The Troublemakers (3): The Half-Demon's Gambit
A man crouched in the corner. At a glance, he looked like nothing more than a tattooed thug. But I knew exactly who he was. The red teardrop tattoo beneath his left eye, and the straight scar cutting through it—there was no mistaking it. In the original story, he was the demonkin taken in and raised by the Romantic Sword, Tangbun. What a staggering coincidence. The future master and his apprentice were both holed up in this sewer of a place.
"Sion. Prepare to fire."
Click—. Sion, standing beside me, didn't even ask why; he just chambered a round in his shotgun.
"It's a demonkin."
"A demonkin? He doesn't look like one to me."
He must be using some magic or artifact to mask his appearance from casual observers. Sion’s shallow assessment didn't matter. What could you expect from a guy who couldn't even identify the middle-aged noble watching us from the second floor right now?
Instead of offering a tedious, pedantic explanation, I drove a custom-made round straight toward the demonkin's brow.
BANG—!
With a sound that threatened to tear my eardrums, the revolver spat out ruthless fire. The bullet tore through the murky air, hurtling in a straight line toward the head of the crouching demonkin.
"!!"
Look at that. The guy who had been cowering like a weakling snapped his eyes open and, with beast-like reflexes, thrust out his right hand to block my custom bullet.
"Stay sharp. He’s the type that takes five guys like you ganging up on him just to have a chance at winning..."
"GAAAAAAH! AAAAAH!!!"
My grave warning was pointlessly buried by a scream that sounded like it was shredding the air. Bright red blood was gushing like a fountain from the right hand he had used to intercept the shot.
"..."
"..."
I was left speechless by how pathetic he was compared to my expectations, and I clicked my tongue.
"...Well, I suppose that's that, but my gun is going to do more than five men's worth of work for you."
Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang!
I coolly pumped the remaining five rounds from my revolver into his head. Demonkin of the original story or not, he didn't even get a chance to use his strength before he collapsed into a heap of meat.
Sion stared at me, completely stunned, his soul seemingly having left his body. It wasn't over yet. As I reloaded the revolver, I called out to the man watching us from the second floor.
"Hey, mister. Stop watching and come on down."
I had to confirm if that bastard was in on it, too. I shook out the empty cylinder and gestured toward the second floor with my chin.
"Things are getting a bit weird, don't you think we should introduce ourselves?"
Clack, clack.
The man walked down the stairs, eyeing the revolver in my right hand with intense scrutiny.
"...I didn't know."
"Well, even a passing goblin could spout that kind of nonsense. Who are you? Affiliation, family, name—spit it all out."
This wasn't a minor issue. Collusion with a demonkin? If an Inquisitor caught wind of this, it would be a 24-hour, heart-pounding date in the basement. I didn't want to forgive even a second of silence, so I holstered the revolver and pulled out the double-barrel shotgun.
"Mikhail Frost..."
BOOM—!
The buckshot ruthlessly pulverized the floor right in front of the man's shoes.
"Wrong answer. That's not you."
Mikhail Frostguard was a supporting character in the novel who should be busy grinding away on the northern front right now. He didn't have a pretty face like that; he looked more like a barbarian than an actual barbarian. Sion must have realized the guy was an impostor, too, as he flinched. It was a natural reaction for someone who knew the noble family trees by heart.
"Lying isn't good for your health. I'll give you one last chance. Who are you?"
A noble that Sion, the heir to an information guild, didn't know? That was when I started smelling a rat. In this world, even the lowliest illegitimate child is treated like royalty the moment they manifest mana. There's no such thing as an 'Abandon the Illegitimate Mage' campaign in this world.
Click—!
I loaded the double-barrel. Sion gulped at my kind interrogation. It seemed he had roughly guessed the guy's identity as well.
"Haa. Damn it. If I'd known it would come to this, I wouldn't have listened to 'that guy'."
The man's gaze turned murky. In an instant—
PIIIIIING—!
A high-frequency sound that rattled my brain scraped against my eardrums. Simultaneously, everything around us froze white in an instant. The thugs who had been sprawled on the floor turned into frozen meat, and the walls, the ceiling, and even the air itself began to ice over.
BOOM—! BOOM—!
As soon as my vision began to frost over, I pulled the trigger. The man erected a thick ice shield to block the incoming buckshot. It seemed the distance had reduced the shotgun's destructive power. Of course, the shield shattered the moment it blocked the shot.
The man must have had mana to spare, as he generated another shield. The man's identity was a Half-Demon. A hybrid born between a demonkin and another race. Most died before adulthood, unable to withstand the mana overload, but the setting stated that if they survived the astronomical odds, they became powerful entities.
'Don't put settings like this into a romance fantasy.'
I couldn't afford to show any openings. I broke open the smoking barrel, discarded the empty shells, and quickly shoved in new rounds.
Click—!
"Hey there, Half-Demon. Any thoughts on defecting to the human side?"
"You mean to be torn limb from limb by the Inquisitors while still alive? Don't make me laugh."
BOOM—!
I fired again as soon as I finished reloading, but he blocked it with ease. Because of the double-barrel's frustratingly slow rate of fire, there was just enough of an opening for him to deploy his magic.
'If I make it back to the Academy, I'm making an automatic rifle first.'
I would inherit the great will of the Mikhail from the land of the brown bears, not some fake Mikhail like this, and pass it on to this world.
Ting—.
Just then, from where Sion stood, instead of a loud, ferocious gunshot, there was a small, pathetic sound of metal clashing against metal.
This was bad. That was the sound of a shotgun misfire.
"Flint! The gun won't fire!"
It seemed the mana stone inside the shotgun couldn't ignite because of the cold. This is driving me crazy. A chill ran down my spine. The temperature had plummeted due to the man's ice magic, and the small mana stone inside the shotgun couldn't handle it. Was it a mistake to compromise with a mana-stone ignition system instead of a primer system?
I'm seriously going to lose my mind. When I get back to the Academy, I'll have to pester Sister Lauri to move up the schedule for developing metal casings. This is why real-world experience is so important. It shows you exactly how flawed your weapon is. Of course, the biggest problem is that I have to pay for this excellent real-world feedback with my life.
Since my firepower was blocked, I had no choice. In times like this, using a competent party member is the best strategy. I pointed my finger and shouted.
"Go, Sion! Lightning Fast!"
"What are you talking about!"
Whoosh!
Sion retorted as if he were dumbfounded, but he deployed his ability. His body blurred, and in an instant, he leaped through space, rushing toward the man's blind spot.
CLANG—!
But the Half-Demon's reaction was also surprisingly fast. He had already drawn an ice sword to block Sion's dagger. A magic swordsman? Perhaps this man was the true Romantic Sword.
I tossed the useless shotgun aside and drew my revolver. I couldn't just stand there and watch.
Zing—.
My senses sharpened to the limit, and the intertwined movements of Sion and the Half-Demon slowed down as if they were in slow motion. A cold ice sword swung toward Sion's neck. Sion twisted his neck by a hair's breadth to avoid the strike, stabbed his dagger into the man's forearm, and leaped through space again.
Whoooooosh—.
Behind the man's back—his blind spot. Sion's dagger, which had suddenly popped out of thin air, aimed for his spine. But the Half-Demon, without even looking behind him, deployed an ice-thorn shield to deflect the dagger, then swung his sword in a wide arc to cut Sion down.
It was a breathtaking exchange that happened in the instant I pulled the hammer of my revolver. That's right. Sion was also quite a powerhouse. I had been subconsciously downplaying his combat ability because the image of him trembling after being hit by a shotgun was burned into my brain.
Watching their fierce hand-to-hand combat, I fired a shot toward the window just to check if my revolver was frozen.
BANG—!
Crash…!
Oh, it fires. As expected, top-tier fire mana stones and dwarven alloy are worth the high price. Even in the sub-zero air that felt like it would freeze me to the bone, the revolver's mana stone was dutifully emitting heat and maintaining its function perfectly. Seeing the heavy recoil transmitted to my fingertips and the smoke rising over the cold barrel, the corners of my mouth curled up on their own.
Now then. What should I do here? The most perfect option to cook the Half-Demon while avoiding the tragedy of friendly fire.
'...Wait.'
Come to think of it, is there any need to worry about friendly fire? He's the heir to an information guild, so he should be quick-witted, right? He must have felt me test-firing at the window just now, so if he can't dodge this, that's a problem in itself. If he survived that hellish training of the information guild and can't even respond to a surprise shot like this, he should hand over his heir badge. Yes, indeed.
Suddenly, a firm trust in my colleague filled my heart.
RATATATATANG—!
Without a moment's hesitation, I pulled the trigger like a madman toward the two people locked in hand-to-hand combat. Five custom rounds left the muzzle of the revolver and flew fiercely toward where the two were tangled together.