Gunnar dwelled on his name. Throughout his life, even going back to his childhood, when he’d established himself as a uniquely talented shot, he’d often thought it a fitting moniker. He’d even shortened it to Gun, as if to say he was an extension of the weapons he routinely used. And that had continued even after the world had changed, as he’d devoted his entire class to the use of rifles. He was a sniper. His name was Gun. And that was all he could ever be. Yet, when he’d failed to kill Hart, the man had inexplicably spared him. Upon leaving the Merchant’s house, Gunnar had considered healing just enough to take another shot. His plans had even veered into some truly detestable territory where he wondered just how far he could push the man until he broke. After all, even if Hart was invulnerable, his friends and family weren’t. And if Gunnar could get to them, then he could provoke his target into doing something stupid. It was easy to think that he’d given his previous attempt his best shot, but that just wasn’t true. He could buy better traps. He could find a more powerful monster nest. He could get allies. If he truly wanted, he could figure out a way to rid the world of Hart’s presence. Or die trying, which sometimes seemed better than failure. Of course, Gunnar had failed plenty of times in his life. Rarely when it came to eliminating a target, but he’d never gone after anyone like Elijah Hart, either. He dismissed those initial thoughts, and not just because he suspected it would end in ruin. That was part of it. He didn’t want to die, especially at that man’s hands. Mostly, though, he just didn’t see the point. Clearly, Hart wasn’t the monster rumors claimed him to be. And what’s more, he forced himself to recognize just how unlikely it was that the person who had hired him would follow through with their promise. Even if he’d been successful, they would have been more likely to kill him and be done with it than to do something that any moral person would have already done. ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ N()velFire.net Better that than to leave a loose thread dangling. Either way, he’d chosen to take the gift Elijah had given him, and he’d decided to leave the contract unfilled. It rankled on his pride – and his sense of professional integrity – to do so, but what good was a code when nobody else followed it? Things had always been so much simpler when he’d had orders. He never really questioned them back then. He’d trusted that if his country told him to kill a man, then that man deserved to die. Now that he was in charge of his own actions, morality had a way of creeping into everything. And his sense of right and wrong told him that he couldn’t return Elijah’s mercy by turning around and trying to kill him. Or worse. Upon leaving the Merchant’s mansion, he’d wandered Argos for a bit in search of a Healer. That led him to the so-called Temple of Virtue. The place had been built to look like a Greek temple, and it had an enormous tree sprouting from its courtyard. More importantly for Gunnar, it was also a center of healing. Inside, he’d gotten treatment from a nice girl who’d set his arm, then healed the bone enough that there wouldn’t be permanent damage. Anything else would have taken quite a lot of ethera and a long, long time. After all, the amount of ethera it took to heal someone was based on their constitution. If the Healer wasn’t high enough level, it was like pouring water into a swimming pool a single glass at a time. Still, Gunnar was very thankful for the girl’s efforts, and he left a sizable donation for the temple before taking a room in one of the city’s inns. There, he’d spent weeks recovering. Rarely did he leave the room, and only at night. Otherwise, he stuck to the inn and focused on cultivation and recovery. Because if nothing else, his experience with Elijah Hart had told him that he was a long way from truly challenging the elites of the world. And Gunnar didn’t find that acceptable, so he’d spent almost two months in his room and arranging his mind for an advancement in cultivation. He knew it would take a lot longer than that to hit the next stage, but the way he approached it was to do a bit at a time. It was a marathon, not a sprint. He’d get there at some point. The key was to never lose a moment’s opportunity to cultivate. And given Argos’ high ethera density, the process was a lot smoother than in most places. Idly, he’d found himself wondering if they realized how lucky they were. By comparison, most other places felt like ethera deserts. Either way, just as his second month in Argos came to a close, he removed his homemade cast and tested his arm. It was back to normal, and because of his Regeneration – which was nothing special, really – he wouldn’t even need to spend any time in rehabilitation. To be certain, he spent a few minutes testing his flexibility, and he was satisfied that it moved the way it was meant to move. This story originates from NovelHub. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. With that done, he was ready to take care of business. Elijah had offered him a job, and he fully intended to complete this one. However, he wasn’t going back to Seattle unarmed. So, after getting one last meal – the surly innkeeper was a fantastic cook – he set off for the nearby Conclave Spires. Thankfully, Argos was fairly civilized, and there was a decent guard presence that kept the peace. So, he didn’t need to worry about getting mugged on the way out. Still, he used Low Profile to remain unnoticed. It wasn’t a stealth skill – not precisely, at least – but it kept people from focusing on him unless he drew attention to himself. He had no intention of doing that. Gunnar left the city behind and reached his destination soon after. The spires looked much the same as any other set, so aside from checking for potential threats, Gunnar paid them no mind. To his eye, the space mage was the only person around strong enough to endanger him, and that was probably just him being paranoid. In any case, he paid his fee and waited his turn before he was teleported to New York’s spires. The distance from the Conclave compound to the city was almost fifty miles, so it took Gunnar most of a day to reach the ferry. Once he was back within the familiar confines of the city, he felt a wave of comfort. New York felt right in a way that Argos didn’t. Sure, the formerly Greek city was objectively a better place to live. New York had its issues, what with the inequality and crime, but Gunnar understood the place. It made sense. Or maybe he was just built to live in the grime. Either way, he quickly made his way to one of his contacts in the slums. He had to go through three checkpoints before he found himself face-to-face with Omar. “Long time no see,” the big, dark-skinned man said. “No offense, but you don’t look great.” “Been a rough few weeks,” Gunnar said. Despite his time spent in convalescence, he hadn’t completely recovered from the hunt. His beard was long and unkempt, and he still hadn’t regained the weight he’d lost from living on travel rations. But he was healthy enough. “What can I do for you?” “What’s the best you’ve got?” Gunnar asked. Omar grinned, revealing a mouth full of gold teeth. “How much money you got?” Gunnar almost sighed. He hated doing the dance, if he was going to get what he wanted – which was a new rifle – it was necessary. He didn’t need the best in the world, but he did need something passable. As it turned out, Omar had just that – an M-5 ethera rifle. Omar brandished the weapon, saying, “Latest from Brisefer Arms. No ammunition needed. Just pure ethera.” “You don’t have a real weapon?” Gunnar asked, frowning. He hated the ethera rifles. He’d used them, of course. If that was the best on offer, he wouldn’t turn them down. But as a primary weapon? He much preferred the kinetic force of a real bullet. “I think I have some M-2 variants in the back.” Gunnar grunted. “I’ll take the M-5,” he said. “Plus a heavy blade. Sidearm, too. Best you’ve got.” As it turned out, Omar was more than happy to provide, and soon enough, Gunnar was back on the road. He probably should have stayed the night in New York, but now that he was moving, he didn’t want to waste the time. It wasn’t that long before he was forced to use his new weapon. A decently strong coyote saw through Low Profile and stalked him for two miles before Gunnar suddenly wheeled on it and put the canine down. He took no real pleasure in it, but he welcomed the tiny trickle of experience. Just like cultivation, it was all about taking baby steps forward. Three days later, he passed through Fort Sentinel and into the Morello Pass. The way through was frustratingly slow-going, and there were three more forts barring the pass through the mountains, but two weeks later, he found himself leaving Fort Vantage behind. That was when he picked up the pace to a light jog. Only two more weeks, and he reached New Delhi. Already, the monkey troop’s demise had affected the city. Other wildlife had moved in, and many battles had already been fought between the native creatures. Thankfully, they all ignored Gunnar – at least so long as he kept to himself. Low Profile was strong, but if he started shooting, the ability would become useless. He wasn’t there to kill animals, though. He was there to retrieve his equipment. Still, the city had become a minefield of danger, so it took almost two days to traverse. Mostly, that was because he was forced to wait for one animal or another to vacate the area before moving on. He also had to backtrack more times than he could count. It was a sharp reminder of his last time in the city. For all that they were murderous and territorial, the monkeys had run a tight ship. Nothing dared to challenge them, so most of the city had been deserted, which gave him free rein to do what he needed to do. And it had almost worked. Or maybe that was just what he had to tell himself so he didn’t have to think about how thoroughly he had failed. Regardless, the two days it took to traverse the city were fraught with danger, and he often found himself taking shelter among the desiccated corpses of buildings within the abandoned city. Often around actual corpses – or what was left of them. Eventually, he found his way to the site of his ultimate defeat. The remains of the monkeys were still there. A few animals were brave enough to have feasted upon their bodies, but for the most part, they were untouched by anything but rot. He only took a few minutes to look them over before he climbed the building that was the site of his final stand. Thankfully, his rifle was there. Its barrel was still damaged by his use of Suppressing Fire, but that was easily replaceable. He also recovered his sidearm and machete, though neither were particularly special. But with his real weapon in hand, he felt almost whole. That was when he returned to New York. Thankfully, the way back went slightly faster, largely because he was beginning to feel like his old self. Along the way, he did see a delegation from the Conclave, so he reckoned that they were going to place a set of spires near Kalki. He left them alone, though. The last thing he wanted was to get tangled with them. He knew of a few people who’d made the mistake of crossing the Conclave, and most of those had simply disappeared. Gunnar had no intention of making more trouble for himself. In the end, it was most of six weeks after he’d left New York that he finally reached the Conclave Spires and bought passage to his true destination. At last, he was going back to Seattle. But he couldn’t look at it like he was going home. He had a job to do, and he wouldn’t relax until it was finished. It was with that in mind that he arrived in Seattle and felt the familiar embrace of the hot, dry desert air. Then, he set out for the city, ready to do what was necessary.