[Magic Trick: Crosshair]
[Buff State: Blessing of Arrow Avoidance]
The moment Ren gripped his silver Desert Eagle, a dark red crosshair appeared in his vision—like the mark of a hunter.The turbulent air around him seemed to come alive, swirling around the golden-armored warrior.
Hunting time!
Ren stomped hard. A burst of golden light erupted beneath his foot, shattering the rooftop into a gaping hole.
He dropped through it like a descending god of death.Noon had struck—the slaughter begins!
The Bloodhand Gang didn't notice right away.The thirty-odd core members still standing turned in confusion and fury toward the high platform, weapons drawn.
Their first thought wasn't enemy attack.They thought their own boss had turned on them—perhaps fearing their power had grown uncontrollable, breaking their previous agreement...Or maybe, it was all for that hidden treasure—to silence witnesses!
"It's not me, idiots! It's an enemy attack! Look up!"
Zagu's face darkened as he roared, signaling his men to call for reinforcements.
This was their main base. Even if they'd been caught off guard and half their elites were killed in an instant—As long as someone got the message out, reinforcements would swarm in from outside.
Whoever dared attack the Bloodhand Gang...Even the gods wouldn't save them.
Zagu's shout snapped the gang members back to their senses.They turned toward the falling figure—just as gunfire erupted.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
A deafening roar filled the air. The muzzle flash illuminated a storm of chaos—Three "watermelons" burst open in a row, spraying blood and brain matter across the floor.
Boom—!
The platform trembled as Ren landed in a single knee drop, letting the impact dissipate.A perfect hero's landing—without shattering his knees like some masked idiot.
"Stylish entrance. I'd rate that a solid ten."
Ren brushed off the wood dust from his knees and stepped forward through the drifting smoke.
Behind him, the banquet hall burned. The screams of men turned to living torches echoed like a grim battle anthem,each step he took amplifying the pressure in the air.
Everything screamed the same warning—Death had come to collect.
"Enemy attack! He's got a repeating firearm—and he's a marksman!"
The Bloodhand Gang's response was a chorus of overturned tables and scraping chairs.
Their first instinct wasn't to fight back—They flipped tables for cover, trying to block the shooter's line of fire.
Three shots. Three headshots.If that wasn't a marksman, what was?
"Yo, good evening, everyone."
Ren smiled, lowering his weapon slightly, voice calm and polite."Please, don't be nervous. I don't mean any harm. I just came to kill you all—or get killed by you. Fair trade, right?"
He spread his hands in a placating gesture, almost like a cheerful salesman pitching door-to-door.
"Who the hell are you!? Why are you attacking us? What's your purpose!?"
Zagu's head popped out from behind an overturned table, face twisted in rage.He wasn't afraid of fighting—but even revenge needed a reason.
The explosion had come too suddenly, without the slightest warning.Whoever planned this must have prepared meticulously to strike so precisely at a banquet!
Of course, the real goal now was to buy time—long enough for the outside guards to rush in.
"Me? I'm Ren—from your friendly neighborhood community outreach program. Tell me, how'd you like that little art piece of mine?"
Ren smiled and swapped magazines with practiced ease—one in, one out—then pulled back the slide.Click. The Desert Eagle was ready again.
He raised his head, tone still gentle, silver gun gleaming."If you have any feedback, feel free to share. I'm great at resolving problems—permanently."
"…"
Silence. No one dared answer.
One man, standing alone, had crashed their main base and was openly taunting them in the open.Was he supremely confident or just suicidal?
"Well then," Ren sighed, shaking his head, "it seems I'll have to get my answers the old-fashioned way."
His gaze shifted toward a corpse on the ground—head blown apart, body charred black.The man's peaceful posture suggested he'd gone warmly, perhaps even content.
There were plenty of others like him.By all measures, tonight's community outreach was a roaring success.
They must've felt truly warm before they died.
"Who cares who you are—die!"
A gang member finally snapped, raising his flintlock and firing.
Bang!
The bullet howled toward Ren—only to ricochet away midair, as if striking an invisible wall.It buried itself harmlessly into the wooden platform beside him.
"Missed?"
The shooter blinked, staring dumbfounded at his gun.
"Huh? You attacked me? Then don't blame me for self-defense."
The red crosshair locked on—Ren fired.
Bang! The man's head exploded like a melon.
That shot broke the tension like a detonator.
The rest of the Bloodhand elites ducked under tables and fired wildly toward him.The hall erupted into a storm of deafening gunfire and muzzle flashes—a rain of bullets screamed toward Ren.
African Shooting Technique, he mused.
Ren dove off the platform, rolling across the floor as shockwaves scattered dust around him.He sprang up quickly, noticing a dozen small holes in his clothes.
Hot bullets clinked to the floor, falling harmlessly from between the fabric.
Ren blinked. "…Huh."
Alright then.Dodging bullets purely by reflex was clearly unrealistic.
Sure, his reaction speed mattered—but maybe keeping that Sharingan wasn't such a bad idea after all.
Still, this test confirmed one thing:Ordinary bullets meant nothing to him anymore.
Only cannons might be worth worrying about—for now, he was just a double-E-rank "expert,"good enough to bully small fry.
Yes, bully.Because that's exactly what these Bloodhand scum were—little kids compared to him.
The bamboo-drone atop his head whirred to life, forming a gravity-free field around him.
"Well then—shall we begin this delightful carnage?"
Ren grinned savagely, leaping skyward.His feet kicked off the walls as he shot upward.
It was a simple, direct no-gravity tactic.The anti-gravity field negated his weight, letting him move freely in midair.
Wall kicks amplified his bursts of speed, letting him dodge gunfire and reposition fluidly.
From there, he could strike from every angle,turning the Bloodhand Gang's banquet hall into his personal shooting gallery.
Those same men who'd hidden under tables, trembling,stretching their hands out blindly to fire—had no idea they'd just made themselves easier targets.
(End of Chapter)