Wrap-Up (1)

Dry gunshots echo through the ruins.

...Discarded shell casings litter the ground. Even after slamming three rounds into the same spot, the bullets only left scratches on the demon's body—no significant damage. This is the limit of standard ammo.

Against demons, it only slows them down a bit; it can't even provide proper stopping power. That's why most hunters and armed guards shun firearms.

They're decent enough for cadet spars or taking down small monsters, though.

But everything else is a drawback. Firearms are weapons full of flaws.

—Grrr.

The demon is still going strong. After taking multiple hits to the chest, it's barely fazed.

Standard rounds won't cut it. My options left are boosting firepower with mana or using magic bullets.

But all demons have some level of regeneration as a baseline. It's not from traits or talents—it's a common ability for anyone corrupted by demonic energy.

If I drag this fight out, I'll lose for sure.

...What now?

The demon sneers at me. No laugh, no twisted lips, but I can feel it mocking my predicament.

Its red eyes ask what I can do with this puny pistol.

My answer? Just pulling the trigger.

Bang—!

The demon doesn't dodge. It takes the hit head-on. A small gunshot wound blooms below its collarbone, but that's it.

But this thing overlooked something. Unlike the mindless beast, I'm still thinking clearly on my feet.

The fire-attribute magic bullet activates belatedly, scorching its chest. This ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠time, it lands properly—the demon's face twists in pain.

Yeah, this works.

The demon swings its grotesquely mutated arm and charges, but before it takes a few steps, someone stabs a thin sword into the back of its skull.

"Didn't you say this could be resolved through dialogue?"

Landing lightly like a cat—Rebecca von Anastasia Grander.

Rebecca yanks out her thin sword and joins me. From my perspective, I can't exactly welcome this.

It's best not to rely on her help if possible. The longer she's exposed to demonic energy, the more it'll affect her, knowingly or not.

It might even stimulate the demonic energy dormant inside her, restarting the possession we'd worked so hard to suppress with artifacts.

All that effort down the drain.

That's why I tried to finish it before she noticed.

But fighting solo would turn this into a prolonged battle. And at the end of that...

...Me, out of bullets and mana, versus the still-kicking demon.

Obviously, I'm a sniper. Lose bullets or mana, and I lose most of my combat ability.

The demon, meanwhile, heals from most wounds on its own. That's why even top hunters struggle to take them down—that damn regeneration.

To kill a demon, you aim for the head or destroy the heart.

To do that, I need to amp up firepower with mana for a one-shot kill.

—...

But this demon won't just stand there and let me.

It won't wait politely. If I try gathering mana in place, it'll rush me and swing.

Demonic energy is thick around here. And the longer we're near the source—the demon—the worse Rebecca's condition will get.

Even now, she's holding back to suppress it, not at full strength.

To win, I have to end it in one go.

"There must have been a better way to take down that demon."

I had nothing to say. I didn't expect what I thought was a demon to be Duke Esperand's clone, or for capturing this one to be the mission.

But like always...

"...A variable popped up."

"One you can handle?"

"Yes. Of course."

I'd anticipated variables. Like I told Iri once, I'm the guy who deals with them—sudden events are my role.

That's why they gave me the Player trait.

I dive into key events in this world, suffer for it, but grow stronger. And the system won't let me die stupidly as long as I'm in the story.

If it wanted me dead, it wouldn't have dropped me here or given me a Unique talent.

A refreshing energy spreads through my body. The Glock feels a tad lighter—probably from the boosted Sharp Shooter.

Now, I could handle close quarters.

Superhuman bodies naturally infuse with mana, so more total mana and faster recovery means lighter movements and tiny edges in grip strength and precision.

But the time limit is 40 minutes.

I have to end this quick.

Before firing a magic bullet, I glance at Rebecca beside me.

"You don't have to push yourself. Feel free to hang back."

"...Unnecessary concern."

I meant it sincerely, but she steps forward without hesitation, elegantly aiming her thin sword at the demon's throat and facing it down.

"Demons can't be left alone."

"As the next heir to Grander?"

"......"

Rebecca doesn't answer easily. Right now, one of the world's great evils—a demon—lurks beyond the north ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Grander guards.

And that evil is none other than Grand Duke Grander's own sister.

Grander has defended the north from demons their whole lives, a fight predating the family name.

But a demon born from within scarred their honor deeply.

Her silence is answer enough—and why she accepted my offer to tag along.

The demon growls on. It even seems to enjoy this.

Born in blood, reaped in blood. That's a demon's unhideable nature.

And a mindless one follows its instincts even more faithfully.

"...I am Rebecca von Anastasia Grander."

Frost-like mana coils at the tip of her silver blade.

"Guardian of the north, slayer of the impure—that is my duty."

Rebecca flashes forward like lightning, unleashing chilling strikes. Ice crystals scatter along her white trails, showing why she claims to be Grander, guardian of the north.

But regretfully, this demon isn't fooled by ice tricks.

It swings both arms wildly, ignoring them and pressuring her back. Bare-handed, but its demonic-energy-infused body repels the blade fiercely, allowing no wounds.

...Even my Telescopic Vision struggles to track their exchange.

I keep a few steps back, putting rounds in its skull. I retreat when it might interfere with her sword path, advance boldly otherwise.

But no real damage. Burns from magic bullets dot its body, but it only diverts attention briefly.

Vitals are tough; its sturdy frame shrugs them off.

Amping firepower risks recoil I can't control—likely just a basic mana burst like before.

Kieeec—!

The enraged demon whips its arm. It shouldn't reach, but it stretches like a whip. Eerie sight.

Crack—!

I block with both arms. Cadet uniform holds, but the elbow fabric tears clean off from the prior hit.

Thanks to the uniform; bare skin would've snapped both arms.

Next swing comes. Telescopic Vision catches the trajectory.

I leap aside lightly, draw my dagger, pin the arm, and stomp it down.

"Rebecca."

Even in the melee, she turns. Her eyes lock on the extended arm.

Her thin sword couldn't pierce before, but now, stretched and thinned, it's vulnerable.

Slash—

The blade arcs, cleanly severing the elongated arm. The whip-like right arm drops.

The demon howls in agony and retreats. Regeneration can't regrow a severed limb instantly.

Sure, high-level demons might, but not at this stage. I figured it'd be fatal.

"...!"

The stump bubbles, then a new right arm ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠sprouts—instantly. But not an arm: tentacles emerge.

Bone-spiked, squid-like but far more vicious.

It doesn't target me. Rebecca, right in front.

"...Guh?!"

Her neck snagged in an instant, she thrashes. Black aura floods into her—injecting demonic energy.

Trying to make another demon.

I grip my pistol, aim for its head, but they're too close; she'd get caught.

Click—

Swap the loaded round. Pale green mana pierces between them.

Wind-attribute magic bullet, mana-enhanced. The tentacle releases her; she seizes the gap, regrips her sword.

But—

Squelch—!

"...!"

Even impaled through the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠chest by her thin sword, the demon doesn't fall. It grabs the blade with its left hand, yanks her closer.

The writhing tentacle sweeps the air, spewing long bone spines.

Rebecca resists desperately, but the demon's strength overpowers low-tier hunters.

Small bullets just scratch. And she's weakened by the demonic energy.

To break this, I need raw power.

I eye my right arm. The nurse said don't remove the cast yet, but this damn world forces choices now.

To gain something, sacrifice another.

...No time to hesitate.

Grip the Glock reverse, smash the cast. Cracks after three-four hits; splits after two more.

Bite the Glock, peel it off. My right arm feels alien after so long, sluggish in sensation, but it obeys.

Two-handed grip, index on trigger. Pour every ounce of mana into the barrel.

Loaded: fire-attribute magic bullet. Nemesis to most demons.

Charged mana overflows, sparks flying past the slide.

Pulling the trigger means I won't walk for a while.

...Recoil control's impossible anyway. One shot's enough.

Mana depletion will leave me barely standing.

Telescopic Vision flashes, locks the demon's forehead.

Vision fades to black like a cut film as I squeeze.

The violent recoil hits half a beat late. Red beam streaks straight.

I don't see the end. Mana spent, consciousness snaps.

But I trust my talent. If this fails, I'll haunt them in death.

Skull smacks debris. Sensation half-gone, no pain.

......

Krunch!

Something shatters—that's the last thread of my awareness snapping.