Zhao Jun's semi-automatic rifle originally held ten rounds. He had fired one shot as a warning to Zhao Youcai and the others.
That left nine rounds.
And just now, by firing nine consecutive shots, he had emptied the gun of all its bullets.
The first shot skewered through one wild boar before hitting the Pig God in the shoulder blade.
The second shot also passed clean through another boar, finally hitting the Pig God in the rump.
As he fired the remaining seven shots, Zhao Jun kept aiming west, chasing the Pig God, but those seven shots either missed entirely or hit other wild boars.
Now, down the slope on the hill, five wild boars lay on the blood-soaked ground.
The ground was blood-soaked because not a single one had an intact corpse. They were all mangled messes of flesh and blood, staining the surrounding snow crimson.
These boars were in even worse shape than the ones Zhao Youcai's group had shot; they had all been trampled by their own kind into unrecognizable pulps.
