Three Hundred and Forty-Three Alliance Under the City

The picture is poor, see the dagger.

Lorraine is well aware of the reason why the villain dies because of talking too much. Under normal circumstances, he should not gossip so much with Morey before he takes control of the situation.

But right now it was a small space, and they were being pointed at their heads with four guns. If they didn't use words to buy themselves a moment to prepare, all Lorraine could count on was that the Spaniards had no bullets in their chambers.

How likely is this?

No matter how many there are, Lorraine dare not joke about his life at all.

But now, the preparations are over, and the bluff has successfully fulfilled its mission.

Hannah suddenly disappeared.

A moment ago she was sitting on her sofa, her legs crossed sideways like a real lady, her hands folded on the big skirt.

She disappeared in the next moment, leaving only a slightly shaking black skirt on the sofa.

Henna got out of the untied skirt like water, slid and lay down on the carpet, raised her hand, a red light flashed, and the throwing knife pierced the throats of the two guards in the blink of an eye.

Lorraine burst into flames at the same time, maintaining the posture of leaning forward to talk, and threw out the ashtray on the coffee table as a hidden weapon.

No one knows how much force he used.

The thick and crystal-clear glass made a whining sound as it smashed through the air, hitting the front door of the guard in front of it like a comet hitting the earth. Blood, brains, and all kinds of strange slurries were sprayed out, and the guard fell silently on his back. Down, the red and white filth splashed all over the stupid Morey.

The four gunmen blinked and only one remained.

In front of him, Lorraine jumped out of the coffee table like a leopard, and Hannah swam from the carpet like a snake. And Barto, whose reaction was a half-beat slow, took out the short gun in his waist and turned around majestically to aim. Instead, he became the most intuitive and threatening target present.

The overwhelmed guard subconsciously moved the gun barrel towards Barto, and a black light suddenly flashed in his eyes.

Hana jumped up from the ground, and the dagger she held upside down slashed across the guard's left shoulder, blood splashing out.

The guard's left hand suddenly lost strength.

He first saw the black shadow of Henna from the bottom of his eyes,

Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of the bright red color of the blood mist. The third signal received by the brain was that the left hand was weak, and the entire left arm hung down weakly, and the barrel of the gun that had lost its lift naturally aimed at the ground.

Only then did he realize that he was injured.

The severe pain came from the wound on his left shoulder, and the guard just wanted to scream. He just opened his mouth, and Lorraine, who was only one step behind Henna, pinched his neck and twisted it lightly. He heard a click, and screamed, and died.

The battle ended abruptly.

Morey didn't know whether the so-called battle had lasted three seconds or four seconds. In short, before Lorraine could say "Unfortunately, there is no prize", the situation in front of him completely changed.

That's four gunmen!

Fully armed and well trained. They are Morey's real confidantes in the civilian army, and each of them, like him, receives a more decent and noble salary in the Mediterranean Fleet.

They are non-commissioned officers of the Spanish Royal Navy and the elite of the Marine Corps, and they are a completely different species from the militia outside who can only serve as tax collectors.

But……

But God! What kind of monster did Major Mara provoke? Was it a weapon made for killing?

Why did the world change in just the blink of an eye...

Horrified, terrified, terrified.

Mo Lei felt something slipped from his face, and wiped it subconsciously, but ended up wiping off half of his broken eyeball.

"ah……"

"Hush." ​​Lorraine stood in front of him at some point, with one hand holding the gun that the guards dropped on the ground, and the other hand raised his index finger, pressing gently on his lips, "I'm trying to figure out something Before, I hope you will be quiet, it will be good for everyone."

Morey remained silent.

He sat on the sofa at the request of Lorraine, and the mighty Barto stood behind him, holding a musket against his head, so that he could remember the consequences of not cooperating at any time.

Opposite him, Lorraine tapped the barrel of the gun lightly, and knocked twice, knocking out scattered gunpowder and round lead bullets, and every handle was like this.

This result seemed to satisfy Lorraine.

He threw the gun away, stood up and checked the curtains and windows, and looked outside the house through the glass for a while, which was actually the situation of the few annex buildings that were dimly lit.

After five long minutes, Lorraine came back to Morey, and sat opposite Morey across the coffee table.

"Okay sir, we finally have a more suitable communication environment. Now please tell me, where is the arsenal?"

Morey resisted the urge to beg for mercy, picked up his last arrogance, and turned his head angrily. But Lorraine just stretched out his fingers and turned around, and Barto's big hand quickly turned his head back.

"You are refusing to communicate, which is not good." Lorraine said slowly, "Don't forget that when your guard pointed a gun at me, I fully cooperated with your questioning. I think this is the most important thing. The manner a gentleman should have."

"I didn't expect a person like you with bloody hands to call himself a gentleman!"

"Gentlemen and blood do not conflict, Mr. Morey. The Spaniards started the great era of great exploration, and those predecessors who spread the light of civilization to the New World were gentlemen, and everyone's hands were stained with blood."

"That's just the blood of wild beasts!"

Seeing Morey's high-spirited appearance, Lorraine sighed regretfully.

"It seems that we really lack a common language on the issue of human rights and equality, so... tell me the way to enter the arsenal, or I will let you live to see what hell looks like."

Straightforward what works best...

Mo Lei's aura suddenly fell short, his arrogance lacked the support of self-confidence, and he became hollow and powerless.

"You...you dare not. This is a barracks, an officer's barracks. In such a high-profile place, you absolutely dare not torture me!"

"Is it?"

Lorraine frowned impatiently, stood up, and dug out a bottle of decent Cuban white rum from Morey's cabinet.

"Just now I spent five minutes confirming some things, some doubts, do you want to know?"

Morey pursed his lips and responded in silence.

"First, the weapons brought by your guards are loaded and the hammers are ready to fire, and at least one of the four of them actually intends to shoot."

"It shows that you are not worried about the gunshots causing riots."

"As for the reasons, there are two reasons. Either this room has been specially sound-proofed, or you have eyesight in the camp and can murder visitors at will. I prefer the former."

"You have been lurking in the civilian army for five years. You need a high-privacy working environment. Not only must you have a wide view, but you must also have high-quality sound insulation, so that you don't have ears when you discuss certain sensitive topics."

"I've also found other evidence. For example, the climate of San Carlos does not require triple glazing, because there are no harsh winters here; in your position, you should not be able to afford luxurious and heavy flannel curtains, even if you have more than a hundred assets. Millions of rich people seldom always make curtains with this material, which is not fashionable.”

"So I know, I can do anything to you in this room, you can scream wantonly, anyway, except for us, no one in the entire barracks can pay attention."

Morey's face was translucently white, cold sweat had already covered his forehead, and even his lips were trembling uncontrollably.

"But...but you still need me to take you into the arsenal. If you use torture, others will see that you can't do anything!"

"That's the second question."

Lorraine took a sip of the wine leisurely, held it in his mouth for a while, and then spat it all back into the glass depressedly.

"A Spaniard actually drinks bad Cuban rum. It seems that your two salaries are not as high as I thought..."

"Let's get down to business, the second point. You originally planned to kill us here, and then use our corpses as scapegoats to blow up the arsenal of the militia."

"As you said, in the barracks where people come and go, how can you and your men send the three corpses to the destination unobtrusively? Are they packed in boxes?"

"There are no empty ammunition boxes in the room, and there are no lights or fires in the auxiliary building here, which means that the only cronies you can rely on are the four people I killed. This means that you don't have suitable vehicles, and at the same time, you don't have enough manpower."

"I guess the passage leading to the arsenal should be in your officer's dormitory, either the main building or the auxiliary building. If not, you will lead us to the arsenal before considering the matter. After all, that's why I came here. It is far easier to send a few living people in than to transport a few dead people in."

"I don't know if I guessed right?"

Following Lorraine's question, Morey completely gave up resistance.

He slumped his shoulders, lowered his head, and there was no trace of anger in his voice: "I am willing to take you to the arsenal, but I hope to live. This is my only request."

"I agree." Lorraine raised three fingers towards the sky, "I can swear to God."

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