Shooting the Cardinal with the Shotgun (2)
I stood at the academy entrance, shotgun in hand, waiting for Lucius. I'd asked Cedric from Gos Merchant Guild when he'd be back, and he'd mobilized his entire info network to pinpoint the carriage's estimated arrival time. Like a hunter stalking prey all day, I waited for that flashy, ornate carriage he'd ridden off in.
The sky was dyed red with sunset when rhythmic hoofbeats echoed from afar, and Lucius's carriage came into view.
Click—
I boldly blocked its path without a shred of fear. The coachman yelled in panic as the carriage screeched to a halt.
Lucius frowned out the window, then spotted me—his pupils quivered.
"Been waiting for you, Professor."
Perfectly casual tone. Lucius alternated glances between my face and the big, beautiful, jet-black barrel slung over my shoulder, flinching visibly.
"Came to talk. This time..."
He seemed overwhelmed by a pressure he'd never felt before. No holy power, no mana—just a lump of metal, yet it radiated a reaper's scythe vibe that choked his breath. He couldn't comprehend it.
"...a bit more physically."
Confusion frosted his eyes. The carriage door swung open, and Lucius stepped down with obvious displeasure. Still clueless about the situation, he glared at me with his usual arrogance. He waved curtly, sending the carriage off first.
"Cadet Flint. What the hell do you think you're doing?"
"Told you—came to talk."
I smirked, wedging the buttstock deeper into my shoulder. We were barely five meters apart now. Perfect range for the 12 Gauge shotgun's brutal power.
"Problem is, I'm not great with words. So this guy's gonna speak for me."
"What...?!"
I pulled the trigger the instant the words left my mouth.
BOOM—!
The magic stone ignited in the chamber, explosive pressure hurling two dozen 6mm lead balls in a storm. In that split second, a brilliant golden barrier enveloped Lucius—God's Grace, the holy shield that repels most auras or mana.
The shot slammed into it, flattening on impact. But Lucius had overlooked one thing.
THUD—!!
It might've stopped penetration, but thousands of joules of kinetic energy per ball transferred straight through.
"Guh!"
One shot. But that raw mass violence made his holy power scream. The golden barrier and Lucius's body alike flew backward, tumbling ignobly across the dirt.
Thump.
The poised, arrogant cardinal who'd threatened me just days ago? Gone. His neat hair was a mess, his pristine cardinal robes caked in mud.
I broke the barrel down, smoke curling from the muzzle. Ejected the spent shell, loaded a fresh one—this with chunkier 8mm balls.
Click—!Snap.
"Sleep it off here, and you'll catch a cold, Professor."
My sarcasm was the trigger. Lucius exploded from the dirt in a silent leap, pride utterly crushed. His speed defied reason—the gap between us vanished in a blink.
That instant, something weird shifted inside me.
Ting—.
Like a high-res camera frame splintering into ultra-slow motion. The world crawled to a halt.
Adrenaline? No, I'd felt this before. But no time to dwell. I shoved distractions aside, tracking the cardinal's moves with precision: dust trails in the air, his robes fluttering against drag, the faint twitch as he pumped holy power into his left thigh.
All data flooded my brain. He was feinting straight at me, planning to burst sideways with holy power at his toes.
Fake-out.
Knowing reload time was his window, baiting me to waste shot into empty air. Any normal shooter would've. But I saw his final trajectory clear as day.
I impassively nudged the barrel a hair to the side.
BOOM—!
The world snapped back. The heavier thunderclap echoed as the lead storm crushed his shallow scheme.
"...!!!"
The 8mm barrage at point-blank overwhelmed the barrier's limit. Lucius rocketed back like a trebuchet stone, rolling twice as far before sprawling belly-up in his tattered robes.
I brushed hot barrel soot off and approached.
"Get my point across?"
Golden light wrapped his prone form—thick waves of holy healing power, like when the saintess fixed Kyle's groin.
"Heh... heh heh..."
His mud-caked shoulders shook. Then came a laugh no priest should utter—crude, guttural.
"HAH! HAHAHA! Hah! HAHAHAHA! HAHA!"
Impossible from a human throat. Like rusted gears grinding in agony. Lucius wheezed, choking, but the madness wouldn't stop. The mask of elegance and piety? Shattered by two shotgun blasts.
Bullet to the brain?
I gripped the shotgun tighter, eyeing his head. The barrier had absorbed it—no skull penetration. Yet here he was, convulsing in lunatic glee, brain clearly fried somewhere.
"HAH! Heh heh, heh heh...!"
Chilling. Surviving a shotgun blast was already nuts, but laughing like this? Terrifying.
He spoke from the ground.
"Cadet Flint... no, Brother."
Title change. Lucius rarely called anyone "brother" or "sister." Reserved for Holy See elites or souls he deemed equals—extreme honor.
"That 'conversation' was excellent."
He staggered up. Crack—Crunch—. Horrid sounds of golden waves forcibly knitting torn muscle and bone. Blood-flecked spit dribbled from his lips; madness gleamed in rolled-back eyes.
Lucius caressed his chest—feeling shredded robes, bruised flesh beneath—with ecstatic bliss.
His voice trembled.
"What... is that thing?"
His gaze locked on my shotgun. Desperate to name the force that overpowered his holy arms.
I pondered. I'd already called the revolver an "excellent means of conversation." Time to differentiate the shotgun for this world.
It wasn't for chit-chat. This was for coercion—guaranteed results.
"An excellent negotiation tool."
"...Negotiation?"
"Yeah. When talks fail, you negotiate. And from experience, nobody turns down terms like these."
His eyes twitched oddly again. Negotiation—an absolute offer where refusal means ruin. He mouthed the word, savoring it, then erupted anew.
"Heh, HAHAHAHA! Negotiation! I see!"
He lurched toward me, zombie-like from the grave. But the aura wasn't murderous.
Craving. A thick, creepy hunger to claim this destroyer at any cost.
"Very well, Brother. You orchestrated this terror just to 'negotiate' with me."
He stopped nose-to-nose. Amid blood and burnt powder stench, his wild eyes devoured the shotgun.
"How much for it?"
He trembled head to toe in rapture, as if touching god itself.