Shotgun (1)
"Shotgun."
"Shot...gun?"
Pistia rolled the unfamiliar word around in her mouth, leaning her upper body right over the blueprint. The genius brain that had earned a PhD at twenty started simulating the shotgun's mechanism—laid out on the paper—in real time.
I pointed at the shotgun on the blueprint spread out on the workbench and continued my explanation. "If a revolver stamps a single point, a shotgun sweeps across an area."
"An area? You don't mean it fires multiple rounds at once, do you?"
"Exactly. This baby's ammo is packed with tiny lead balls. The moment you pull the trigger, they fan out like a spread of cards, blanketing everything in front."
Sion, who had been propping his chin and listening from the side, narrowed his eyes sharply. As the heir to the information guild, he instinctively grasped what kind of disaster this simple principle would unleash on the battlefield.
"That's intriguing. It doesn't target the enemy—it turns the whole 'space' into the attack zone. Makes dodging pointless."
"Right. No need for precise aiming. Just point in the general direction and fire. Even the most famous swordsman couldn't bat away shot spreading wider than their body."
Pistia stared holes through the blueprint. "The structure is so... so unique. You break open the barrel and shove shells straight into the chambers? No gas leaking between cylinders like a revolver. Wow, this mechanism is... brutally violent!"
Pistia's breathing grew ragged. She was already hooked on the simple yet devastating break-action design of the shotgun.
"Cadet Flint, let's make this now. No—start right this second! Use up the whole department budget if you have to! Please, let me spend it! Hurry!!"
It was a sight to behold: the twenty-year-old PhD getting this fired up over a single blueprint of mine.
In truth, the shotgun plans I'd brought were just a guideline. They weren't perfectly tuned to this world's bizarre physics. There was a subtle gap between Earth's engineering common sense and this realm's magitech variables. In the end, we'd have to refine the specs through trial and error on-site.
For that kind of work, flexible thinking and curiosity beat the rule-sticklers in the workshops. Pistia was perfect for it. Her genius could anchor that "firepower" beyond the blueprint into this world.
I'd originally planned to take it slow with firearms development. But I had to revise that.
That bastard showed up way sooner than expected.
Tangbun of the Romantic Sword. That dopamine-addicted old man from the East had a track record in the original novel of spectacularly derailing the plot into tatters. Right when the protagonist's party was about to slay a demon after a brutal fight, he'd pop in with, "Eh... ganging up on one fella with clubs? Ain't right for humans," scoop the demon under his arm, and saunter off. Hell, he'd even teach the thing Romantic Sword and force-awaken it.
'One-strike kills. Or trajectories chased in a flash, laced with romance.' A sword style that tossed practicality and efficiency to the dogs, relying solely on personal skill—like a circus act. But its potential was unmatched. Especially when the user broke human limits; the destructive power skyrocketed exponentially.
Before that guy's swordplay fused with a demon, I planned to force a lead-shot dopamine detox. Permanently.
'The shotgun's the perfect counter to that 'Romantic Sword.''
I wouldn't let my big-spending saintess customer get bounced around like in the original because of that plot-wrecker.
I glanced sideways at Sion, who was still lounging with half-lidded eyes, spectating like it was a show. A faint smile played on his lips, the picture of an amused audience member.
But I knew better. Beneath that casual vibe lurked the empire's vastest intel network.
'You'll have to track down that old geezer for me.'
If you wanted to find someone in this world, no organization beat the information guild. Their eyes and ears reached from palace bedrooms to back-alley sewers.
But stroll up to Sion and say, "Hey, as the guild heir, find me that old man," and you'd get no help—just a 99% chance your head rolled or you got silenced the next day.
Knowing a straight plea would flop, I decided to poke his reverse scale.
Acting casual, I tidied the blueprint on the workbench and tossed out an offhand topic. "Hey, Sion. Random question: you got a little sister?"
"......What?"
In an instant, Sion's laid-back air cracked. He closed the distance to my face in a flash and clamped my shoulders hard. Not his usual soft touch—a vise grip sending dull pain shooting through.
"Flint. What do you mean by that?"
"Nothing... just saw a girl who looks like you hanging with some Eastern old-timer..."
His mouth curved in a smile, but the vibe was ice-cold. A chill crawled up my skin, stiffening the hairs on my neck.
"Where."
Before I finished, his voice—chilled to the bone—stabbed my eardrum. The muscles around his eyes twitched.
The empire's top intel expert was losing it over "little sister."
"Hmm. Can't quite remember..."
I strung him along, and his perpetually narrowed eyes cracked open just a sliver. The glint leaking through wasn't his usual slyness. It was anxious. Desperate.
"Think again. Please."
The strength in his hands eased—not released, but trembling.
The guild heir crumbling over one girl's whereabouts? Who knew.
"Please. Tell me everything you know. Anything. Yeah?"
For the first time, Sion's voice—always toying with others like playthings—held raw sincerity, groveling desperation.
I shoved his hands off, flustered myself. Didn't expect him to crack this hard...
I dropped the bait in as flat a tone as I could. "Pretty sure it was around the academy. You okay? You're freaking me out all sudden-like."
Before I finished, Sion bolted from the Engineering Department building without a word. No backward glance. His receding back had zero trace of his usual nonchalance—pure desperation drove him.
Yeah. Scour desperately.
I already knew why he'd joined the guild, endured that hellish training and cutthroat politics to claim heirship: to find his long-lost little sister.
He'd now mobilize the empire's intel web on his own to hunt "that old man" and "the girl resembling him." No orders needed.
'Sorry, but I'm using you this once. In return, next time I'll spill your sister's real location. Forgive me.'
At this point in the story, Sion was digging in the wrong spot anyway. This was the best reward I could give.
Bait cast. Big fish hooked. Now, just reel in the results.
'Alright. Now the shotgun just has to come out right.'
"Oh, Cadet Sion's absent again today... Wonder if something happened? I'm worried."
Pistia muttered while wiping sweat from her forehead with a towel. She and I had been holed up in the Engineering Annex Lab for days, unwashed and all.
The guild heir vanishing was proof he'd swallowed my bait hook, line, and sinker.
'Bet he's tapping the whole empire's intel net by now. Hang in there, buddy.'
His absence didn't halt our work. We'd commissioned the precision springs from Gos Workshop early on. Those picky artisan uncles nailed the tension specs perfectly.
But no word on rifling the barrel as requested. At current infrastructure, even I'd half-given up on rifling.
An ultra-precise spiral allowing zero error. Any deviation and the shot would chew up the barrel from inside. Delicate stuff.
'Wanted longer range, but that'll have to wait.'
Anyway, what we were making now was a shotgun. A smoothbore scattergun—no rifling needed. Worry about that later.
We hammered through trial and error with Pistia, shaving metal relentlessly. And finally.
The prototype 12 gauge shotgun revealed its hefty form.
Click-thunk—the break-action's signature heavy sound as the chambers yawned open. Cool metal chilled my palm, weighty and solid. Perfect.
"Whoa...! Whoaaa!! We did it! Test-fire it quick. Load the chambers... Huh?"
Pistia, fiddling excitedly with the shotgun, froze belatedly.
"I-I got so caught up in the frame I forgot about ammo... How do we make those tiny lead balls?"
"By hand, obviously."
I pulled a pea-sized lead ball from my pocket and handed it to her. "Around this size. Roll up your sleeves. Time for handmade production."
"Whaaat?!!! Me? This tiny thing—how many do I have to make? No, no way! I'd rather retire!!"
Pistia recoiled in horror.
I grinned, pulling out another ball and tossing it in the air, catching it. "Kidding. We'd get lead poisoned before firing a shot at this rate."
"Then how...? Transmute with alchemy? What was the fee again..."
"Nah. Got something way cheaper and more efficient."
I pointed my index finger at the empty lot outside the window.
"We're building a tower. Right now."
"???"
She just blinked, utterly lost.