The air in the hall was thick.
Sweat. Heat. Metal. Magic.
Naomi's sword had shattered.
The pieces still lay scattered around his boots like fallen feathers.
Across from him, Murin stood tall—smoke curling off his armor. His sword, still mostly intact, flickered with a red-orange flame.
Cheers roared from every corner.
"That's the Nel I remember!"
"Weak as ever!"
"Murin, end this!"
The words echoed.
Bounced off stone.
Cut deeper than blades.
Naomi didn't flinch.
Didn't show pain.
But he felt it.
Not in his body—
In his pride.
He reached slowly into the inside of his cloak.
Not with speed.
Not with panic.
With certainty.
His fingers curled around a cool, iron handle.
And in that moment—his mind drifted back.
[One Week Ago — Hidden Armory, Northern Tower]
The candlelight was dim, flickering off rusted crates and glass cases covered in dust.
Naomi looked around the forgotten room. His hands were still bruised from training, his muscles aching—but his eyes were curious.
"Seraphina," he had asked quietly, "do we have... archers in this kingdom?"
She raised a brow. "Not many, my lord. Archery is noble sport, not wartime weapon. In real combat... we use something else."
She turned and pointed to a case near the back of the room.
Inside it—long, iron-barreled, mechanical and raw—was a strange old weapon.
"Hunter's gun," she said.
"What is that?" Naomi asked, stepping closer.
"Mana-infused rifle. Old Empire tech. Only commoners use them now—mercenaries, beast trackers, bounty men. Nobles abandoned them ages ago."
Naomi stared at the weapon for a long time.
The weight. The grip. The cold familiarity of it…
He whispered, "I used to shoot like this… every week back home."
Seraphina turned, surprised. "You've used one before?"
Naomi nodded once. "Not this type… but close enough."
He lifted the hunter's gun carefully from the case.
His hands didn't shake.
His fingers knew exactly where to go.
He loaded the mana core into the back chamber.
Felt the slight hum.
He smiled.
Not with joy.
With relief.
For the first time in this world, something felt like his own.
"I don't care if nobles laugh," he had said to Seraphina.
"This is a weapon. And I know how to use it."
[Present — Training Hall]
Naomi slowly drew the gun into view.
The crowd fell silent, one voice at a time.
The barrel glinted under the golden lights of the arena.
Gasps. Then laughter.
"Is that a hunter's gun?! Hah!"
"A toy! A peasant's trick!"
"Murin! Just crush him already!"
Naomi didn't answer.
Didn't lift his eyes.
He simply loaded the core.
With calm, precise hands, he set the trigger.
His breathing slowed.
He could hear birds outside.
Wind against the banners.
The trembling of Murin's next step.
Murin blinked.
"What is that, Nel?" he said mockingly. "Planning to hunt deer in the middle of a duel?"
The crowd laughed again.
Naomi finally looked up.
And said—
"No. I'm hunting monsters."
BOOM.
The shot echoed like thunder.
A spiral of black flame shot from the barrel—
Fast. Silent. Focused.
CRACK—
It struck the hilt of Murin's flaming sword.
In an instant—
The blade exploded.
Steel, aura, and fire scattered like shattered glass.
Murin stumbled back, nearly falling.
Gasps replaced laughter.
Naomi lowered the gun slowly.
One hand. Unshaken.
He looked up—eyes dark, quiet, focused.
"I told you…"
"A weapon doesn't need honor. It needs purpose."
Above, the Duke stood now—no longer seated.
He stared down at the weapon. At Naomi. At the silence.
His wives whispered.
His other sons leaned forward, stunned.
And Seraphina—who stood at the edge of the hall—smiled.
Just a little.
The smoke hadn't even cleared from the shattered blade before Murin let out a furious roar.
He was still standing—armor scorched, hand bloodied from the backlash of his broken sword.
"YOU CHEAP TRICKSTER!" he shouted, throwing the ruined hilt aside.
The crowd remained stunned.
Some nobles muttered in confusion.
Others scowled with disgust.
"How dare he use such a disgraceful weapon…"
"This isn't a duel—it's a farce!"
"Has Nel no pride left?"
Naomi stood motionless.
The mana gun still warm in his hand.
He didn't look proud.
He didn't smile.
His chest rose and fell.
Slow. Steady. Exhausted.
He had exactly one shot left.
And Murin was charging.
The noble boy—burning with humiliation—summoned his fire aura once again. It crackled violently around his fists.
Even without a sword, Murin was still strong.
Stronger than Naomi.
Naomi dropped the broken sword hilt.
His free hand reached to his side—steadying the gun, rewinding the focus chamber, sliding the mana latch.
He had trained this way back home.
Under bridges.
In alleyways.
Inside empty warehouses where gang lords sent their men to kill him.
He had fired makeshift guns with broken sights.
Thrown knives when bullets ran out.
In that old world, survival wasn't glory.
It was efficiency.
Murin rushed in—his punch aimed straight for Naomi's chest.
Too close.
Naomi didn't flinch.
He moved one foot back, bent slightly, pulled the trigger—
BOOM.
The second shot blasted directly at Murin's leg.
Not fatal.
Not flashy.
But smart.
CRACK—
Murin's knee buckled mid-sprint.
He hit the ground hard—skidding several feet, shouting in pain as his aura flickered and died.
Silence.
Complete, sharp silence.
Naomi stood over him.
Gun lowered.
Chest heaving.
His aura—nearly gone. His core strained.
His muscles screamed for rest.
But he remained standing.
"Winner…"
The announcer's voice broke through the quiet, hesitant.
"Young Master Nel… of House Darkstar."
Some cheered.
Most didn't.
The soldiers and nobles watched with narrowed eyes.
A few clapped—awkward, slow.
But from the upper stands, the Duke finally rose.
His face unreadable.
He looked down at Naomi, his voice deep and calm.
"You've changed, Nel."
Naomi didn't respond.
He turned, eyes meeting Seraphina's in the corner.
She bowed her head just slightly.
And Naomi began to walk away.
But behind him—Murin's voice rang out, hoarse and venomous.
"You're not my brother."
Naomi stopped, still facing away.
"You're a rat with a stolen name."
Naomi didn't look back.
But he whispered under his breath, too low for the crowd to hear:
"Then try and take it from me."
To be continued…