Mr. Wu's firearm, having undergone numerous modifications, clearly possessed power far beyond that of a mere gun.
Several students, unable to dodge under the muzzle, were instantly pierced through the chest by bullets.
The blood protection of the Martial Artists, along with their resilient muscles and dermal skin, were as fragile as paper against the bullets from this gun.
The few students couldn't believe it even in death.
They would die under the gun of their own kind.
Upon Mr. Wu's return, the two teachers breathed a sigh of relief.
"These escaping students were quite troublesome. A few little guys had some pretty good life-saving artifacts, which took a bit of effort to kill, so I was late."
Mr. Wu loaded bullets into the gun chamber one by one, casually lit a cigarette, and spoke as if he were mentioning stepping on some ants.
The two teachers, upon hearing his words, were not surprised. Instead, they said, "Take care of these flies around us, and then help us.
