Chapter 753 - 635: Night and First Contact (Double-Length) (3)

The shooting was very accurate, and he was consciously locking down the space for dodging left and right.

Jeming stretched out his right hand and drew an arc in front of him.

The three bullets veered off their original trajectory as if pulled by a magnet, "sucked" toward his palm, landing neatly in the center of his hand.

He lowered his head and glanced at the three bullets, then looked toward the gunman's direction.

"Good accuracy." He said softly. His voice wasn't loud, but in the stillness of the night it carried very far.

The person behind the stone window had clearly heard him. The shadow froze, and the hand holding the gun trembled slightly.

Jeming didn't speed up. He kept walking forward at that same unhurried pace.

Since the other side's weapons posed no threat to him, he wanted to further test this world's technological level and see where the limits of these firearms lay.

At the same time, Jeming was sizing the four of them up.

Four people in total: three men and one woman.

They wore rough leather jackets, their faces smeared with dark paint so their features couldn't be clearly seen.

Besides guns, their weapons included daggers and short knives. Their gear looked like the loadout of some kind of militia or Hunters.

The one who fired was the man standing behind the stone window, tall and burly, with some kind of animal Totem tattooed on his right arm.

The gun in his hand was a long-barreled rifle, roughly made but structurally solid. There were signs of wear on the body, showing it had been used many times.

When Jeming stepped into the firelight, all four finally saw him clearly: a young man in a simple dark robe, with handsome features, his right hand supporting an Energy Light Ball emitting a soft white glow.

His left hand hung naturally at his side, and his gait was as relaxed as if he were taking a stroll in his own backyard.

Whether it was that white light ball or the way he had just dealt with the gunfire, both made it clear that this guy in front of them was definitely not someone to mess with!

The tall man pulled the trigger again.

This time Jeming didn't catch the bullet.

He tilted his head slightly. The bullet grazed his ear and flew past, striking the stone wall behind him and kicking up a spray of chips.

"Good accuracy." Jeming nodded slightly.

Just now, Jeming had judged the bullet's position based on the muzzle, and the point where it passed matched his prediction.

That meant this rifle's trajectory was very stable and its accuracy very good.

Another shot hit Jeming's shoulder, but the bullet shattered into fragments the instant it touched the Magic Robe.

Another shot.

Jeming lifted his heel a little, and the bullet passed under the sole of his shoe—the other side's mindset was already starting to crumble.

After four shots, the magazine was empty.

The tall man's face turned ghostly pale in the firelight.

He opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but only a dry swallowing sound came from his throat.

The remaining three had also taken advantage of the moment to pull their guns, but seeing this scene, they no longer had the guts to fire.

Jeming stopped walking at last, less than ten meters away from them.

"Your guns are pretty good," he said.

From the data of those few shots, Jeming had already drawn his conclusion: the firearm technology on this Plane was roughly on par with Earth's, but with two clear differences.

First, the weapons were more powerful.

Bullets of the same caliber had about thirty percent more kinetic Energy than similar weapons on Earth, probably due to the propellant load and materials.

Second, although the recoil was greater, the people firing them didn't seem to find them too hard to handle, which indicated that people in this world had pretty good physical fitness.

Or they might have some means of enhancing their bodies.

The four obviously couldn't understand what he was saying. There was no comprehension in their eyes, only fear and confusion.

The language barrier was within his expectations.

Jeming's gaze fell on the only one who wasn't holding a gun—the tall, skinny man.

He could feel a strange kind of Energy in that man's body, something with a…bizarre texture to it.

It was like the feeling given off by the Salty Finger, but weaker and more contained.

The tall, skinny man drew a short knife from his waist, the blade flashing with a cold gleam in the firelight.

He took a deep breath, and the fear on his face was replaced by a near-mad resolve.

Then he "burst."

A weird aura surged out of his body. Jeming was very familiar with that feeling—it was identical to the Curse fluctuations emanating from the Salty Finger.

Then a "snake" drilled out from the tall man's chest.

It was made of some kind of translucent, slimy substance, about as thick as an adult's arm, its whole body covered in fine scales that reflected an oily green sheen in the firelight.

Its eyes were two dark red light points. Just looking at those eyes, a primal fear of serpentine creatures, the instinctive dread of being constricted and devoured, would well up from the depths of one's heart.

Jeming deliberately lowered his resistance to carefully feel that fear.

It felt physiological, something etched into a creature's genes—the terror of being wrapped up and swallowed.

Unfortunately, the experience lasted only an instant.

Even with Jeming deliberately lowering his resistance, the Body Refining Technique still completed its evolutionary immunity to this Mental Attack in a split second.

The fear surged up like a tide, then ebbed away just as quickly, without leaving the slightest trace.

"Tsk, what a pity."

Thinking this, Jeming stretched out his right hand, fingers splayed, aiming at the "snake."

The bizarre entity coexisting with the tall man seemed to sense danger and suddenly lunged out of the man's chest.