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Chapter 430: Times Have Changed!
Tearing open one of the cardboard boxes with his teeth, Beckman pinched out five pointed brass bullets. With extreme dexterity, his fingers pressed the rounds into the magazine one by one. The spring compressed beneath his fingers with a soft metallic squeak.
Accompanied by a sharp, crisp click, Beckman forcefully pushed the metal bolt forward and locked it down. A gleaming brass bullet was seamlessly fed into the pitch-black chamber.
Heavy footsteps sounded from the metal roof directly above them.
Thump. Thump. Thump. Garp was stepping along the edge of the container, craning his neck to look down, attempting to pinpoint the exact hiding spot of his two prey. Having lost his proud Observation Haki, the old Marine Hero's search efficiency had fallen off a cliff. He was now forced to rely on ordinary eyes and ears to distinguish movement below. This feeling of fumbling in the dark made him extremely uncomfortable.
"COME OUT! I PROMISE TO ONLY BREAK A FEW OF YOUR RIBS!" Garp yelled from above. He was still gripping that highly lethal solid brick, ready to hurl it down at a moment's notice.
Beckman slowly raised the bolt-action rifle in his hands, pulling the thick wooden stock tight against the pocket of his right shoulder. Closing one eye, he took aim. This gun wasn't equipped with a high-magnification scope. He could only rely on the crude iron sights at the front of the barrel to lock onto his target.
Over the gap of the narrow alleyway, a short section of plank was exposed. Garp's right foot, clad in a Marine leather shoe, was planted right on the protruding edge of the container. His ankle was completely exposed to the open air, utterly defenseless.
Beckman held his breath. The crosshairs slowly drifted, settling squarely over that thick ankle.
A barrel forged with such precision engineering... he calculated silently in his mind. The inner wall must have stable rifling carved into it. Within thirty meters, the trajectory will be a dead straight line.
His index finger slowly squeezed the cold, hard metal trigger. The trigger pull was incredibly light. Just a gentle squeeze would unleash that life-or-death strike.
Bang! A deafening, explosive gunshot utterly shattered the silence of the container yard. The massive recoil slammed into Beckman's shoulder, leaving it numb. The acrid smell of burnt gunpowder rapidly filled the narrow gap. A scalding hot brass casing ejected high into the air, tumbling several times before clattering against the cement ground with a ringing echo.
A wretched cry of agony instantly erupted from above. Without any suspense, Garp's right ankle exploded in a blinding spray of blood. Driven by terrifying kinetic energy, the 7.62mm pointed bullet spun violently as it pierced through, easily tearing through his mortal flesh, completely stripped of Haki protection.
The bullet punched straight through the fragile muscle tissue, shattering a small chunk of his leg bone on its way out. Crimson blood instantly soaked Garp's white sock.
Overcome by the pain, the old man's massive lower body entirely lost its balance. His burly frame jerked violently to the side. Stepping into empty air, he pitched headfirst off the edge of the three-meter-high container like a planted onion.
With a heavy crash, Garp slammed into the empty cement lot below, kicking up a choking cloud of dust.
"WHAT TREACHEROUS HIDDEN WEAPON!?" Garp's furious, agonized roar echoed back and forth among the stacks of metal boxes.
Clutching his bleeding ankle, he rolled across the ground, grimacing in pain. The mortal nervous system faithfully transmitted the tearing agony of a gunshot wound. Cold sweat beaded profusely on the old man's forehead.
Standing in the dark crevice, Beckman didn't even blink. His left hand expertly racked the metal bolt, pulling it back and then violently slamming it forward.
Click-clack. A second bullet was fluidly chambered, ready to fire. The crisp sound of the action locking into place was exceptionally distinct in the enclosed space. Turning his head, he looked at Shanks, who was leaning against the wall, panting. Beckman's expression was utterly devoid of any unnecessary emotion.
"Let's go." Carrying the rifle known as the Kar98k, Beckman began walking out. "Time to finish off that Marine geezer." His voice was eerily calm.
Shanks stared wide-eyed at the iron pipe in his vice captain's hands. He never would have imagined this thing possessed such destructive power.
"On this Erangel island where even Haki doesn't exist," Beckman said, inspecting the lock of the bolt as he walked. "No matter how hard your fists are, you still have to fear gunpowder."
Shanks followed Beckman out. Looking at the puddle of warm blood belonging to Garp not far away, he couldn't help but twitch the corner of his mouth.
"Really not used to this weak body. If this were before, a little lead pellet like that hitting old man Garp wouldn't even leave a scratch." Shanks shook his head helplessly, starting to look around for a piece of scrap metal he could use to defend himself.
Beckman paid absolutely no mind to his captain's laments. Crouching low, rifle raised, he crept forward along the edge of the blue containers. The deliberately suppressed panting of the Marine Hero was just a short distance ahead.
Garp was currently sitting on the ground, his back against an abandoned, rusted oil barrel. Gasping heavily, he clutched the thumb-sized exit wound on his right ankle with both hands. Blood continuously seeped out through the gaps in his fingers.
"Damn game. Really turned this old man into a useless geezer who bleeds when hit!" Garp cursed through the pain.
He attempted to slightly move his twisted ankle, and a spike of drilling agony shot straight to the crown of his head. The bone had most likely been fractured by that bizarre hidden weapon. In a world where he couldn't use Life Return to force muscle regeneration, the negative impact of a severe gunshot wound was absolutely fatal.
Gritting his teeth, Garp forcibly ripped a strip of white cloth from his undershirt. With practiced speed, he tied it tightly around his injured ankle, attempting to apply pressure to stop the bleeding and maintain his remaining combat strength. Having fought wars his entire life, the old Marine veteran was still incredibly adept at treating field injuries.
But he knew full well this was merely a temporary, desperate measure to save his life. The moment he exerted any force to move, the brass bullet lodged in his bone would cause a second, excruciating tear.
The incredibly faint sound of rubber-soled shoes scraping against the ground drifted from around the corner of the container.
Garp instantly held his breath. He snatched up the dark red solid brick lying by his foot. Even with a broken leg, the old man remained a ferocious beast backed into a corner.
Beckman slowly leaned half his body out. The heavy wooden stock was pressed firmly into his shoulder pocket without the slightest tremor. The pitch-black muzzle pointed directly behind the oil barrel where Garp was positioned. He knew perfectly well the old man was hiding in that shadow; the dragged blood trail on the ground made concealing his tracks impossible.
"Come out, Vice Admiral Garp." Beckman's emotionless voice echoed across the open lot. "Your right leg is ruined. Even if you manage to throw that broken brick, it will absolutely not be faster than my finger pulling this trigger."
Beckman wasn't stupid enough to walk right up and engage in close combat. He knew perfectly well that even toothless, this old lion possessed a terrifying baseline level of destructive power. Opening up a completely safe distance and suppressing him with superior firepower was the only correct solution.
Garp let out a heavy snort from behind the oil barrel. "Red-haired's brat. What kind of demonic, treacherous contraption is that in your hands? Even the newest repeating firelocks from the Marine Science Unit don't possess such absurd penetration!"
Despite being backed into a dead end, the old man showed no intention of yielding. He was still trying to distract his opponent through conversation, searching for a flaw to launch a counterattack.
A confident smirk curled the corner of Beckman's mouth. "It's called a bolt-action rifle. The weapons the boss supplied for this game are far more practical than those toys you Marines play with."
As he spoke, he steadily side-stepped, attempting to find a blind-spot-free angle to shoot Garp directly in the head.
At that moment, Shanks, having picked up a rusted iron pipe from a pile of debris, caught up. Looking at the Marine Hero crippled by a single shot, he found the scene to be somewhat comical. The majestic Garp, capable of shattering mountains with a single punch, had actually been driven to such a pathetic state by a fire stick that required zero physical exertion to operate.
"Just give up, old man Garp." Shanks casually gripped the rusted iron pipe with both hands. "Getting eliminated and flown out of here can be considered an early release for your weathered old bones."
Suddenly, a deafening roar of wild laughter erupted from behind the oil barrel. "BWAHAHAHA! YOU WANT THIS OLD MAN TO LOWER HIS HEAD AND SURRENDER IN THIS TRASH GAME!? DREAM ON!"
Accompanied by an incredibly violent, furious roar, the dark red solid brick shrieked out from the edge of the oil barrel. Carrying a fierce, air-tearing whistle, it hurtled straight for Beckman's face. In a completely desperate situation, the old man had somehow initiated a counterattack relying entirely on the strength of a single leg.
Beckman didn't so much as tilt his head. He directly pulled the cold metal trigger.
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