Chapter 238 - Does That Mean You Don't Want to Die?

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Maia frowned.

Her reason for ordering Limon to find the gang boss named Antonio and capture him alive had been simple: to observe how he found and subdued Antonio. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, she had thought he would have to use psionics, consciously or unconsciously, to take down an entire gang alone.

But Maia had no choice but to admit that she had been spectacularly mistaken. Right now, Limon was laying waste to a massive gang without using psionics—or any other supernatural ability or power of mystery.

BANG-RAT-A-TAT-TAT!

“Aaargh!”

“M-my hand!”

Two gangsters firing their rifles wildly fell with screams. A gangster trying to snipe Limon from a second-floor window during the opening howled, clutching his bloodied hand: his gun had been shattered before he could even take aim.

The gangsters who had circled through an alley to attack him from behind met the same fate. The two pistols in Limon's hands spun and spat fire, dropping them before they could fire a single shot.

CLICK, CLICK.

“He's out of bullets!”

“Kill him! Kill him!”

Perhaps God had taken pity on them and granted them a chance. Seeing the pistols finally stop roaring and produce only empty clicks, the gangsters rolled their eyes back in a frenzy and unleashed a barrage at Limon.

But it was not God's blessing. It was the devil's temptation. Limon smiled coldly and rolled clear of the bullets—and in that instant, he was holding two submachine guns used by gangsters he had just brought down.

RAT-A-TAT-TAT-TAT-TAT!

“Aaaaaaargh!”

The gangsters toppled in droves beneath the rain of bullets. But Limon's feats did not end there.

He threw aside the submachine guns, emptied in an instant, and kicked a gangster who had fallen from a roof after being shot, snatching the shotgun from the man's hand at the same time. He spun it once with one hand to chamber a round, then fired to the side without even looking.

CLACK, BANG!

“Urgh!”

The shotgun blast knocked a metal door loose, pinning the gangster hiding behind it. As smoothly as a relay runner taking the baton, Limon picked up the rifle the man dropped and casually dispatched a sniper aiming at him from hundreds of meters away with a single shot.

He looked like an avatar of war—a cyborg soldier blessed by spirits.

'... Impressive.'

Watching him, Maia murmured inwardly.

It was not merely because he handled firearms so adeptly that, had he been blond, she might have mistaken him for a member of the Gold Dragon Clan. As the world's foremost pharmacist and physician, she had noticed two things even amid this chaos.

'Not a single fatality.'

First, Limon's gunfire was producing nothing but severely wounded men.

Shooting to subdue was difficult even with rubber bullets. Yet he was ruthlessly firing all manner of highly lethal weapons while deftly avoiding fatal wounds. It was a feat no one but a Gold Dragon Clan gunner or a high-level player with firearm-related skills could even attempt to imitate.

The second thing Maia noticed was more frightening.

'To think he can do this much using only an ordinary human's physical capabilities, without mystery or supernatural abilities...'

He was not accelerating time to move, nor were his bullets curving. On the contrary, his movements were exceedingly slow, while several of the gangsters were using players' exceptional physical abilities or skills. Yet it was the gangsters who ended up shot and falling. His combat instincts and marksmanship—good enough to hit a target a hundred paces away with his eyes closed—overcame the difference in speed and allowed him to overwhelm them.

'It's like watching a veteran of a hundred battles.'

Just as an experienced chef could work at a leisurely pace yet produce better food faster than anyone else, Limon toyed effortlessly with dozens of gangsters, exuding the mastery of someone who had spent his entire life on battlefields.

At this rate, far from uncovering any secrets, she would be going home after watching something out of an action movie. But Maia was not disappointed. She merely gave a cold, mocking smile.

'Your talents are certainly impressive, but just how long do you think you can hide your true abilities?'

It happened immediately afterward. As if answering her mockery, something dropped right in front of Limon.

BOOM!

“What bastard dares pull this shit on my turf?!”

The figure who landed with a thunderous shout and left a crater was an enormous man. With a thick mustache and bulging eyes glaring at Limon, he was about to unleash a torrent of curses.

BANG!

... Or he would have, had Limon not fired a bullet into his shoulder before giving him a chance to speak. Naturally, the shot hit. An ordinary gangster would have clutched his shoulder and collapsed.

PING!

There was just one problem: the bullet bounced off harmlessly. Apart from a small tear in his clothes, the enormous man had not shed a single drop of blood where it struck. Antonio gave an openly derisive smile.

“You idiot. You think mere bullets will work on a level 75 player like me?”

“... A marquis-class player. Ordinary guns certainly won't do much against you.”

Limon nodded. There was a reason players above level 60, count-class or higher, were classified separately as high-level players: ordinary firearms were almost useless against players in that level range.

Without at least the penetrating power of an anti-materiel rifle or the firepower of a rocket launcher, they could hardly be damaged. Above duke-class, even those became less effective. Players, who could become superhuman simply by leveling up, were that absurdly overpowered.

Of course, firearms that dealt defense-ignoring damage did exist. But those were cutting-edge weapons possessed only by developed nations and the ten great guilds. Taking on a high-level player with cheap guns confiscated from gangsters was all but impossible.

'Hmm. Am I cornered?'

Limon glanced behind him. Seeing Maia watching him with a cold, mocking smile, he clicked his tongue inwardly. He realized that this was precisely the “test” she had prepared and been waiting for.

'This is interesting.'

That was why Limon grinned instead. He rested the rifle he held squarely on his shoulder and crooked a finger at Antonio.

“Enough talk. Come at me. I'll show you I can take you down with mere bullets.”

“You f**king bastard!”

Perhaps being beckoned by a mere gunman had infuriated him. His face blazing red, Antonio ground his teeth and roared.

“Fine! If you want to die that badly, I'll tear you limb from limb and toss you to the dogs!”

“Don't worry. I intend to capture you alive.”

“Raaaargh!”

Finally driven into a frenzy by the repeated taunts, Antonio charged. Even in his rage, his movements were lightning-fast, befitting the high-level player who ruled a massive gang.

Limon did not so much as twitch an eyebrow at the charge. Instead, he did just one thing: standing ramrod straight without yielding an inch, he shouldered the rifle and aimed at Antonio. Having hit every target without aiming until now, he took proper aim for the first time and pulled the trigger.

BANG, PING!

Of course, nothing changed. Unlike a sword wielded directly in one's hand, a firearm did not gain power from a simple change in stance.

But Limon was not disappointed when his bullet bounced off. Without moving a muscle, he simply pulled the trigger again.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Once.

Once more.

And yet again.

The bullets fired in the blink of an eye struck precisely the same spot, without the slightest deviation. Against a man charging faster than most vehicles, it was terrifyingly accurate marksmanship—enough to dent bulletproof steel armor.

“Pathetic!”

The problem was that Antonio happened to possess the skill 『Steel Skin』. As if being a high-level player were not enough, his body had been strengthened further by his skill and remained unaffected by the repeated bullets. Taking every shot with his bare body, he charged in, mocking Limon's stupidity, and was just about to crush his head with a fist when—

THUD!

“... Uuurrgh!”

His fist cut through empty air. It was an absurd miss for a high-level player. He could not even withstand the momentum of his own swing: he staggered, fell on his backside, and began retching.

Limon kicked his chin, knocking him onto his back. Then he planted one foot on his chest, forcibly shoved the rifle into his maw, and grinned.

“How does it feel to be reduced to this by pathetic little bullets, Mr. High-Level Player?”

“Uh, wha, wha' trick...?”

“What trick? I just shot you a few times.”

Limon shrugged at Antonio, whose eyes were still wide as though he could not believe what was happening. Then, with a malicious expression, he added,

“I simply aimed for your brain instead of your body.”

“...!”

Only then did Antonio understand why Limon had fired exclusively at the tip of his chin. He had not merely been trying to penetrate Antonio's defenses. He had intended to rattle his brain with the impacts of the ricocheting bullets.

'This crazy bastard!'

That made it all the more horrifying. With such precise marksmanship, aiming at a vulnerable spot like an eye would have been a hundred times easier. Deliberately targeting only the tip of his chin was something only a madman utterly certain that his bullets would never miss could do.

“Unless you want to test how many bullets your throat can withstand, you'd better not try anything funny.”

“U-uuugh...”

Only after thoroughly subduing Antonio did Limon turn his head slightly to look at Maia.

“Mistress, I've captured him alive as ordered.”

“...”

“Is there something you're dissatisfied with?”

“... Your marksmanship is truly remarkable.”

Maia spoke sarcastically as she watched Limon smile as though inviting her to voice any complaints. She could hardly say that she was dissatisfied because his marksmanship was so extraordinary that she had not gotten to see his true abilities.

“Fine marksmanship is part of a gentleman's education.”

“Hmph. Spare me the sort of nonsense gunners spout.”

She snorted at Limon, who knew exactly what she was thinking yet shamelessly brushed it aside. Then Maia walked slowly toward him. Stopping a suitable distance away, she spoke quietly.

“Release him and step back.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

Despite all the effort he had spent subduing his opponent, Limon immediately pulled the muzzle out of Antonio's mouth and withdrew like a hunting dog obeying an order. Maia looked down at Antonio with somber eyes, as though he were prey her hound had brought back, and spoke softly.

“I have one question for you. Answer it, and I will grant you a painless death.”

“Cut the bullshit, you crazy bitch! Who'd meekly answer after hearing that—!”

Now that the gun barrel was out of his mouth, Antonio, who had been waiting for an opening all along, immediately rose and reached with his thick hand to seize Maia by the throat.

But just before he could, he froze stiff. His face turned blue as he stared at Maia's gloves, then he faltered and backed away instead.

“Y-you! No, you couldn't be...?”

Antonio hastily withdrew his hand, looking as terrified as if the most dreadful monster in the world stood before him. His fear was so unmistakable that, directed at a peerless beauty like Maia, it was almost insulting.

“Here is my question.”

Maia herself paid it no mind. As though accustomed to such reactions, she dismissed his stare with a sneer and asked,

“Where does the ambrosia come from?”

Antonio's face went pale for a different reason this time. So much blood drained from it that his pallor nearly matched Maia's visibly sickly complexion. He stammered,

“W-what do you mean?”

“Should I take your feigned ignorance to mean that you do not wish to die?”

Had anyone else said that, he would have sneered and asked what bastard wanted to die. But now, his face could only twist in distress.

As the boss of a gang that held sway over São Paulo, he knew all too well who Maia was and what she could do. No—to be precise, he could not possibly have failed to know. Ever since “that incident” in the distant past, it had become the first piece of common knowledge everyone on the South American continent had to learn.

“Uuugh.”

Antonio agonized over his choice. If he did not answer, Maia would not let him off. If he answered, “that person” would make him pay. Either way, a gruesome end awaited him.

“... Damn it!”

After a long struggle, Antonio finally raised one arm high. Like a cornered mouse driven to bite a cat, he frantically squeezed every ounce of his strength into his fist. And the moment he swung it—

CRUNCH!

Antonio crumpled lifelessly to the ground, his head smashed open like a watermelon. Maia had not acted, nor had Limon put a bullet in the back of his head. Antonio had taken his own life by smashing his skull with his own fist.

It was an absurd end for a gang boss who had enjoyed a measure of notoriety in São Paulo. But Limon, who witnessed it right before his eyes, was unperturbed. He merely studied the fallen Antonio with interest and casually asked a question.

“Are you just going to let him die?”

“Is there any reason I should save him?”

“If he dies like this, you won't get the answer you wanted.”

“There is no need.”

Maia's reply was decisive. Watching Antonio's corpse twitch and convulse before finally going rigid, she continued with a sneer.

“There is only one person on this continent who could make someone who knows who I am dare to attempt suicide in my presence.”