The explosion shattered the air.
Sound did not merely echo—it punched. It tore through conversation, through thought, through breath.
The recoil slammed into her shoulder, a solid, physical force that she absorbed with a braced stance.
Meanwhile, the shell casing struck the ground with a metallic clink.
The projectile—one dense, oversized metal slug rather than scattered pellets—crossed the five-meter distance in an instant.
It struck Soren's left shoulder.
A hole the size of a child's fist erupted through fabric and flesh. Blood sprayed outward in a brief arc before gravity claimed it.
Soren's body twisted unnaturally as he collapsed onto the dirt, pistol flying from his hand.
For a moment, everything froze.
Even the cooks stopped stirring.
Kiara blinked once.
"That was supposed to be buckshot…" she muttered internally. "Why is there a single metal marble in that shell?"
"Argh..."
Soren screamed.
