The thunderous volleys of muskets echoed intermittently, and the acrid smoke of gunpowder filled the air between the two armies.
Deadly lead bullets flew horizontally through the crowd, and occasionally, someone would collapse without warning; those left motionless were left on the spot, while those who could groan were dragged to the back.
In this "mutual execution" style of battle, Fan Shang exhibited astonishing calmness, or perhaps astonishing numbness.
Among the eight musketeers in his tent, only four could still stand;
Only he could still pour gunpowder and ram the rod with steady hands and clear eyes.
The "Twelve Disciples" hanging on his chest had long been used up, and Fan Shang had to take unused "Disciples" from the bodies of his fallen comrades.
Soon, the living musketeers scavenged all the "Disciples" from the corpses.
