North American Detective: I am Proficient in All Kinds of Gun Quick Draws Chapter 66 - 65 I’m a bit fierce, aren’t I? (Happy Saturday)

The mont gunfire erupted, Dean shouted to Harry, "Harry, get out of the car!"

Police cars weren’t bulletproof; only the door areas had reinforced steel plates. Usually, in a gunfight, police would angle the vehicle’s front towards the danger zone, using the engine block or wheel hubs as cover for a counterattack.

Harry’s reaction wasn’t any slower than Dean’s. Both of them took cover on the side of the car, dodging the direct onslaught of enemy bullets.

Almost simultaneously, the sound of shattering glass filled the air. The poor police car let out a helpless creaking and splintering noise. The enemy had concentrated their fire on it!

Dean’s expression changed. Listening to the sounds, he determined the enemies were in front—at least four of them. There was no cover nearby.

At that mont, amidst the intense gunfire, Malago’s loud shouts ordering them to retreat could be heard.

Dean rolled his eyes. Even with Malago’s cover, getting into the car now would leave them vulnerable to the haphazardly flying bullets.

However, Malago’s actions did improve Dean’s opinion of him. Malago had a foul mouth, but when push ca to shove, he wasn’t ambiguous.

This was Harry’s first encounter with such a scenario. His expression was one of panic. "Fuck, Dean, should we run? We don’t even have guns right now!"

"Running now would make us sitting ducks!" Dean quickly surveyed the surroundings, exhaled sharply, his breath hot, and said with a surge of excitent, "The enemies aren’t far. I’ll figure out a way to take them down!"

The alcohol in his system and the stimulation of gunfire sent Dean’s adrenaline soaring. His body burned, and a dormant savagery relentlessly urged him on. He pushed Harry aside and crawled beneath the car towards Malago, reaching for the pistol on his waist.

Feeling a touch at his waist, Malago turned. Seeing it was Dean, his ruddy old face flushed with anger. "Get that damn blackie out of here fast! I don’t want to be blad for not protecting you after I die and bring sha to Texans!"

Dean ignored him and quickly checked the pistol in his hand. It was the M629 revolver Harry liked best, with a six-round capacity and a thick barrel, chambered for the high-powered .44 Magnum round—a hit would kill or cripple.

With Pistol Proficiency at work, the various specifications and characteristics of this revolver continuously flowed into Dean’s mind. Within a re few breaths, Dean felt as if the revolver were an extension of his own palm; he knew everything about it, experiencing an illusion of being one with the gun.

TAKKA-TAKKA-TAKKA!

The enemy bullets kept coming, getting closer and closer. The opponents were advancing while laying down suppressive fire!

Listening to the bullets, Dean determined the positions of the gunn and calculated their reload frequency. Wiping the dust from his face, he shouted to Malago, "Five seconds! Lay down maximum fire! Trust !"

After speaking, he slithered to the other side like a worm.

Madman! Malago cursed. Guessing what Dean was planning, he tid it perfectly. Risking being hit, he stood up and opened fire on the enemy.

Almost simultaneously, Dean leaped up like a leopard, rushing to the other side of the road.

This sudden change caught the attacking gunn completely off guard. Dean had chosen a very tricky angle. The gunman in Dean’s line of sight was reloading, while the others were pinned down by Malago’s fearless suppressive fire, cowering on the ground.

"Soone’s coming!"

"Fuck, he’s too fast!"

The gunman opposite Dean hurriedly inserted a new magazine, preparing to rack the bolt and chamber a round.

He was too amateurish. With modern semi-automatic rifles, if you changed magazines before emptying the weapon, you didn’t need to pull the bolt again to chamber a round.

This montary delay was all Dean needed. He had already sprinted over forty ters, bringing all the attackers within a fifty-ter range. Without hesitation, he raised the revolver.

"Die!" The gunman facing Dean finally chambered his round and aid his rifle. He couldn’t believe soone could hit him with a fatal shot while sprinting!

The next mont—

BOOM!

A burst of fla roared from the revolver’s heavy barrel.

The gunman who had just stood up had his head explode like a waterlon. The massive impact threw him backward heavily, and the rifle he was firing discharged wildly into the air...

"Sean!!!"

Only then did the gunman’s companions react.

Before they could make a move, Dean’s leg muscles bulged, propelling him into a leap that brought the three gunn cowering on the ground into his line of fire.

Without the slightest hesitation, the revolver roared. Three tongues of fla lanced through the air.

The battlefield fell silent...

「In the distance.」

Malago’s fingers were clenched tightly on the trigger of his M4, its magazine empty. His mouth hung agape as he stared blankly at Dean, who landed gracefully.

Fuck. Am I hallucinating? In just a few seconds, it felt as if I’d witnessed God Himself arrive.

"’This gun has so kick to it,’ Dean panted, shaking his slightly stinging wrist."

After a short rest, he imitated Western cowboys from the movies, spinning the revolver and then blowing on its muzzle. Ritual was important.

After holstering his gun and looking at the four exploded waterlons on the ground, Dean was sowhat astonished. I’m pretty damn good, he thought. He hadn’t expected himself to be this formidable! Sprinting and jumping rapidly. Four shots, four headshots. Strong core strength, ultra-fast reflexes, and Pistol Proficiency that made it feel like he and the gun were one. All three were indispensable.

For the first ti, Dean experienced the terrifying power of his ’strong physique’ combined with ’Pistol Proficiency’.

My Endurance is just a bit lacking, Dean thought, his heart still pounding furiously. He shook his head. Going all out for a hundred-ter dash, and I’m already feeling the strain.

Dean’s Endurance was actually excellent for soone his age, but his other attributes were sowhat off the charts. An explosive burst relied on squeezing out every ounce of energy from flesh and blood in an instant. It was like a person who never saved money; they might earn six thousand a month, but if asked for two thousand on the spot, they’d struggle.

That was Dean’s situation now. Endurance had beco his weak link. He realized that if he wanted to maintain full-power bursts for longer periods in the future, he would have to increase his Endurance limit!

「In the distance.」

Hearing the commotion die down, Harry, his face etched with anxiety, cautiously poked his head out from behind the car. What he saw left him stunned. How did Dean get across the street?

Malago, that old guy, was frozen like a statue, holding an M4, poised on the edge of the road in a bold, death-defying shooting stance, utterly still.

Realizing the fight was over, Harry ventured timidly, "What’s the situation now?"

His words snapped Malago out of his daze. He exhaled a breath reeking of alcohol and told Harry with grave emphasis, "The fight’s over. Your buddy... he’s strong."

He paused, then, as if feeling his description wasn’t precise enough, added, "Very, very strong... Strong enough that I want to marry my daughter to him right now!"

Harry stared in utter confusion.

「On the other side.」

After his heartbeat cald, Dean picked up the rifles from the ground. His gaze turned grim as he looked towards a nearby depression in the terrain.

He had killed four gunn, yet no notification had co from the panel. This ant there were still enemies!