Chapter 282: The Hunter's Moon
The granite wall above my head exploded into dust.
Crack. Pfft.
The sound of the shot wasn't the thunderous boom of a gunpowder rifle, nor the sharp zing of a mana bolt. It was a dull, pressurized cough—the sound of compressed air releasing a heavy projectile.
"Stay down!" I hissed, pressing Leon's face into the frozen dirt.
Another projectile whizzed past, burying itself in the snow inches from my elbow. It was a metal spike, thin and cruel, fletched with black feathers.
"Arrows?" Leon whispered, spitting out snow. "Who uses arrows in the modern age?"
"Not arrows," I said, eyeing the projectile. "Flechettes. Pneumatic rifles. Silent, deadly, and completely non-magical."
I risked a glance around the edge of the ruined pillar. The white void outside the outpost was still. No muzzle flash. No movement. Just the howling wind and the lethal patience of a predator.
