Chapter 2273: Cowboy intrigue

Happiness!
Bang bang bang!
The gunshots on the street are endless, and the holy killer has tried his best to open fire, but every time he either misses the bullet, or hits the corpse left by someone else.
You must know that he is an infinite bullet, and the other party has to change the bullet, and it turns out that it is not comparable.
Monster? If the smell is right, there is just an ordinary person on the other side of the street. When did such a freak appear in the world?
Shoots faster than the Saints, and there are no bullets?
The holy killer was not reconciled, but had to accept the reality, because the competition between the two went from this street to the other streets, from under the horse to the horse, and he didn't grab a head.
More than six hundred people in the town were all killed as if they were called by the other party, and every time it was the holy killer whose gun was pointed at someone, that person would be snatched away.
The target was dead, and the dream was about to be reset again, but the holy killer prevented this process. He stepped down silently and walked towards the opponent slowly.
The town was quiet, only the tumbleweed hopped past, and the noon sun above the head witnessed everything.
The saint put away his weapon, his palm was on the holster, his face was expressionless, but his heart was not at peace.
"Your marksmanship is good."
The two approached slowly until they were twenty yards apart.
He stopped and shouted at the other party. He hadn't spoken for a long time, and his hoarse voice was like pulling a shabby bellows.
"You are not bad too." The mysterious man shrugged his shoulders and acted very relaxedly. He turned the two pistols in his hands non-stop, and plugged them back into the holster with a shrill sound.
The saint shouted again and asked, "Who are you?"
I saw that the other party lifted the long trench coat and pressed the cowboy hat on his head: "Who are you again?"
The mysterious man returned the question, and his voice was full of playfulness.
But with such a simple question, he almost stumped the holy killer. He knew who he was. He was a killer raised by God and angels. He wanted to avenge all evil spirits. He was a saint in the killer and could kill. The killer of the dead saints.
But just when he was about to blurt out his code name, he stopped, because deep in his memory, he remembered that he should have a name, a human name.
It’s just that the almost endless nightmare and the time passed by, make him unable to say the name. It’s clearly on his lips, and even the muscles have opened his mouth according to the past pronunciation, but he can’t make a sound. .
He was at a loss, panic, and then furious.
God and angels deserve to die, they even let themselves forget the evidence of being human before. If this continues, will they forget their dead wife and daughter one day? Forgot the most important thing?
Endless fear overwhelmed his mind, but the cold touch of the double guns soon turned it into killing intent. His anger can only be vented through killing. As long as there is a chance, he must kill both the angel and the god. !
Not only to take revenge for what happened to me, but also for the ruthless God to take away my most cherished person.
"I'm a holy killer, a bounty hunter, and the best gunman in Texas." He can only answer like this, remembering his name can be put first, and the uncertain variable in front of him is still standing there waiting. About him.
But living in the last century, a simple-minded holy killer could not think of the death knell routine.
Su Ming knew that the fish had taken the bait after hearing his answer. He pressed down the brim of the strangled hat and said in a surprised tone: "Strange, I am a holy killer, a bounty hunter, Dirk. The best shooter of SARS, why do you say my lines?"
"..."
The killer saint never expected that this stranger not only snatched all his targets for venting his anger, but also his code name and identity?
To steal your identity today, will you steal your memory tomorrow? Is it going to take away all the dead wives and daughters the day after tomorrow?
Everything must be arranged by God, what a God!
So, he was afraid, he was angry, and his fingers jumped on the handle of the gun like playing a piano.
As if seeing through his thoughts, the other party also started to move his fingers, and once again snatched away what he wanted to say, only to hear the squeaky voice from the other side:
"It seems that our goals are a bit conflicting, so why don't we use men's way to resolve disputes? It's noon, life and death are up to you.
"Very good, but I have to control my life and death."
The holy killer lifted a corner of the long windbreaker, revealing the holster.
Noon is the fairest duel time. The sun will not tilt in any direction, and no one will be flashed in the eyes by the sun. Although some people will cheat by sticking a mirror on their boots, the holy killers disdain to play those tricks.
He is the best shooter.
The opponent is very strong, he shoots as fast as lightning, and has a keen sense of fighting like a wolf in the wilderness, but he is sure.
Because his gun is different, as long as he shoots, he will definitely hit the target. Whether it is a or a demon, the hit is a dead end, let alone a mortal?
The British duel is more like aristocratic etiquette. Both sides will use one of the pistols. Before the duel, a notary will check the guns and bullets, sign various documents and leave a suicide note.
But Western Cowboys don’t follow that set. In the Wild West, you have a good gun, and that’s your ability. No one can say anything about winning a weapon.
The two came to a crossroad with a wide view. The two windbreakers stood on one side each with their hands on their thighs.
The air seemed to freeze, and for some reason, suddenly a bucket rolled over and hit the pillar in front of the bar.
The holy killer took a look and found a monkey in the bucket in clothes, probably from which circus ran out.
Then he began to concentrate, waiting for the automatic bell in the town to ring, which was the signal for a duel.
The hands are moving, getting closer, getting closer, and when all the hands are overlapped, the copper chronograph plays its proper role.
"Clang! Clang! Clang..."
The first bell ringing almost coincided with the sound of the gun. Just when Bobo in the barrel was still clutching the lid of the barrel in a panic, the two duel were divided.
Unlike past duels, no one fell in this duel~EbookFREE.me~ who won?
Bobo put his eyes on the hole in the barrel.
Then Mao smiled, because he knew that the death knell never disappoints.
The Holy Killer is a powerful gunman, ex-soldier, cowboy, this is all true, but how can the speed of gun shooting be comparable to the death knell of a super soldier? That's a man who can catch the Flash with his bare hands.
There is no fastest, only faster. The moment the saint touched the gun, the death knell had already fired, and the weapon of the holy killer was destroyed with one shot.
Moreover, he not only fired one shot, but also a volley of two guns. The other shot also knocked out the spare gun on the other side of the saint's body, leaving only a round hole in the windbreaker.
The two spears landed, and the holy killer froze in place, as if he had received a spiritual shock.
Seeing his disillusioned appearance, Su Ming shook his head and smiled. This was a tactical victory. The Holy Killer lost confusedly, and it was normal for him to be in a daze.
He can kill with a gun, but he can't kill the gun in his hand, so he just doesn't need to give him a chance to touch the gun.
Why irritate each other? Why lure the opponent into a western duel?
Just because according to the old tradition, the weapon before the duel must be in the holster!
From drawing a gun to firing, it is the content of competition. This is a complete duel process!
The death knell took advantage of the opponent's mindset, took advantage of his hands to leave the gun, and directly knocked the terrifying weapon from the holster.
If the gun of the holy killer was in his hands all the time, Su Ming wouldn't dare to bet whether the strangulation could withstand DC causality. But if it was faster than drawing a gun, then I would have won when the Holy Killer accidentally fell into the pit...
The westerns in the past weren’t for nothing, did they?
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