Chapter 177: They Thought Sixty Meters Was a Safe Distance

Raven stopped her with two words.

"Wait."

Valeria looked at him as Raven dismounted and walked toward the back of his horse.

The leader smiled, apparently interpreting the gesture as surrender.

"Good decision."

Raven opened the long case.

The smile disappeared.

The Mk.I emerged from beneath the wrapping, long and black, its metal frame broken by hardened organic structures and faint biological channels running between the main components.

None of the bounty hunters looked as though they had ever seen anything like it.

That was because only one existed.

One of the mercenaries stared at the weapon.

"Is that it?"

The leader didn’t answer.

Raven lifted the rifle and checked the breech.

Already loaded.

The mercenary raised one hand.

"Don’t do something stupid."

Raven estimated the distance.

Roughly sixty-four meters.

Maybe sixty-five.

At that range, the question wasn’t whether the Mk.I could hit him. Even with incomplete calibration, the rifle was already comfortable far beyond that distance.

The bounty hunters simply didn’t understand what that meant yet.

For an archer, sixty meters could become inconvenient depending on equipment and conditions. For a swordsman, it might as well have been another battlefield.

For Raven, it was close.

"Last chance," the leader said.

Raven settled the stock against his shoulder.

The man watched the movement without understanding what it represented. He didn’t recognize Raven’s stance, the line of fire, or the significance of the barrel now centered on his chest.

Not yet.

"Put that down."

FORGE evaluated the shot.

["PROTOTYPE RIFLE Mk.I"]

[Standardized Projectile Mk.I Loaded.]

[Estimated Range: 64.7 m.]

[Recommended Mana Input: 8%.]

Raven selected eight percent.

He didn’t need more.

Valeria understood what was about to happen.

Roland did too.

The bounty hunters didn’t.

One of the archers began raising his bow.

Raven fired.

BOOM.

The report exploded between the rock walls and rolled back as an echo.

The leader stopped being a threat.

An opening appeared through the reinforced plate covering his chest before the impact partially lifted him and threw him backward. His body struck the ground hard enough to scatter dust around it.

Then everything went quiet.

Nobody fired.

Even Raven hadn’t expected the psychological effect to be quite that complete.

A faint haze escaped the rear pressure vents while the Mk.I remained braced against his shoulder.

FORGE updated.

[Target Neutralized.]

[Range Calibration Data Acquired.]

[Structural Stress: 9%.]

Raven lowered the rifle.

Not because the fight was over.

Because he needed to reload.

That was the part he was interested in now.

Everyone watched him open the breech, allow the firing system to reset, take another standardized projectile from the ammunition case, load it, and close the mechanism.

Nobody moved during the entire process.

Raven raised the rifle again.

"Who’s next?"

One of the archers let his arrow fall.

Not the bow.

Just the arrow.

Another man raised both hands.

Roland looked around at the group.

"That was fast."

Valeria kept her attention on the remaining mercenaries.

"They’re smarter than they looked."

Raven lowered the muzzle slightly.

"Weapons."

One man hesitated.

Raven shifted the barrel toward him.

The sword hit the ground immediately.

That started the rest.

Swords followed.

Then bows.

Knives.

One dagger hidden inside a boot.

Roland walked forward to collect everything.

"I like this method."

"Don’t get used to it."

"I promise nothing."

The nearest mercenary swallowed.

"We didn’t know."

Raven looked at him.

"Know what?"

"That it could reach that far."

There it was.

They weren’t afraid only because of the damage.

They were afraid because the distance they had built their plan around no longer meant what they thought it did.

Their ambush had been designed around familiar limits: bows, magic, movement Skills, available cover, and the range at which a swordsman could close before an opponent reacted.

They had assumed sixty meters gave them enough space to negotiate from a position of strength.

Now they didn’t know whether one hundred meters would be safe.

Or two hundred.

Or three.

That uncertainty mattered almost as much as the wound itself.

Raven remembered that.

---

They tied up six of the bounty hunters.

The remaining two archers surrendered after Roland climbed toward their position using a narrow path along the rocks. Neither attempted to flee.

Raven suspected the rifle had influenced that decision.

Valeria examined the leader.

Dead.

Not surprising.

The projectile had passed through reinforced armor, the torso, and probably part of the spine before continuing into the rock behind him.

Raven glanced toward the impact point.

He had no intention of digging every fired projectile out of a wall.

A small part of his mind still calculated how much metal had just disappeared into the stone.

Roland noticed.

"No."

Raven looked at him.

"What?"

"You are not going to check how much money is buried inside that wall."

"I wasn’t going to."

Valeria approached.

"You were thinking about it."

"That’s different."

Roland shook his head.

"You killed a man, and your second concern was the projectile."

"My first concern was whether the other seven still wanted to fight."

"And the second?"

Raven didn’t answer.

Roland lifted one hand.

"That’s what I thought."

The prisoners didn’t find the exchange funny.

Good.

Raven approached the man who looked most likely to have been second in command.

He was perhaps thirty-five, with a short beard, a nose that had been broken more than once, and the remains of an old company tattoo partially removed from his neck.

"Name."

"Derek Varn."

"Who hired you?"

"An intermediary."

"Name."

Derek hesitated.

Raven glanced toward the rifle.

He didn’t need to point it.

"Marek Senn."

"Affiliation?"

"I don’t know."

"You do."

"He works with nobles."

"Which ones?"

"He doesn’t ask."

Raven remained silent.

Derek lasted several seconds before continuing.

"Orbrecht. Sometimes. People from Dunvar too."

That fit.

"What did they want?"

"The weapon."

"I already know that."

"And you."

Valeria spoke from behind Raven.

"Alive?"

Derek looked toward her.

"Preferably."

"Why?"

"Questions."

Raven crouched in front of him.

"About what?"

The mercenary glanced at the Mk.I.

"How you made it."

"Anything else?"

"Your Skills."

Raven’s expression didn’t change.

"Continue."

"They say they shouldn’t work together."

Valeria and Roland went quiet.

"Who says that?"

"I don’t know."

"Derek."

"I don’t know!"

His breathing quickened.

"The bounty started with people connected to Orbrecht. Then it changed."

That was new.

Raven tilted his head.

"Changed how?"

"More money."

"From whom?"

Derek looked toward one of the bags among their equipment.

"We found another offer in Arven."

Raven followed his gaze.

Roland retrieved the bag and emptied it onto the ground.

Coins.

Food.

Rope.

Two old contracts.

A map.

Three folded sheets of paper.

Raven picked up the first.

Ordinary Mercenary House paperwork.

The second was a receipt.

The third carried a seal.

White.

Gold.

Valeria recognized it immediately.

"Church."

Raven unfolded the document.

It wasn’t an arrest order.

That would have been simpler.

It was an information request.

[ECCLESIASTICAL NOTICE — REGIONAL CIRCULATION]

[Subject: Raven Ashford.]

[Foreign Mercenary.]

[Known Associate: Valeria von Nacht.]

[Priority Inquiry Regarding Unauthorized Biological Artificery.]

A description followed.

Not merely of the rifle as a weapon, but of its construction.

[Particular Interest: Recovery, observation, or documentation of the object described by witnesses as a "black projectile weapon" utilizing unknown organic structures.]

Then came an underlined sentence.

[The construction itself is to be considered potentially heretical pending doctrinal examination.]

Raven read it twice.

Valeria stepped closer.

"That’s worse."

"Yes."

Roland leaned over enough to read the relevant line.

"It doesn’t say you’re a heretic."

"Yet."

Derek spoke from the ground.

"That’s what raised the price."

Raven looked at him.

"Explain."

"People started saying the Church was looking for your weapon. That they’d pay for information."

"The Church isn’t offering a bounty here."

"Not directly."

"Then someone turned the inquiry into one."

Derek nodded.

"If something interests the Church, it interests people who want to sell it before the Church confiscates it."

Valeria frowned.

"That sounds stupid."

"It also pays."

Raven looked down at the notice.

That was the real problem.

No official bounty needed to exist.

There only needed to be enough information circulating for everyone involved to invent their own opportunity.

House Orbrecht wanted answers.

The Church wanted to examine the weapon.

Mercenaries saw money.

Collectors might decide they wanted the Mk.I before someone else acquired it.

Nobles could try to purchase or steal it.

Artificers would want to study it.

And anyone combining two or three of those rumors could conclude that Raven himself was worth capturing.

The Mk.I had already changed the way Raven fought.

Now it was changing the kind of people who came looking for him.