Wenren Sheng quickly reloaded another Flintlock Gun.
The Flintlock Gun he used was a handmade Smoothbore Gun. It had a range of over two hundred meters and could maintain accuracy within eighty meters.
Of course, that only applied when he used it. In someone else's hands, it could at most remain accurate within twenty meters.
In fact, if there were enough Smoothbore Guns, they could still kill people from over a hundred meters away.
It was just that an enormous number of them would be needed.
With a single gun, there was basically no accuracy to speak of.
Wenren Sheng was running when he fired, yet he hit his target with one shot.
That was far more difficult than mounted archery.
And so, that shot killed another man.
Before dying, that man had nearly reached the horses.
Yet at that moment, he collapsed, one hand still clutching the reins.
He should have considered himself lucky. At least his corpse was intact.
If there had been more enemies, Wenren Sheng would have simply thrown a Homemade Grenade.
He could easily hurl one over a hundred and eighty meters, blowing five men and their horses down at once.
But he did not intend to do that.
After all, doing so would cause massive losses to the spoils.
The current situation was much better.
None of the remaining horses had escaped.
Five men, five fairly decent horses.
Naturally, Wenren Sheng and the others had gained a great deal from this round.
If these five horses were transported back to Northern Song, they would sell for no less than two hundred strings of cash.
Unfortunately, they could not be transported back.
The other two found that deeply regrettable.
"We risked our lives for this, but it's a shame these horses are hard to sell,