Chapter 56
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 56
Chapter Title: Magical Accountant? (2)
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With the gunshot as my cue, I sprang into frantic motion.
Just like before, I hammered the magic's traits into my head while calculating the muzzle's direction and bullet count in real time.
But.
This time, dodging wasn't going to be as straightforward as last time.
"Ha, fuck."
Correction.
Dodging had gotten way too hard.
Every time I moved, pain flared from my side, grabbing at my feet like a vice. The recoil kept trying to force out more blood and guts.
At this rate, I couldn't even hold out, let alone suppress her. Closing in wouldn't yield any results either.
First things first, I needed to deal with this wound.
Suppression or survival—those could wait.
In the midst of it all, Whitey unleashed another spell.
-Bang!
This one, I couldn't dodge.
So, I drew the moon.
Dark Moon
Offsetting the spell, I got my feet moving again.
"Ah, fuck. Really."
But I stopped in my tracks almost immediately.
The movement had caused a gush of blood to surge from my side. The relentless agony and dizziness were just icing on the cake.
By the time I could barely move again, Whitey had already finished reloading.
And then, she pulled the trigger.
-Bang!
"You... who the hell are you? You dickhead bastard."
The words came with a twisted mix of disgust and bewilderment.
It was an incomprehensible question—one I wanted to hurl right back at her.
But there was no reason to answer. Or ask.
No time for it anyway.
I was too busy racking my brain.
In the chaos, I failed to dodge cleanly—one ear got shredded. Well, lucky it wasn't worse.
Anyway.
One bullet left in Whitey's magic wand.
Two more in her other hand after reloading.
Dodge just three attacks, and she'd have an opening.
-Bang!
Two left now. I barely dodged that one.
Of course, the price was steeper pain ripping through my whole body than when I'd cast the spell. Even worse, bits of intestine were starting to squeeze through the gaps in my clutching fingers.
Still, I was getting off lucky.
Alive in this state, at least.
But my luck ran out soon enough.
Shuck, click-click, clack.
Reloading complete.
While I was stuffing back what shouldn't have come out, I heard the reload finish.
Kachunk.
Gun trained on target.
Death felt like it was breathing down my neck.
This was bad.
I didn't know who'd possessed Whitey's body, but she was getting way too comfortable with that gun.
Faster reloads and preps were proof. Hell, she was even quicker than the original Whitey.
Right then—gunshots rang out.
-Bang! Bang!
Two in rapid succession.
I couldn't see while shoving my guts back in, but I pinpointed the direction from the sound.
Survive this, and I'd have my opening.
At least enough time to seal my side.
If so, I'd force the moon to appear, no matter what.
Crescent Moon
A vertical, eerie sliver of a new moon canceled out Whitey's spell.
But.
It didn't neutralize all the projectiles.
A swarm of locusts raked across my body. Unlike real locusts, these were tiny metal pellets.
Their name? Shotgun buckshot.
And those black locusts named buckshot didn't devour me.
They just tore chunks out.
-Splat.
Flesh chunks hit the ground.
Chunks of flesh, large and small, splattered wetly onto the floor. Some dangled pitifully, refusing to fall.
"Mom... fuck..."
A curse slipped out, followed by blood.
Or was it the other way around?
Who knows.
At least the vertical cast had spared my head and heart—vital spots untouched.
But that was it.
Everywhere else was mangled beyond recognition.
Arms and legs shredded, bones peeking through ragged meat. From the blood I'd vomited, my stomach must've taken a hit too.
I could guess the cause easy enough.
Two shots.
But different kinds.
One magical, the other raw physical slugs.
A linear strike like Crescent Moon couldn't block them all.
No choice but to eat the damage.
If it'd been Half Moon or Full Moon, things might've gone differently.
At this point, even though Whitey wasn't doing it herself, resentment boiled up toward her anyway.
You fucking Whitey bitch.
Why a goddamn shotgun, of all things?
Well, that didn't last. Too much blood loss—my vision kept flickering.
Right then, Whitey's voice rang in my ears.
"Sometimes there are stubborn Magical Ants like you."
Convinced she'd seized the advantage, her voice dripped with blatant leisure.
"A real pain in the ass to deal with. You keep reviving like Magical Weed no matter how many times I stomp you."
The sneer and mockery, thick with annoyance, grated on my nerves endlessly.
"What the hell are you rampaging for, you Magical Garbage? Can't you just die quietly? Even selling you wouldn't fetch shit."
Just borrowing Whitey's voice, but it pissed me off anyway.
"Memory's fuzzy, but I once ran into a punk almost exactly like you. Parading around with a Shining Sword just like yours."
My already hazy mind felt like it was being tested by the taunts.
"Well, that one was the real deal. Unlike a fake like you—super strong."
And that was why.
"Tried to take that fucker's head for the bounty, and I nearly died instead. Didn't walk away unscathed, though."
My self-control snapped, bit by bit.
"Sword-waving rampagers are all dickheads. Disgusting."
That instant.
"That's why I hate unprofitable gigs."
That one line sent killing intent pulsing through me.
I had no clue why it hit so hard.
Pushed to the brink?
What was so special about those words that I wanted to kill her over them?
My battered brain couldn't process it.
But.
It kept nagging at me. I couldn't just let it slide. I wanted to rip her apart.
Felt like I'd run into something I despised all over again.
Couldn't pin it down exactly.
Just instinct screaming it.
That moment.
The unknown intruder borrowing Whitey's voice lobbed a genuine question for the first time.
"But seriously, who the hell are you? You ever meet me?"
For a split second, it felt like the real Whitey—not some rando. Meaning, a dumbass question.
I wanted to ask the same damn thing.
Who the fuck gives me this deja vu?
The doubt passed quick. Whitey hurled more mockery my way.
With a kachunk.
"Anyway, your Magical life's at its end. What now, Magical Ant punk?"
Dead end.
Those three syllables burned into my mind.
I admitted it.
In this setup, I couldn't do jack.
Couldn't close in and suppress her, couldn't even dodge right. Even if I got close, she'd morph that wand and stab my blind spot like before.
Everything was against me.
Mind games, body—total disadvantage.
At best, her shotgun only had those two loaded shells left, but no room for optimism.
Those two were plenty.
Enough to snip my last thread of breath.
Worst case, she'd whip out the unused revolver.
Defeat was all but sealed.
So.
"When an ant fucks up its life, what does it do?"
What came next was simple, right?
"It heads to the Han River, fucker."
Shatter the board entirely.
Big step forward.
Strength into my knees.
Traced a half-moon.
Half Moon
Target: Floor
Not at Whitey.
At the ground beneath us.
For the first time, panic cracked the leisure on Whitey's face.
"Hey, you lunatic! What the hell are you─?!"
"You've done building jumps, but a Han River plunge? First time for everything."
My spell erased part of the floor we stood on—then all of it collapsed.
"Time to feel No□pia's true roots."
Back then, I really wanted to end it.
Even looked up briquette prices.
And so, Whitey and I plummeted.
Like a crashing stock—straight down.
Toward the floor below the bottom.
Had she not considered the variable? Or blown her reaction window showing off?
Whitey hit the ground in an undignified sprawl, no time to brace.
"Ugh!"
Of course, it didn't last. She was up in a flash. A Magical Girl's body shrugged off the impact.
Fall, tumble, rise.
The whole process? A mere instant. Less time than a blink.
But that blink was enough.
For me to close in on Whitey.
And.
For drawing the moon.
Full Moon
A full moon manifested.
Slowly along the blade, brilliantly radiant.
In that moment, the world froze.
I saw Whitey's face flood with panic and fear. Felt the warm gush of fresh blood boiling, my guts writhing from the gash in my side.
In the halted world, the Moonlight Sword moved.
Toward Whitey's nape.
Inch by inch. Steady, inexorable.
The moon, etched in slivers of shattered time, finally bit shallow into her neck.
That instant—everything vanished.
Whitey's blue eyes drowning in despair. The radiant Full Moon taking form. The Moonlight Sword gripped in my hand.
All gone.
In their place.
Two paths lay before my eyes.