It was with great difficulty that he loaded the musket in his hands. The bandit with scars on his face fled into a dilapidated civilian house and watched the situation outside through the window.
He saw one of his henchmen, brandishing a long knife, attempting to fight desperately against an enemy, only to be neatly shot in the chest and die. He also saw someone kneel down to beg for mercy, who was shot dead all the same, even receiving an additional bullet.
By this time, he had confirmed that those madmen, who seemed to have come out of nowhere, were probably not intending to spare any of them.
The opposition didn't even bother to ask questions and greeted them directly with bullets! What he could do now was to fight back. Fight back with all he had!
So, he reloaded a bullet into his pistol. His last shot had missed the mark and hadn't hit the target.
This was an unavoidable issue; his flintlock wasn't just out of date, it had also been used for many years.
