Chapter 217: Ambush

The freezing morning air of Winterguard did absolutely nothing to cure the pounding headache splitting my skull.

If anything, the hangover from last night’s forced celebration made me want to crawl back into bed and sleep for another week. But my carriage was already packed and waiting in the courtyard.

Standing by the iron gates to see me off were Commander Arthur, Vice Commander James, and Viktor.

"Thank you again, Cadet," Arthur said, his scarred face softening into a warm smile. "And I mean it. Visit us again sometime. Under better circumstances, perhaps we can actually show you proper Northern hospitality instead of just a monster siege."

"I’ll hold you to that, Commander," I replied, rubbing my temples. "Though I think I’ve had enough Northern ale to last me a lifetime."

Viktor and James chuckled.

Before turning to the carriage, I paused. I reached into my spatial inventory and pulled out the Holy Sword of Elias. The golden blade gleamed even under the cloudy sky. I reversed my grip and held it out toward Arthur.

Arthur’s eyes widened, and he immediately took a step back. "What are you doing, boy? That is a Supreme Relic. You risked your life against the Wilderness to retrieve it. It’s yours."

"It’s of no use to me," I said, pushing the hilt into his hands. "Its best use is right here, at the absolute edge of the continent, where the monsters are frequent. What am I going to do with it at the Academy? Using a legendary holy sword for student spars is a bit overkill, don’t you think?"

Arthur stared at the blade, completely lost for words.

"Besides," I added, offering a lazy smirk. "I don’t intend to take the frontline anyway. I like to stay as far away from trouble as possible. That’s exactly why I became a marksman."

Vice Commander James burst out laughing. "Says the guy who literally jumped from the sky right into the center of a monster horde!"

Even Viktor shook his head, a rare smile crossing his stoic face.

Leaving the sword in their capable hands, I finally boarded the carriage. As the wheels rolled out of the massive iron gates, I looked back one last time, watching the emerald light of the barrier pulse steadily. My job here was done.

****

I didn’t head back to the Ashborne estate.

I had wasted quite a bit of time recovering in Winterguard, and the Academy’s second semester started the day after tomorrow. If I went home now, I was absolutely certain my mother would hold me hostage in the manor for at least a full day, fussing over my weight and the rumors of the siege.

So, I ordered the driver to take the direct southern route toward the Capital.

By the time the sun began to set, painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and orange, we reached a small, quiet transit town named Pinehurst.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and the driver tapped on the window. "Young Master, it’s almost sunset. The roads ahead are poorly maintained. We should spend the night here."

"Alright," I agreed, stretching my stiff legs.

We booked a room at the largest inn in town. After a whole day of bumpy travel, I ate a quick, quiet dinner in the tavern and immediately went up to my room to crash.

*****

The next morning, I woke up early. The hangover was finally gone.

I grabbed my coat and walked downstairs to the reception area to arrange for breakfast. But the lobby was completely empty.

I frowned, looking around. The place was extremely quiet. There was no innkeeper behind the desk, no maids sweeping the floors, and no smell of food coming from the kitchens. The silence was thick and unnatural.

Am I just too early? I wondered, glancing at the clock on the wall.

Thinking nothing of it, I turned around and headed back upstairs to my room to freshen up and grab my duffel bag.

But the moment I put my hand on the brass doorknob of my room and pushed it open, a violent, freezing jolt ripped down my spine.

[Sixth Sense has detected lethal intent!]

Alarm bells screamed in my mind. My body moved before I could even process the threat. I violently sidestepped away from the doorway.

BANG!

A bullet shot out from inside the room, tearing through the wooden doorframe exactly where my chest had been a fraction of a second ago. It lodged deep into the hallway wall behind me, smoking.

"Wow, fast! No, beyond fast. Future prediction? No, too slow for that. Aha, your intuition’s reached a level of perception beyond normal cognition."

The attacker’s voice drifted casually from inside my room.

I drew my Reaver shotgun from my inventory and quickly peeked inside. Sitting casually on the edge of my bed, legs crossed, was a man wearing a dark, heavy coat with a deep hood pulled over his face. He held a still-smoking revolver in his hand, pointing it lazily toward the door.

I didn’t hesitate. I rolled hard into the room, diving behind a heavy velvet sofa, and snapped my muzzle up to fire.

BOOM!

"Hmph!"

The robed man casually sidestepped the spread of the buckshot. The heavy pellets tore my bed to shreds, but he wasn’t there. He moved with a ghostly, flowing grace that defied physics.

There’s an old saying: if someone makes a seemingly impossible task look completely effortless, inspiring you to think you could replicate it, that person is likely a master beyond compare.

This opponent is on a completely different level from anyone I’ve faced! I realized, breaking into a cold sweat.

Perhaps because he was a gunslinger too, his evasion was an absolute art form. The gap in our pure technical skill was evident from his dodges alone. I relied heavily on my System stats and Marksmanship skill, but this guy? He was the real deal.

Bang! Ba-bang! Bang!

He fired back. Bullets grazed past my ear, tearing through the sofa.

I swapped the shotgun for my Winchester rifle, aiming to shoot a piercing mana round right through the wooden wardrobe he was moving behind. I fired, but he vanished like a ghost before the bullet even pierced the wood.

I need to move too!

At that exact moment, I nearly got hit by a bullet that had perfectly predicted my roll. I was forced to scramble across the floor, abandoning my cover entirely.

I counterattacked immediately, firing a quick snap-shot. But the robed man didn’t dodge. He simply raised his revolver and fired.

Clink!

His bullet perfectly struck my bullet mid-air, ricocheting it harmlessly into the ceiling.

My heart plummeted into my stomach.

Are you kidding me?! The gap is this wide?! That was a pinnacle technique, far beyond what my current proficiency could ever hope to mimic. Shooting a bullet with a bullet? That was literal madness.

"Want to see something even more entertaining?" the robed guy laughed from under his hood.

He drew a second revolver. His dual pistols blazed.

He fired one gun first. Then, he fired the second slightly later, angling his wrist. The second bullet caught up to the first mid-flight, violently colliding with it. The kinetic impact forcibly altered the trajectory of the first bullet mid-air!

Like a pack of wolves coordinating a flank, the ricocheting bullets curved through the air and closed in on me from both sides simultaneously.

I barely evaded, throwing myself across the floor and rolling like a flailing donkey as the bullets tore up the floorboards exactly where I had been standing.

What the hell did I just witness?!

I could at least comprehend the earlier interception, but altering a bullet’s trajectory mid-air by shooting it? That was beyond belief, even seeing it with my own eyes.

"Hahaha! How long are you going to hide behind cover?!" he taunted.

Wondering what impossible trick he’d pull next, I peeked out and saw him swing his gun in a wide, sweeping arc like a sword as he squeezed the trigger.

The result was a true calamity.

The bullets physically curved through the air, ignoring linear physics entirely.

I rolled, ran, and crawled across the floor in the most undignified, desperate way imaginable to dodge the sweeping arcs of lead.

If I stay still, I’m dead!

I hurriedly raised my hunting rifle, refusing to back down, and fired a rapid succession of mana rounds directly at him. The plaster pillar he had been using as cover shattered into pieces.

"Haha! I like that you’re facing me without flinching!" he laughed, not sounding winded at all.

The deafening gunfire echoed through the inn, tearing the expensive room and the hallway to absolute shreds. Sofas, vases, and walls were destroyed in seconds, forcing both of us to keep moving, naturally drawing closer and closer as our cover vanished.

Fifty meters. Forty meters. Thirty. Twenty. Ten meters.

Finally, standing in the middle of the ruined, smoking hallway with absolutely no cover left between us, we both naturally lowered our muzzles.

Through his deeply pulled hood, I could clearly see the man’s sly, amused grin.

He spun one of his revolvers around his finger before holstering it smoothly.

"I’ll admit it, Lucien Ashborne," the robed man said, his voice echoing in the sudden silence. "Your skill is almost worthy of being mistaken for me."

I kept my face perfectly blank, leveling the barrel of my smoking rifle at his chest. But inside, my mind was spiraling into deep, frantic confusion.

Mistaken for you? I stared at the dual revolvers, the impossible curving bullets, and the dark coat. A terrifying realization slowly began to dawn on me from my knowledge of the game’s lore.

Who the fuck are you?