The Waltz of Gun and Sword (3)
The stray bullet struck a citizen's leg. The young man who took the hit screamed as he collapsed, and the nearby civilians scattered in panic all at once.
Whoosh! At the same moment, Philip's form warped in place. The 20-meter gap closed in the blink of an eye. Philip appeared right in front of the man in an instant and swung his sword, but the man kicked off the ground and leaped onto the fence surrounding the training hall. Widening the distance again, he looked down at Philip from atop the fence and laughed.
"Not bad for a cripple, but still not enough to catch me. Impressive how well you move on that leg."
"You..."
"I'll make the offer again. Hand over the key."
The man aimed his gun at the fleeing civilians as he spoke. "Refuse, and I'll start hunting down the city folk with this thing right now. Doubt that gimpy leg of yours can catch me."
"...The guards and the lord's knights will be here soon. You won't get away once they arrive."
"Sure, but dozens will die by then. And the guards can't stop bullets. Knights might be tricky... but unless they're Expert, I can handle them with my skills."
He shrugged and continued. "Besides, even if I get caught, no big deal. Death penalty's harsh, but it's not like I actually die."
What the hell is this guy's deal?
I was horrified watching some lunatic fire at civilians. The gunshot that followed confirmed that the thunderous roar I'd heard earlier came from that gun.
A gun. I scowled at the sight of something I hadn't seen in ages. How long had it been? The last time was back in the military before the 'system' possessed me into this world—decades ago, easy.
Guns didn't exist in Asteria. And why would they? In this fantasy world, superhumans broke the sound barrier in a single step and shattered mountains with their fists. In a world crawling with monsters who scoffed at one-man armies, personal firearms like that held no real meaning.
Of course, for anyone below a certain level, nothing could be more efficient—
Did the players make it?
I glanced at Philip facing off against the maniac, then asked the player beside me. "What's that asshole's problem?"
"Heard the instructor here has the key to the previous Sword Saint's dungeon? Demanding he hand it over... Anyway, hang tight. I'm streaming and recording right now."
"...Huh?"
Wait, my dungeon? I was caught off guard by the sudden mention, but the player misinterpreted my reaction and kept going.
"That guy's a Red Player, so he's got a bounty on him automatically. Plus, he posted about the Sword Saint dungeon info online and is streaming it now, so bounty hunters are probably swarming. The recording's for selling as evidence later... Jackpot on day one."
His light tone didn't match the situation at all, but I let the words flow in one ear and out the other.
...I get it. To other players, it's just a game.
More importantly, my dungeon?
I did make a bunch while in seclusion.
Terminal illness and all, no real use for my stuff, so I'd split up my assets—elixir, artifacts, sword manuals—and seeded them across the continent in dungeons. Like leaving behind fateful encounters from those wuxia novels. It was kinda fun.
Was there one around here?
I couldn't remember. Dozens of them, placed as evenly as possible without much thought to exact spots.
Right then, I overheard Philip and the maniac's exchange: "Refuse, and I'll start hunting down the city folk with this thing right now."
...Damn it.
Playing dirty. If that bastard bolted while spraying bullets, there'd be no stopping him. If he fought fair and head-on... I might could kill him. He wasn't Expert—Three Flowers realm, pounding on that wall. With this body, my swordsmanship could overcome it. Worst case, mutual destruction technique seals the deal.
But if he ran, like he said... I had no confidence in chasing him down with my current physical specs.
Philip's probably the same.
I eyed Philip's right leg. The limp from his injury. Fine leg? No problem. But that wound? Mobility's shot.
So, handing over the key he has is the only way? Let that sleazy prick win?
......
A way.
My gaze lingered on the gun in his hand. Then the 60P of aura filling my body, and the sword gripped tight.
Suddenly, an idea flashed.
Possible with my current specs? And would he move like I expect?
No time to judge. I recalled old memories. Days rolling in the slums, mercenary gigs, battlefield hopping.
Step.
Remembering the slang, tone, street words from back then, I stepped forward.
"...?"
The maniac eyed the newbie-looking me stepping out, puzzled. That's when I opened with my slum days voice—hiding my gender, rag in mouth for intimidation.
"Hey, mister."
"...What?"
"Mom and dad kick the bucket, no upbringing? Who the fuck you shootin' at, asshole?"
"......"
The air turned ice-cold in an instant.
Hm, too aggressive? Felt awkward—been too long. As my name got famous and eyes followed, I had to maintain some dignity.
...Yeah, trash-talking outta nowhere in a game probably looks weird. I know this is real life, not a game, so he just looks like a psycho mass shooter. Other players? Just a griefing trash.
Anyway, provocation worked.
"...I'll make an example of you first."
His gun barrel locked right on me.
The moment the man's trigger finger touched.
────.
I forcibly accelerated my consciousness.
Overdrive
Time slowed.
Everything around froze like it stopped.
But even in this halted world, I couldn't track the bullet piercing sound with my eyes.
So, don't watch the bullet.
His gaze.
The gun barrel's aim.
The subtle twitch of his trigger finger.
I sucked in all that data with my wide-open super-senses, channeling every drop of aura in my body into the sword.
Aura-Infused Blade—a technique to boost the sword's durability.
Anything less, and it'd shatter.
I positioned the reinforced blade on the predicted path.
But blocking alone wasn't enough.
To fully suppress, take it one step further.
And the sword moved.
Bang!
Flash of light.
Blood sprayed.
"...Kuh?!"
The bullet clanged off my sword and ricocheted back along its path, piercing his shoulder.
Damn it. Aimed for the head.
But I wasn't alone.
Philip pounced the moment the man staggered, yelling hysterically.
"Shoot that bitch! Kill her!"
This psycho.
His subordinate, prepped to snipe from afar, couldn't believe his eyes.
What just happened? Obvious newbie—how?
Batted the bullet with a sword? With normie stats?
Impossible? But his trigger finger moved on instinct.
Click.
Flame burst, 7.62mm round fired at supersonic speed.
Super-senses granted to Masters aren't the end just by getting them. A fresh Master and a Sword Saint's senses the same? No way.
Obviously, honing creates clear gaps.
Those who polish to the extreme awaken something near precognition—call it the sixth sense.
A combat lifetime's instinct.
And I felt mine scream.
Still in accelerated thought, the triggered crisis sense rapidly concluded.
His shout implied accomplices.
What attack? "Shoot" meant gun like his—sniper, long-range.
Direction? Trajectory? Pure gut.
Less than 0.1 seconds to there.
Judgment made in a flash, twisting my body—then a lightning-fast intent stabbed my mind.
0.3 seconds. 9 o'clock. Left temple.
Philip's intent.
Expert-level aura sense can detect incoming bullets. If you're prowling near Master walls.
Anyway, I took the warning gratefully.
Direction.
And... trajectory.
Tang!
Sword shuddered.
Bullet ricocheted back along its path.
But no certainty it hit. Even I lacked confidence reflecting a distant sniper perfectly. With this near-normie body.
Lucky hit or miss, but no follow-up shot.
"Urgh...!!"
Meanwhile, the man was pinned—Philip slammed his head into the dirt, the instructor recalling the scene with the girl named Yuri.
...Hell of a show.
Blocking or deflecting bullets? He could do that easy.
But sending it back on the exact trajectory? Near-miracle, even he couldn't claim it. With near-normie physicals.
Master miracle, maybe...
The instructor cut the thought. Pointless imagining realms beyond his reach.
He'd heard of Masters' super-senses. Maybe possible for those superhumans.