The gunsmith came down from the tree, confirmed that he was not injured, and quickly returned to the center of the explosion. The pit he dug had just expanded, and a large piece of it was exposed on the pyramid-shaped metal spire underground.

The bone gun not only penetrated the outer layer of the metal, but left a cylindrical channel with a diameter of about 40 cm on it. When the energy bullet penetrates the outer layer of this metal object, it will leave this trajectory that is wider than the shell, and the shape is regular and neat.

The gunsmith picked up a stone and was about to throw it into the spire of the tower to measure the depth, but as soon as he bent down, he suddenly staggered and fell to the ground.

"What's going on..." His legs lost the strength to support his body, and his vision blurred.

Several figures entered the gunsmith's sight, but the gunsmith couldn't see the appearance of the visitor clearly. In his eyes, they were just human-shaped black shadows. Soon, some figures were added, and they began to talk, using language that the gunsmith could not understand at all.

Not long after, the gunsmith had already fallen to the ground with his back on his back. His mind was still clear, but his vision was blurred and his whole body was weak. He felt that he was tied up, tied to a long stick like a livestock, and was picked up by two people and carried away.

He didn't know how far he was taken or how long he had been. Anyway, he must have been carried into a village. He saw some thatched huts and smelled the smell of barbecue food. Then he was untied from the stick and threw it into a cage-like place. There seemed to be someone beside him, but the man didn't move, sitting in the corner of the cage, not knowing whether it was dead or alive. The gunsmith's eyes couldn't see clearly and had no strength to speak, so he could only wait.

Until his vision and physical strength gradually recovered, it was already setting sun, and the gunsmith tried to say to the brother-in-law who was disguised and looked around him: "Hey, man, do you understand what I say?"

The man looked over thirties, a white man, young, but his beard was unshaven. He raised his eyelids and glanced at the gunsmith, and replied, "Oh, your medicine has passed."

The gunsmith asked, "What medicine is there?"

The man said, "Of course it's anesthetic. These natives use their homemade blows to shoot a tiny thorn, which is coated with something that can numb your body, maybe the juice of herbs, or the powder they grind out, and I don't know much about it."

When the gunsmith heard this, she instinctively touched the back of her neck. There were indeed two small wounds there, "When did you get caught in the arrow... I really didn't notice it..."

The man said, "It's hard to detect, it feels like being bitten by a mosquito." He stretched out his hand, "John Desotho, you can call me John."

The gunsmith barely raised his arm and shook his hand: "Charles Roll, you can call him whatever you want."

John asked, "So, Charles, are you here to explore the jungle too?"

The gunsmith smiled bitterly: "No, the plane crashed, why, are you an explorer?"

John said: "Yes, but I have to say with regret that this expedition was not very successful."

The gunsmith said, "Let me guess, when your compass suddenly fails, and then you get lost in this area?"

"It's not just the compass, man, my friends and I are an adventure team, with six people in total, equipped with various advanced instruments," John said. "But all of those things have failed here. This place seems to have some power to make the advanced devices invented in the past hundred years collectively strike. And that power also exudes a chaotic magnetic field, affecting the most basic tool of the compass. In the end, the only thing that can come in handy are some of the simplest electronic instruments, such as radios."

The gunsmith looked around and said, "You said there are six people, what about the other five?"

John actually sneered, but at the same time, tears flashed in his eyes. The gunsmith knew that this was not a good sign. The man might be on the verge of a mental breakdown.

Sure enough, John's answer was as gloomy as his expression: "I've been eaten..."

The gunsmith swallowed: "Being crocodile?" He just asked a more reasonable speculation tentatively.

But John replied, "No, it was these natives." His tone began to hysterically: "We encountered an ambush from this tribe at noon the day before yesterday. That night, Louis and Abel were eaten, and the next night, it was the other three people." He raised his head, looked at the gunsmith with a desperate look and a desolate smile and said, "Today is the third day, I think it is my turn..."

The gunsmith said, "John, you have to cheer up a little bit, it's not the worst."

"Not the worst?" John's voice suddenly rose. Fortunately, the two natives who were in charge of guarding the cages not far away seemed to care about the conversation between the two prisoners.

"My teammates who were born and died with me were killed alive in front of me. The savages stripped them up and tied them to wooden stakes, cut their flesh from the living people, and divided their tongues, brains, internal organs like a spoil, and then lit a bonfire to a whole village barbecue conference. Do you see the cooked meat hanging on the shelves outside? What do you think that is?" John leaned closer and lowered his voice, but his tone was still very manic: "Whether the people who were killed or those who were locked in the cage, they called me.

They shouted and begged, but they didn't stop at all. Maybe they couldn't understand our language, but the most instinctive wails and cries of animals are common, so... For these cannibals, we are no different from animals. Will you pity pigs, cows, and sheep? Will the butcher care about the shouting of food? No! It's my turn today, maybe I will bring you with me, who knows! Charles! Do you think this is not the worst situation?! Compared to the way of death, I would rather find a thorn in the tip of the root and hit it with my forehead."

The gunsmith waited for a while, and then said, "Calm down, John, at least we are still alive now."

John snorted coldly and leaned on the cage powerlessly: "It's all my fault. I am the leader of this adventure team. My teammates gave my life to me, but I killed them. I should have thought that there would be such a day. A good water drowns in water. I deserve it..." He began to whimper. This was a man's confession and confession in the last period of his life. If the gunsmith was not here at this moment, John might have to say this to God.

The gunsmith basically recovered his consciousness at this time. He observed that the cage he was in was not small, and he could hold about a dozen people by squeezing it. The wood for building the cage was also very strong. He knocked it with his hand a few times, and it was estimated that even hippos could not escape. The exit of the cage was sealed by many dense rattans, which made people's arms unable to be stretched out. The sarcasm could only be opened from the outside. It seemed that when these cannibals built this cage, they considered not only being able to close wild animals, but also being able to lock people.

However, the gunsmith is a rank-level abilities no matter how strong the wood is, it is still wood. He is completely confident that he can destroy the imprisonment with his bare hands and then escape from heaven.

He thought for a while, then turned to John and asked, "Didn't you try to resist when these cannibals bring your friends out of the cage?"

"Of course I tried it, but they can use anesthetics. We can't avoid it in the cage. After being anesthetized, we will have no ability to resist."

The gun smith said, "Then... if you want to escape, it's better to take advantage of the situation so that they won't start eating early..." He touched it, and the bone gun was still there, and the savages didn't touch his things, but his luggage was lost, but that kind of thing didn't matter anymore, as long as the gun was there.

John said, "Don't work hard, even if the wood in the cage that broke your shoulder blades would not crack." He had really lost hope. The venting he had just now might have been the final outbreak.

The gunsmith said, "Brother John, I can't go on the road with someone who has completely lost his will to live. You have to cheer up because I can't escape with you after I break the cage."
Chapter completed!