The Sniper (Part 2)
Dalen opened his palm, feeling a faint, lingering ache.
The wound had already healed, leaving only a slight foreign sensation.
Before long, tiny metal fragments buried beneath his skin began to surface. Dalen rolled them around in his hand before brushing them away.
Watching this, Felber’s expression turned curious.
“Gunpowder weaponry, is it?”
“Indeed.”
“Judging by the bullet, it seems like a musket. Ah, a musket is like a cannon, but small enough for a person to carry. I’ve heard the Empire and the Tsar’s nation have stabilized their gun barrels, but this is my first time seeing one.”
Felber stroked his beard thoughtfully. Dalen raised an eyebrow. How does this old man know about gunpowder?
He had assumed that a wizard of Felber’s caliber would be holed up in a tower, lost in research all day. Yet, the old man seemed to possess a surprising breadth of knowledge.
“It can’t be the Empire’s doing. If they wanted to ambush us, they would have tried something when we crossed their territory.”
“Then it must be the Tsar’s nation.”
“Most likely.”
Felber nodded. Dalen took a deep breath and shifted his gaze.
Deep within the forest, his senses picked up various noises.
The initial murderous intent had vanished, leaving only the panicked presence of the attackers.
There had been nine presences initially, but one had fallen to his axe, leaving eight.
“Wait here for a moment.”
“Take your time.”
With Felber waving him off as if this were routine, Dalen set down his backpack.
He gathered a bit of strength in his legs—not too much, just enough.
Thud—
As he pushed off the ground, his body soared.
The earth, grass, and trees fell away beneath him, and his view opened up.
He took in the small forest below and the distant, barely visible walls of Revivach.
For a brief moment, Dalen absorbed the scene, gripping the hilt of his vibrating holy sword.
‘This is about the limit.’
The sword’s vibrations were several times stronger than usual.
Inside his armor, small flames flickered and died.
Since leaving the Holy Knights’ main order, Dalen had worked tirelessly to control his power.
In the end, he could say his efforts were half-successful.
By not exceeding a certain threshold, he could prevent the dragon’s power from bursting uncontrollably.
At least he wouldn’t be unleashing a dragon’s fire in the middle of a crowded city anymore.
”······!”
”···!”
Amidst the wind, he heard murmurs. Dalen looked down.
The snipers hidden in the forest were in chaos, having spotted him hovering above them.
Dalen grinned. Like a stone launched from a catapult, he adjusted his trajectory in mid-air.
Whoosh—
He drew a gentle arc, accelerating as he descended.
The journey, guided by gravity, ended in the midst of the wide-eyed snipers.
Crash—Boom!
Branches and leaves scattered, and the earth rose like a wave.
Crack!
Before the dust settled, two snipers’ necks snapped like twigs.
They collapsed, blood seeping from their masks.
Bang!
A gunshot rang out at close range. Dalen instinctively twisted his body.
Ping—
A bullet grazed his shoulder, deflecting off.
The synergy between his fully realized martial arts and the Holy Knights’ silver armor was perfect.
“What the…!”
The masked gunman shouted in shock. Dalen stepped forward and slapped him.
The man’s face caved in, and thick fluid splattered through the mask’s holes.
“Aaah!”
As he delivered the slap, a bayonet thrust through the dust.
Dalen reached out and simply caught it.
“What?”
The masked man’s voice faltered as his weapon stopped dead. A large boot slammed into his chest.
Crunch!
The man’s ribcage collapsed as he was sent flying. Dalen casually examined the rifle he had seized.
As the dust settled, five gun barrels aimed at him simultaneously.
“Fire!”
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Five shots came at him in quick succession. Dalen took a deep breath.
Bullets no longer seemed that fast to him.
Even while suppressing the dragon’s power, he could clearly track the bullets’ paths.
Swish…
He moved his feet lightly, dodging the first two with a slight twist.
He sidestepped the next two with a step forward, and deflected the last with the rifle’s stock.
Crack!
The stock shattered along the grain, deflecting the bullet.
Dalen focused on the one who had fired the last shot.
She seemed to be their leader, exuding the strongest presence—a woman.
“Monster!”
The other masked figures shouted in fear, a cry he had grown all too familiar with.
Dalen swung the half-broken stock.
Two swings, and the stock crumbled completely, along with the heads of two masked figures.
Three remained. He was about to finish them and return to Felber when—
Bang! Bang!
Two quick shots rang out, reducing the three to one.
The woman, who had drawn twin pistols and shot her own comrades, dropped her guns and raised her hands.
She spoke.
”…I surrender.”
“So, a suicide squad, essentially.”
”…Except for me, yes.”
The sniper woman, Natasha, nodded.
After the brief skirmish, Dalen returned to Felber with the musket and the prisoner.
He needed to understand the ambush.
Being attacked so soon after crossing the Empire’s border, near a city, was no ordinary occurrence.
Especially when the attackers were a sniper squad armed with muskets.
Fortunately, the captured sniper woman spilled her secrets before Dalen even had to try.
In short, they were from the northern Tsar’s nation, and the ambush was a mission to injure Dalen, even at the cost of their lives.
Once wounded, he would need surgery to remove the bullets.
The ambush near the city was to lure him to a doctor they had planted there.
“So they planned to poison or otherwise kill me once I was in the city.”
“Yes. My comrades set up a clinic here two weeks ago. They’ve been treating mercenaries’ injuries at low prices.”
The woman paused, thinking, then added.
“It seems the higher-ups knew bullets wouldn’t work on you.”
“Hmm, she’s telling the truth. There’s no contradiction in her story.”
Felber, his eyes glowing gold, confirmed her words.
Dalen scratched his chin. At least he knew she wasn’t lying.
But he still didn’t fully understand the situation.
If it had been cultists, dark wizards, or even orcs or bandits, he might have expected it.
But assassins from the Tsar’s nation? A sniper squad?
‘When did I get involved with those people?’
His high intelligence began sifting through his memories.
Since arriving in this world, he had never set foot in the Tsar’s territory.
Nor had he met their military or royalty.
His journey had mostly been mercenary work, exploring dungeons, and slaying dragons in rifts.
”…Ah, the dungeon.”
A memory flashed by. Dalen reached into his pocket, retrieving an item from his spatial storage.
It was something he’d stashed away long ago and forgotten.
A mercenary badge with gold trim, engraved with the name ‘Boris.’
The bearded man had been the most seasoned of the dungeon thieves tailing him and Lucia.
He had hidden a mechanism in his sleeve to fire lead bullets, suggesting ties to the Tsar’s royal family.
‘Seems he was a bigger deal than I thought.’
“That, that is…”
The woman’s lips trembled at the sight of the badge. Dalen tossed the gold badge in front of her.
“Do you know who this is?”
”…The rightful heir to the throne, one of the seven princes worthy of the Eklarim Palace’s throne, Boris Kalashnikov.”
“The current Tsarina isn’t a bearded mercenary, as far as I know.”
“She’s a fraud. A puppet of the Empire, a false queen who has tarnished the Tsar’s nation’s honor… Ugh!”
The woman tried to rise, shouting, but only managed to attempt it.
Bound tightly with ropes, she lay face down on the ground, unable to move. Despite her predicament, she managed to lift her head slightly, glaring defiantly at Dalen as he crouched down in front of her.
“So, you’re with the rebels, are you?” he asked calmly.
“Rebels? We’re reclaiming the rightful throne from that vixen!” she spat back, her voice filled with indignation.
“Ah, I see. You believe your cause is just. But the current Tsarina is widely regarded as the wisest ruler since Tsar Vizlov. She ascended the throne legitimately.”
“You old fool! I’ll shove your bearded head into a chamber pot and—” Her threat was cut short as Dalen gently caressed her cheek.
With half her teeth missing, she could only groan and spit blood, unable to continue her curses.
Dalen stood up, dusting off his hands. He crossed his arms and looked down at her, contemplating.
‘At least we’re not on bad terms with the Tsar’s nation,’ he thought, relieved.
The Tsar’s nation was the first line of defense against the evil forces descending from the northern ice plains. They were allies he would need eventually, and it wouldn’t do to make enemies of them now.
‘And it turns out that Boris, the mercenary I killed, was actually one of the rebel leaders’ favored heirs to the throne.’
Why someone like that was looting dungeons was beyond him, but it wasn’t his concern. What mattered was that the rebels posed a significant threat to the Tsar’s nation by mid-game.
The Tsar’s nation was in chaos, besieged by corrupted barbarians from the north and plagued by rebels within. The rebel leaders were practically demonic puppets, and their ranks were increasingly cult-like. It was no wonder the Tsar’s nation often fell before the game reached its midpoint.
“How did you find me?” Dalen asked.
The woman chuckled weakly. “Boris’s mercenary band… they carried a trackable totem. Boris would never cross the empire’s borders.”
She twisted her body to face the sky, her bound hands awkwardly positioned behind her.
“When the totem crossed the border, we knew something was wrong. We traced his last known location to the dungeon, where he and his companions vanished. It was obvious you and that knight were responsible.”
Despite her discomfort and the pain in her mouth, she continued to squirm and speak.
Dalen glanced at Felber, the elder mage, who nodded, confirming her words as truth. Felber’s golden eyes dimmed as he ceased his magical probing of the past, a task manageable with the body Dalen had granted him.
“Spare me,” the woman pleaded, her voice trembling. Dalen chuckled softly.
He rested his hand on his waist, and in an instant, an axe handle appeared, embedded in her forehead without a sound. She died without realizing what had happened, her eyes wide open as blood trickled down her face.
Dalen nudged her body over with his foot, revealing a small metal object clutched in her hands.
He picked it up and asked, “What is this?”
“According to her memories, it’s a device that triggers a fireball spell. It uses gunpowder and magic, and when the safety is removed and it’s thrown, it explodes, showering the area with metal shards and flames,” Felber explained.
“A grenade,” Dalen mused, storing it in his dimensional space.
‘Handle with care,’ he warned the demon.
[Understood, Master.]
After cautioning the demon, he carefully slung his backpack over his shoulder. A faint whimpering sound came from within, as if something had just woken up.
“Let’s go,” he said.
“What about the rebels in the city?” Felber inquired. Dalen took the reins from Tommy and looked at the old man.
Felber’s face was serious yet amused, as if he already knew Dalen’s answer and found it entertaining.
Dalen smirked, mounted his horse, and replied, “What else? We need to pay a visit to that so-called councilman, don’t we?”