The sound of footsteps echoed from the village road. It was a patrol of three soldiers from Kiebrav, clad in chainmail, holding clubs and swords. The sergeant stepped forward. "We heard that Drechuis had lights, explosions—no storm, though—"
"My God, what happened? Did raptors raid the village?" The sergeant froze, unable to suppress a soft gasp as he saw the carcasses of beasts and the stench of blood hanging in the air.
"They're all dead. We're too late," he muttered.
Beside the sergeant stood a man with a regal bearing, nearly fully armored in steel. A blue cloak fluttered behind him, and the armor was etched with bear motifs, matching the cloak—likely the emblem of a noble family in this city.
"Who could have slain these beasts?" the armored man asked, his voice laced with curiosity. His gaze swept over the three figures, lingering on a tall, sturdy young man.
"Him. This kid did it," Shylock replied, pointing at the youth. The man turned his attention toward him with interest.
"You… young man, what's your name?"
"I'm Len, Len Panderia. And you are…?"
Len, a young man in his early twenties, had a handsome, clean-shaven face. His fiery red hair matched his hot-tempered yet brave nature. A sword hung on his back, and his hand still gripped a mysterious steel axe, its blade still faintly glowing.
The man paused, thinking for a moment. "Panderia… You must be the son of Gosha Panderia. He's the finest blacksmith in Keibraf. As for me, I am Sir Alric, commander of the knights of Keibraf."
The man introduced himself, and the villagers nearby showed reverence—though Chai-lock's eyes gleamed with an unwavering stare, fixed on the knight with a spark of ambition.
But first, Sir Alric pointed at the weapon in the young man's hand, his instincts sensing something extraordinary.
"That axe… it's no ordinary weapon. Where did you get it?"
Both Smith and Len hesitated. If Smith answered truthfully, things could get messy—and the young man himself didn't even know the axe's origin. Len glanced at Smith, who had tossed him the axe.
"A family heirloom, sir! I saw him bring it for repair, but there's something even more special…" Shylock interjected, glancing at Smith.
"We have something better to show you."
Smith froze. "Shylock, you're going to—"
"Trust me!" Shylock whispered before turning to the knight.
"Have you ever seen a weapon that shoots farther than a club, stronger than a bow, and more accurate? We have it—it's called a gun!"
The knight listened, his expression stern. "A gun? If your weapon is as you claim, show me."
Shylock grinned slyly, his excitement palpable.
"Smith, bring the gun."
Smith sighed, glaring at Shylock as if he wanted to strangle him. The burly man trudged back to the forge, retrieving a prototype revolver. He tapped out dust from the barrel, gave it a quick clean—a steel cylinder with six chambers, six paper-wrapped rounds, and caps. He returned with a serious look. "If you're showing it off, make it perfect, Chai-lock. If it blows up, it's on you."
Shylock pointed at a straw dummy set up by villagers for archery practice, about ten meters away.
"Sir, watch this! This weapon will change the face of warfare!"
He turned to Smith. "Fire it!"
Smith gave the gun a final check, loading black powder from a paper cartridge into the cylinder, followed by a round lead bullet with a rounded copper tip. He placed a percussion cap at the back. His hand trembled slightly—not from fear, but from knowing this was the first test in front of authority. Villagers and soldiers watched with curiosity.
Smith aimed at the straw dummy, took a deep breath, cocked the hammer with his thumb, and pulled the trigger—
BANG!!!
A thunderous crack like lightning split the air. The bullet tore through the dummy, shredding it to pieces. Straw scattered, and black smoke rose with the sharp scent of sulfur.
Ser Alric's eyes widened. He stepped back half a pace, his reaction as if he'd seen a ghost. The sergeant's jaw dropped, nearly losing his club. Villagers screamed, some fleeing. Len stared at the gun in Smith's hand, stunned.
"What… what the hell is that?!"
Click! Bang! Click! Bang! Click! Bang! Click! Bang! Click! Bang!!
Smith fired the remaining five rounds in rapid succession. The gun shook in his hands with each shot, bullets punching through the toughest part of a raptor's skull, leaving visible holes where they passed.
"Ha ha ha ha!!"
Shylock burst into laughter, clapping like he was at a theater. "See that, sir! This is a cap-and-ball revolver—the weapon of the future! Faster than a sword, stronger than a spear. Whoever wields it will dominate the battlefield!"
Sir Alric stepped forward, his gaze locked on the gun.
"You… how did you create this? And why dare to show it to me?"
Shylock smirked slyly. "Because we believe in Keibrav's potential, sir! Imagine your lord's army armed with this—no enemy would dare stand against you! And of course…" He lowered his voice.
"We'd offer you a special price, Sir."
Smith whispered, "Shylock, you're fucking crazy! The gun's not stable yet. If they use it and—"
"Shut up!" Shylock hissed back. "I'm closing the deal!"
Sir Alric fell silent for a moment, his eyes never leaving the gun. "This… it's too dangerous. I must consult the lord first. You'll have to explain everything—the origin and how it's made."
Shylock raised a hand. "No worries! We'll meet the lord ourselves! But…"
He paused, smiling at Alric. "If you're interested, care to try a shot? I guarantee you'll love it!"
Sir Alric hesitated but eventually nodded. Smith handed him the gun with a serious expression. "Aim carefully. Don't pull the trigger until the hammer's cocked." He loaded another round into the cylinder, guiding him through cocking it cautiously.
The knight aimed at an old wooden barrel in the distance.
BANG!!!!
The barrel shattered into splinters. Sir Alric gave a faint smile.
"This… is impressive," he said, handing the gun back to Smith.
"But I won't decide until the lord approves."
Shylock clapped. "Excellent! We'll prepare more guns and await Keibrav's orders! As for you, Len…"
He turned to the adventurer. "Would you join us in making guns? There's a share in it for you!"
Len looked at the battleaxe in his hand, then at the gun. "If your weapon has this kind of power… I'll join. But I need to know what you're planning."
Smith nodded. "Just help me in the forge. You'll figure it out."
As things calmed down, Smith, Shylock, and Len returned to the forge. Smith placed the gun on the table, turning to Chai-lock with a mix of awe and disbelief.
"How the hell did you think of that? You seized the moment when those knights got suspicious and pitched the gun to the commander faster than I thought. You're a fucking genius."
But Shylock's expression turned grim. "They said they want details and the method. If we rush there, our leverage drops. We might lose more than we gain."
Len added, "And what if the lord seizes my forge? Or arrests you to force gun production?"
Smith sighed. "Len's right—and so are you, Shylock. We need to be careful. If the lord learns how to make it, he might not pay a single coin. Rushing puts us at a disadvantage. Got any way to boost our leverage?"
Shylock seemed to hatch a plan, an idea sparking. "We need backup—someone to protect us. Players would be ideal. We need to spread the guns first."
At that moment, Len, the young man, suggested a name. "I've got someone in mind. Maybe this axe suits him better."
"Him?" Smith and Shylock turned to Len, faces puzzled.
"Thorun. He's a wandering warrior, strong as hell. I was in his guild once, though he's been solo for a while. He's like a big brother and leader—gentle at heart, but his axe skills are top-tier axeman."
"Thorun—a guild? Tell me, what guild? How many members?" Shylock asked, sensing something brewing.
"The Silver Fang Guild. Not a big one—mainly three core members. They're famous bounty hunters. Ask anyone in town if they know Silver Fang, and few won't."
After hearing this, Shylocklock showed interest, exchanging a glance with Smith. The burly man nodded, understanding his kin's intent.