pinned the fat steward to the ground, placing a cold pickaxe against his neck.
"We won!!"
"Awesome! First call secured! Fatty got arrested!"
Inside the house, the players and laborers erupted in a celebration of surviving the ordeal.
Everything seemed to have come to a perfect end in this exhilarating and decisive attack.
However, Lynn did not laugh.
He walked slowly through the white ash and blood on the ground to the shattered French window.
The night wind dispersed the fog over Pearl Harbor, but it couldn't dispel the suffocating stillness of the surrounding area.
Lynn squinted, looking at the street a hundred meters away.
The torchlight went out, and all that could be seen was darkness.
In the darkness, a large, well-equipped force had silently completed its encirclement of the official residence.
Moonlight streamed through the gaps in the clouds, illuminating the cold crossbow bolts hidden in the shadows and the uniform dark leather armor.
Bolton Group's cleaners have finally revealed their trump card...