novelsite Chapter 77 Arms
Chapter 77 Arms
At that moment, the bald, burly man made a crazy move—he pulled out an egg-shaped grenade from his waist, removed the safety pin, and prepared to throw it out the window.
But as soon as he raised his hand, the gun in the ventilation duct opened fire.
"puff!"
The bullet struck his wrist precisely. The grenade slipped from his hand, fell to the ground, and rolled towards the metal cabinet—where Zhang Yiqiang was hiding.
"Holy shit!" Zhang Yiqiang's voice was distorted with fear.
The grenade rolled across the warehouse floor with a "rumbling" sound. Time seemed to slow down—the sound of the safety lever snapping open, the "click" of the internal fuse activating, the trajectory of its roll…
Everyone saw the grenade that was about to explode.
Apart from Wang Zhengyang.
He reacted the instant the grenade left his hand. Not by dodging, but by controlling it.
The telekinetic energy extended out like invisible tentacles, enveloping the rolling grenade. The grenade suddenly stopped two meters away from the metal cabinet, hovering in the air, then slowly rose and drifted towards a corner of the warehouse—where several empty wooden crates were piled up, with no living people.
The whole process took less than two seconds.
The grenade exploded in the corner.
"boom--!"
The explosion was deafening, and the flames instantly illuminated the entire warehouse. The shockwave tore empty wooden crates to shreds, and shrapnel flew everywhere, clanging against the metal walls. Smoke filled the air, along with the smell of gunpowder and dust.
But no one was killed in the explosion—except for the already dead Scarface, whose body was overturned by the shockwave and fell back to its original position.
Zhang Yiqiang peeked out from behind the metal cabinet, his face covered in dust and cold sweat. He looked at the explosion marks in the corner, then at Wang Zhengyang, who was suspended in mid-air, his eyes filled with incomprehensible fear.
"You... what exactly are you..." he murmured.
Wang Zhengyang did not answer. He slowly landed at the warehouse entrance, three pistols fluttering beside him like loyal guards. He walked into the warehouse, his steps steady and without hesitation, as if the fierce gunfight and explosion just moments before were merely insignificant interludes.
The warehouse was a mess. Three bodies lay on the floor—two guards and a scarred man. Old Han leaned against the wall, blood gushing from his right shoulder, his face deathly pale. Zhang Yiqiang hid behind a metal cabinet, still clutching his useless Beretta—the barrel twisted and deformed under Wang Zhengyang's control.
The bald, burly man was clutching his injured wrist, huddled in the corner, his eyes unfocused, clearly terrified.
Natasha climbed down from the top of the container and ran into the warehouse. When she saw what had happened, she froze again.
Six people. Six lives.
From the moment Wang Zhengyang made his move to the end of the battle, it took less than a minute. Of the six people, three were dead and three were injured, and Wang Zhengyang didn't even get a drop of blood on him—no, he didn't even really "take action." He simply stood there, controlling the pistol with his mind, and completed a crushing massacre.
This is no longer a battle, this is... divine punishment.
As Natasha watched Wang Zhengyang's retreating figure, the image of him suspended in mid-air resurfaced in her mind. Moonlight, thick fog, the floating pistol, the slowly descending figure… that scene was deeply etched into her memory, unforgettable.
She suddenly realized something—if this person was an enemy, no one could escape from him. If this person was an ally… then perhaps, she could truly avenge her mother.
Wang Zhengyang walked up to Zhang Yiqiang. Zhang Yiqiang tried to resist, raising the twisted Beretta, but Wang Zhengyang simply stretched out his hand and clenched his fist in the air.
"Snap!"
The Beretta's gun began to deform, the sound of metal twisting grating and unpleasant. Zhang Yiqiang watched in horror as the gun in his hand was flattened and folded like dough by an invisible hand, finally turning into a lump of scrap metal.
"Where is the alloy material?" Wang Zhengyang's voice was as cold as iron.
Zhang Yiqiang completely broke down. He knelt down with a thud, pointing deep into the warehouse: "Inside...inside...a cubicle...the password is 7429..."
Wang Zhengyang walked to the hidden door and entered the password. The hidden door slid open, revealing a small room inside.
He walked in and the first thing he saw was the pile of silver-gray metal sheets. He picked one up and looked at the label on the back:
【Model: TW-7 Titanium-Tungsten Composite Armor Plate】
【Specifications: 2000mm×1000mm×20mm】
Weight: 42kg/piece
[Performance: Resistant to direct fire from 12.7mm armor-piercing projectiles; fragmentation resistance ≥20mm homogeneous steel; radiation shielding efficiency 87%]
Wang Zhengyang's eyes lit up.
This is exactly what he needs!
The biggest headache in the train modification plan was the protective materials. Ordinary steel plates were too heavy and their bulletproof effect was mediocre. But this titanium-tungsten composite armor was lightweight, had strong protective performance, and could even shield against radiation—it was practically tailor-made for the post-apocalyptic fortress train!
He roughly counted about sixty planks piled up here, each weighing forty-two kilograms, totaling about two and a half tons. That was just enough to reinforce all the key parts of the train—the driver's cab, the engine room, and the living quarters.
This is exactly what he needs! With these materials, the train's protection level can be upgraded several notches!
But when he turned around and looked at the main hall of the warehouse, something even more moving appeared.
It was a huge pile of goods covered with a tarpaulin. He walked over and lifted a corner of the tarpaulin.
Then, he saw a scene that would drive any military enthusiast crazy—
Twelve DShK heavy machine guns stood in neat rows, their heavy barrels gleaming with a bluish metallic sheen under the lights. Each gun was equipped with a sturdy tripod and a spare barrel wrapped in oil paper. Next to them were twenty PKM general-purpose machine guns, in pristine condition as if they had just come off an arsenal assembly line, their blue paint intact.
Further on were twenty neatly stacked wooden gun cases. Wang Zhengyang opened one; inside were ten AK-74 assault rifles, original products from Eastern European arsenals. The serial numbers on the rifles had been professionally ground off, but they were in excellent condition. There were twenty such cases, containing a total of two hundred AK-74s.
In the corner were dozens of green metal ammunition boxes, roughly estimated to contain as many as 300,000 rounds, all sealed and stored in a desiccant box.
But this is not all.
Deep inside the warehouse, wrapped in layers of thick canvas and waterproof cloth, are eight large cargoes.
Wang Zhengyang lifted the canvas, his breath almost stopping—
The Soviet-era 2B9 "Cornflower" 82mm automatic mortar.
The gun barrels were in much better condition than he had imagined, almost like they had just been pulled from a sealed warehouse. The original blue paint on the barrels was almost intact, the mechanical parts were properly lubricated, and ten boxes of high-explosive shells, ten rounds per box, were neatly stacked next to each gun. Wang Zhengyang checked the barrel life and found that it still had more than 70% remaining.
These mortars... can be mounted on a weapon platform on the roof of the tenth carriage of the train.
Wang Zhengyang could already picture it in his mind—a train traveling through the wilderness, mortars on its roof slowly rising, aimed at distant threats. With this heavy firepower, the train was no longer just a mobile fortress, but a true land cruiser!
He turned to Zhang Yiqiang and said, "I'm taking all of these weapons with me."
Zhang Yiqiang's face turned even paler: "All of them? This...this weighs several tons! How could you—"
He didn't finish his sentence because Wang Zhengyang no longer wanted to listen.
"puff."
A bullet pierced through Zhang Yiqiang's forehead. His eyes widened as he slowly collapsed to the ground. This gangster boss, who had dominated the Berlin docks for years, died in his own warehouse, at the hands of an adversary he could never understand.
Wang Zhengyang then looked at Lao Han and the bald, burly man.
Their eyes were filled with pleading.