Chapter 37: The Prelude Ends Here

Raive wasn’t sure how he’d been hit. He couldn’t even see or hear the gunfire.

However, he was sure it was all thanks to the enemy’s ability.

"Do you know his ability?" Raive asked, just in case.

As he expected, Hazel only shook her head. "I know it’s more or less about accuracy within his line of sight, but... other than that, I don’t know anything else." She explained, staring at her bandaged wound.

"So that means he intentionally let you live." Raive frowned.

He could be planning to capture Hazel and turn her into his personal maid, slave, or whatever. But given the circumstances, he was most likely keeping her as a sex slave.

’But if that’s the case...’

Raive looked at Hazel’s legs. She wasn’t injured there at all.

If they’d shot her leg, they could’ve captured her much more easily than by hitting the shoulder.

And given that he hadn’t gone after Hazel himself, it wasn’t some twisted game of tag either. She should’ve stayed within his line of sight for at least a quarter of a minute before reaching the stairs to the next floor.

Raive knew something was hidden in that.

A rule to the enemy’s skill.

"...!"

After some thinking, he figured it out—the limitation behind the enemy’s ability.

But at the same time, he was troubled.

’The first hit will come without warning, so that’s what we need to block first.’ He thought.

Though he’d worked out one rule, the trigger and the full limits of the skill were still guesswork. As such, he could only prepare for the worst.

"Alright, Hazel, listen..."

And so their planning began.

...

About three minutes later, a figure approached the double doors leading to the next wing of the apartment complex. Given the poor lighting, it looked like nothing but a shadow, skulking around slowly, as if trying to be stealthy.

"I knew they’d come."

The man in the cowboy outfit grinned, seeing this.

The revolver spun round and round on his finger as his eyes fixed on the distant figure. Then, when the intruder’s full body came into view—

"Bang~!"

The man stopped spinning the revolver, pointed it forward, and playfully acted as if he’d fired a shot... No. He "did" fire a shot.

Using his skill, "Sniper’s Pride," he could skip the entire process—the trigger pull, the primer igniting, the explosion, and the noise that came with it—all of it, entirely. He could send the bullet straight to its target instantly, laws of physics be damned.

THUD!

The figure in the distance dropped to its knees, and the man smiled.

"Ahh~? Dead so fast?" He scoffed.

But his expression faltered as the figure... started standing back up instead of falling. He should’ve taken a perfect headshot!

"N-No way? What’s this?!" The cowboy gasped, sweat beading on his temples. "A zombie?!"

He raised his revolver and pulled the trigger six times, emptying his remaining rounds. Half hit the target; the other half missed.

If he could’ve used his skill again, he already would have!

But that wasn’t what mattered.

"How are you still fucking standing?!"

The figure kept walking forward, its upper body leaning backward at an unnatural angle. It was a genuinely unsettling sight, enough to make the cowboy flinch.

"S-Someone! Go bring that zombie down!" He commanded.

At his order, five figures leapt out from each side—ten in total, each armed and looking strong.

"A zombie? Keke, boss is such a wuss!"

"T-That thing won’t bite, would it...?"

"Ugh, if it stinks, I’m out!"

Despite their boss’s fear, the ten just bantered as they closed in. But only two of them actually made a move.

A man wielding a short sword in each hand, and a woman with a black leather whip. Neither of their eyes held any camaraderie or goodwill—just a twisted eagerness to "torment" the enemy.

SNAP!

The woman moved first.

She swung her whip—despite being over a hundred meters away—and snapped it against the figure’s right thigh. Almost like magic.

It hit hard enough to punch a fist-sized hole straight through.

"What? It’s not even stopping! Haha, how fun~!"

Instead of getting unnerved, she only laughed harder and cracked the whip again. And again. Each hit opened a new wound on the figure, but its steps never faltered.

Step by step, it kept closing in.

That was enough to wipe the smile off the woman’s face, replaced by a deep frown.

"Enough, Jane. Stop attacking." The man beside her spoke, stepping forward with confidence. "It’s my turn now."

By then, the "zombie" had already crossed half the hallway’s length. They couldn’t let it go any further, or "complications" would arise.

"Watch my blade...!"

The man surged forward at a speed nearly impossible to follow.

Fast as a ninja, leaving afterimages behind him as he closed the distance, the two short swords in his hands spun like blender blades, his movements utterly unpredictable.

SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!

He struck several times in one breath, stopping about five meters behind the zombie.

And then...

"..."

Thud.

A head hit the floor.

Followed by an arm, a leg, everything else... and two short swords.

"I guess the prelude ends here."

A voice suddenly echoed through the passage.

Everyone was still staring at their ally’s corpse in disbelief.

He’d held the ability "Quick Swordsman," after all, likely the fastest among them. Yet he’d died helplessly, never even seeing what killed him.

The zombie shifted aside, revealing a figure a few steps behind it, hidden in its shadow.

A man with black hair and blue eyes, holding a wooden sword dripping with blood. All eyes focused on the crimson red dripping down the tip of the blade.

"You guys must be the Sine Gang, correct?"

He spoke, taking a few strides forward and resting an elbow on the "zombie’s" shoulder while sporting a cheeky grin.

"I’m Raive Asterates. And I’m here to negotiate."

His voice lacked urgency or fear, almost as if he was here on vacation.

An attitude that pissed the opponents completely.

A few of them soon snapped out of their stupor. Anger flooded their expressions as they raised their weapons.

"Fuck! What negotiation—!"

BANG! BANG!

His words were cut short.

Raive raised his other hand—not the one resting on the zombie’s shoulder, holding the wooden sword, but the one holding a pistol.

Strangely, though, he’d only fired once... yet the gunshot echoed twice.

Two of the remaining nine dropped, adding to the body count.

"Ah, sorry for the confusion." Raive smiled, waving the pistol in his hand. "The negotiation’s already over. All of you just need to die now~!"