Somewhere on a world called Earth, chaos raged.
Explosions painted the battlefield orange and black. Gunfire crackled in the distance like firecrackers from hell. Smoke rose in columns, mingling with the stench of sweat, metal, and blood. Soldiers ran, screamed, ducked behind broken vehicles and makeshift barricades. The war machine churned, as relentless and uncaring as ever.
And amidst all this—a man lay on the ground, smiling.
Wes Walker. Forty-five years old. Crimson red eyes hidden behind shades, raven-black hair tousled, a pair of bulky headphones covering his ears. Music blared into his brain as if the battlefield was just background noise to the beats. He hummed, relaxed, legs crossed like he was on a beach.
"What the hell is he doing?!" hissed Private Lane, diving beside the others behind a piece of destroyed mech armor.
"Is he seriously napping?" Corporal Jenn muttered, peeking over the edge.
"That's Wes Walker, right? The Bullet Reaper?" whispered the youngest of the group, eyes wide.
"He looks like he's meditating in the middle of hell," said Lane.
"No fear in his eyes," added Jenn. "He's just... chilling."
"How can anyone be so calm with all this going on?" asked the youngest. "Is he even human?"
Sergeant Vale, their squad leader, stood nearby, arms crossed and eyes steady. He overheard their chatter.
"You kids ever seen a god walk among men? You're looking at him," Vale said. "That man's been through more battles than you've had hot meals. This is just another Tuesday for him."
Lane blinked. "He's really retiring today?"
"Yeah," Vale nodded. "The Bullet Reaper is getting slow. Or maybe he's just finally tired. Either way, today's his last mission."
"But he's a legend!" Jenn said. "He can't just... stop."
"Even legends get old," Vale replied, glancing toward Wes. "But make no mistake. He's still got one last war left in him."
Suddenly, static screamed through Vale's earpiece.
"LEADER! We need help! We're pinned down! We need HIM!!!"
Vale tensed. "Roger. Help is on the way."
The team turned toward Vale.
"Sir, what's going on?" Lane asked.
"Another squad's pinned down. I'm sending in the Bullet Reaper."
"You serious?"
"Dead serious."
Vale walked toward Wes, whose foot tapped in rhythm with his music. He was humming.
He felt a shadow fall over him. Wes opened one eye, saw Vale, and grinned lazily.
"Yo, Sarge. You're blocking my sun."
"They need you, Wes. Squad's pinned down."
Wes sighed and pulled off one headphone. "Man... I can't even have one peaceful retirement nap without being dragged back into the madness. I was dreaming about beaches. You know how hard that is in a war zone?"
"They need you, Wes. We need you."
He groaned, stretched, and sat up. "Fine, fine. No rest for the deadly."
He rose to his feet, slow and deliberate. He dusted himself off, checked his gear, and muttered, "One last time."
Vale looked at him. "Still got that fight in you?"
Wes cracked his neck and rolled his shoulders. His playful smile slowly faded, replaced by a cold, focused stare. The kind that haunted nightmares.
"You don't forget how to ride a bike, Sarge."
Vale nodded. "Then go, Bullet Reaper."
Wes gave him a short nod and began walking forward. His twin guns rested at his hips, and his long black jacket flared in the breeze of nearby blasts. Each step was steady. Measured. As if the battlefield parted for him.
Behind him, his squad watched in stunned silence.
"He just... turned it on," whispered Lane.
"That vibe changed instantly," said Jenn. "One second he's joking, next second he's death itself."
"He's done this before," Vale said quietly, watching his old friend walk into hell. "Hundreds of times. It's not peace he's feeling... it's mastery."
"Mastery?"
"He knows this battlefield better than most know their own homes. Chaos is where he thrives. Where he's alive. That calm... that's earned. That peace? Comes from surviving more wars than any of us can count."
Jenn nodded slowly. "No wonder they call him a legend."
"Not just a legend," Vale murmured. "A damn ghost. A reaper with bullets for scythes."
Suddenly, everything went quiet. No more bullets. Just... a sound.
A whistle. Low. Eerie. Unmistakable.
"W-what is that?" one enemy soldier asked.
The young soldier whispered, "The Bullet Reaper."
"Who?!"
"When you hear the whistle... he's already chosen who dies next. My father survived him once. He said the sound still haunts his dreams."
Footsteps echoed through the smoke.
A silhouette emerged. Guns drawn. Coat fluttering.
"FIRE!!!" the enemy leader screamed.
A storm of bullets tore through the smoke. For minutes, they fired. Relentlessly. Triggers squeezed until barrels steamed. Dust and debris exploded from the impact zones.
"Cease fire!" the leader barked. Silence fell like a hammer.
Smoke still clung to the air like a curtain.
"Did... did we get him?" one soldier muttered.
"Go check. Now," the leader ordered.
One unlucky soldier swallowed hard. He took a shaky breath, then began creeping forward, rifle shaking in his hands.
Each step felt heavier than the last. The battlefield was still. Too still.
He moved slowly, eyes darting side to side.
The smoke thickened as he approached the last known position of the silhouette.
"Come on, man," someone whispered from the backline. "Just see if he's down."
The soldier's boots crunched over broken debris. Closer. Closer still.
He reached out a hand, stretching into the thick grey fog, barely able to see five feet ahead.
Then—
BANG!
A single shot. Thunderous. Echoing.
The soldier froze.
He stood for a second.
Two.
Three.
Then slowly... he dropped to his knees.
His rifle clattered to the ground.
He fell face-first into the dirt. Motionless.
The enemy line was struck silent.
Mouths hung open. Eyes widened.
The young soldier trembled. "I told you... the legend is true."
Before the enemy leader could bark a command, they heard it.
Footsteps.
Running.
Out of the smoke came Wes Walker, twin guns in his hands, long coat flowing like a cape of death.
The enemy leader's eyes widened. "F-FIRE! FIRE NOW!!"
Bullets exploded from the barrels of every enemy rifle.
Wes ran, twisting his body left and right. He dove into a slide, rolled, popped up mid-sprint.
Bullets zipped past him, grazing his jacket, missing by inches. He leapt over debris, flipped off broken crates, spun midair, and fired return shots that clipped weapons out of hands and shattered scopes.
"He's moving too fast!" one enemy yelled.
"How's he dodging all of it?!"
"Who the hell is this guy?!"
Wes cartwheeled between two incoming shots, twisted sideways, and planted a boot on a wall to ricochet off and change direction.
Shots chased him, but he was a blur.
One soldier took aim. "I got him—wait no, he vanished!"
Wes appeared behind cover for a second, then popped out again, firing two precise rounds that took out machine gun turrets.
Another soldier screamed. "He's everywhere!"
And then—
He was in the middle of them.
They froze. Guns shaking. Fingers on triggers, too stunned to move.
Wes stood in the heart of the enemy ranks. Calm. Silent.
His cold eyes showed a cocky smirk.
"You let me get close," he said.
The enemy leader's mouth opened to shout, but before a sound came out—
BANG.
He dropped. Shot cleanly through the head.
The others gasped. One screamed. Some stumbled back, too afraid to raise their weapons.
Wes's guns smoked. He stood tall, unmoving.
The enemy troops looked around, panic setting in.
"Our leader's dead!"
"What do we do?!"
"We can't beat him!"
"Is he human?!"
"He's a demon with a smile!"
"I didn't sign up to fight legends!"
Another whispered, "Run? Fight? What now?!"
"I—I don't want to die here."
Wes let them squirm.
Then he spoke.
His voice was low. Final.
"Die... or give up."
The soldiers exchanged looks.
One dropped his gun.
Then another.
Soon, rifles clattered to the ground like dominoes.
Hands went up. Knees hit dirt.
"We give up!"
Wes exhaled. Nodded.
He touched his earpiece. "Bullet Reaper to leader. Mission complete. I have the captives."
Vale's voice came through. Calm, steady.
"Copy that, Reaper. Mission success. Bring them home."
Wes looked up at the smoke-filled sky. The sun began to pierce through in soft golden rays. A small smirk tugged at his lips.
"One last job... done," he whispered to himself.
He turned, motioning the surrendering enemies forward. "Move. Slow. Don't try anything stupid."
A few minutes later...
Cheers erupted across the camp.
"He did it!"
"They surrendered?! No way!"
"That man is unstoppable!"
Wes Walker returned, prisoners in tow. His squad stood to attention, clapping, cheering, eyes filled with admiration and disbelief.
Lane grinned ear to ear. "He actually did it. Took out an entire squad solo."
Jenn shook her head, laughing. "That's not a man. That's a damn force of nature."
The youngest squad member looked like he had just seen a god. "That's... the Bullet Reaper."
As Wes approached, Vale stepped forward, clapping slowly.
"Well done, Wes. Mission complete. Last mission ever. You really went out with a bang."
Wes's cold face slowly melted away. The mask of the Reaper fell. The jokester returned.
"Can I finally go rest in paradise now, boss? Sip fruity drinks? Maybe put a little umbrella in one?"
Vale laughed. "You deserve a dozen. Full platter. And a beach chair with your name engraved on it."
"Make sure the chair reclines. And has cup holders. And I want a coconut with sunglasses painted on it."
"You earned all that and more, Wes. Hell, they might name a holiday after you."
"Eh, 'Bullet Reaper Day' doesn't exactly scream vacation vibes. How about something simpler... like... Wes Appreciation Week."
They both chuckled.
"Seriously," Vale said, voice lower. "You saved lives today. Like always. You didn't just win the battle. You reminded everyone why legends exist."
Wes looked down, modest. "I just didn't want to go out snoring in a chair."
Vale clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Well, now you can go snore in peace."
Wes grinned. "Yeah... now I'm the Vacation Reaper."
They laughed again.
After a few minutes of talking, Wes turned to leave.
"Hey, Wes," Vale called out.
Wes stopped. "Yeah?"
"I almost forgot to tell you something. About that paradise vacation you're taking."
Wes chuckled and turned. "What now, Vale? Don't tell me it's all booked up."
BANG.
The sound cracked through the camp like lightning.
Everyone froze.
Wes staggered. Confused.
He looked down.
Blood poured from his chest.
He looked up.
Vale stood there. Arm extended. Gun smoking.
Wes coughed. Blood spilled from his mouth. He clutched the wound, staring in disbelief.
The cheering stopped. The world turned silent.
"W...why?" Wes stammered.
He dropped to his knees, the strength in his legs fading.
Vale walked slowly toward him. His face was grim.
"Sorry, Wes. Higher-ups didn't want you walking away. Too many secrets. Too much power. You were never meant to survive this mission."
Wes spat blood. "You rat... bastard."
"This wasn't my call. But I agreed with it. You're too dangerous, Wes. Even when you're not fighting."
Wes gave a bloody smile, teeth stained crimson. "Guess... afterlife paradise isn't so bad..."
Vale nodded solemnly. "Goodbye, legendary Wes Walker. The Bullet Reaper."
Wes thought to himself: This isn't how I wanted to go. Not like this. I deserved better. Maybe a drink in my hand... maybe laughter, not betrayal.
Vale raised the gun.
BANG.
Darkness.
Nothingness.
Then...
A flicker.
A breath.
A pulse.
Wes gasped sharply, like surfacing from deep water.
He blinked.
And blinked again.
Above him stretched the most beautiful starry sky he had ever seen. The heavens were alive, painted in vibrant hues of purples, blues, and golds. Stars shimmered like diamonds strewn across velvet. Nebulas danced in slow motion like celestial flames.
He lay still, staring upward. The cold wasn't there. The pain was gone. Just peace.
"What... the hell?" he muttered.
Slowly, he sat up.
His hands pressed into something cool and smooth. Looking down, he realized he was lying in ankle-deep water. Clear as glass, it rippled gently under his touch, reflecting the universe above like a living mirror.
He rose to his feet, water swirling around his boots but not soaking them. No wetness. No resistance. Just... tranquility.
He turned in place, slowly.
All around him stretched the endless shallow sea. No land. No horizon. Just stars above and water below.
"Where... am I?" he said aloud.
His voice echoed faintly, like it was bouncing across eternity.
He rubbed his chest, but the bullet wound was gone. No pain. No blood. Only the memory.
"Is this... death? The afterlife? Damn... I was expecting fire, maybe a long line. This? This is something else."
He took a few steps. The water rippled outward, creating beautiful rings of light beneath his boots. Every movement sent stars twinkling in response.
A strange peace washed over him. No war. No commands. No death looming behind every corner. Just silence and starlight.
He stared at the cosmos. "If this is the end... not bad."
Then a voice broke the calm.
"Hello, Wes Walker."
He turned swiftly.
A figure sat comfortably a few feet away.
A chair. A table. A man in a pristine white suit, legs crossed, sipping calmly from a porcelain teacup. The steam curled upward, vanishing into the stars.
Wes blinked.
"Who the hell are you?"
The man smiled, serene. "Let's talk."
Wes blinked hard, eyes wide with disbelief. The man before him looked like an ordinary old sage at first glance—but the longer Wes stared, the more he realized how wrong that thought was.
Long, flowing white hair shimmered faintly, as though strands of starlight had been woven into it. A neatly kept beard framed his calm, wise face. His eyes, though human at first glance, flickered with galaxies hidden in their depths. His skin carried no decay, only the marks of wisdom etched into its surface. He wore a simple white robe, threaded with faint silver and gold embroidery that shifted like constellations when he moved. Draped around his shoulders was a mantle that looked like the night sky itself, stars and nebulae slowly turning across it.
By his side floated a wooden staff entwined with faint glowing threads, as if spun from the very fabric of fate. Around him stretched an aura that seemed both comforting and terrifying. The air vibrated with mythic weight when he spoke, as though his words themselves bent reality.
The old man smiled. "Me? I am Eios. The Primordial God of Creation. The Loom of Origins. The Weaver of Universes. The Architect of Laws. The silent observer of all fates."
Wes froze. His brain stalled. God. He was talking to a god. His entire mind threatened to explode as he tried to piece it together.
"W-wait. You're telling me... I died on the battlefield... betrayed by my own? And now I'm standing in front of the god of creation himself?" Wes muttered. He rubbed his temples. "This has gotta be a dream. Or maybe what the kids used to call... an isekai?" He chuckled nervously. "Man, if I'm really in one of those stories, I'm too old for that crap."
Eios laughed warmly. "Isekai, you say? You mortals amuse me with your words. But no, Wes Walker. This is no dream. You truly died. And I am offering you a second chance."
Wes swallowed, his humor slipping. "Why me? Did I... do something wrong, Mister God?"
Eios sipped calmly from a porcelain cup of tea, then set it down gently. His smile was patient. "No, you did nothing wrong. I brought you here for two reasons. First—because I believe in second chances. And second—because I saw something within you, something even you do not yet understand. A potential."
Wes blinked rapidly. "Second chance... in another world? With magic, swords, monsters? Like an isekai for real?" His voice cracked between disbelief and laughter.
The god chuckled heartily. "You are correct. Another world awaits you—a world filled with magic, swords, beasts, and wonders your old life never touched."
Wes scratched his head. "That sounds great and all, but... come on, look at me. I'm forty-five. I can't run around slaying dragons at my age."
Eios chuckled softly. "No problem."
He raised his hand. Fingers snapped.
Suddenly, a radiant light burst forth, engulfing Wes entirely. His breath caught in his throat.
"Wh-what's happening to me?!" Wes shouted, his voice breaking into panic.
The glow consumed every inch of his body. His muscles trembled, his bones ached as though they were being reforged. His skin tightened, years of scars and wrinkles dissolving into nothingness. His breath grew heavy, then lighter, as if a great weight had been peeled away. His heart pounded like a drum inside his chest, pumping with renewed strength. His black hair grew darker, richer, until it shone like polished onyx under the starry light.
"This... this is insane!" he gasped. "I can feel my body—changing... burning... like it's rebuilding me from scratch!"
Minutes passed like hours. Finally, the light dimmed, fading back into the cosmos around them.
Wes staggered, catching his breath. He looked at his hands—no longer weathered or scarred, but strong and youthful, the hands of a young man. He touched his chest, his face. Everything felt... new.
"What... what happened to me?" he whispered.
Eios smiled knowingly and snapped his fingers again.
Wes staggered back, staring at the mirror Eios conjured before him. His reflection caught him completely off guard. He leaned in closer, almost afraid to breathe.
His eyes went wide. His jaw fell open.
"Th-that... that's me?" he whispered, pressing his hands against the glassy surface of the mirror as if to confirm it wasn't a trick. His crimson eyes glowed brighter than ever before, framed by raven-black hair that looked richer and fuller than he remembered since his youth.
He traced his own face in disbelief. His skin was firm, smooth, without the scars, wrinkles, and years of exhaustion that had once carved themselves into him. His jawline was sharp again, his posture upright and brimming with vitality.
His thoughts screamed inside his skull. This can't be real. That isn't me. No... no, wait. It IS me. That's what I looked like back then—back when I was unstoppable. Back when I was nineteen and full of fire. I'm... young again. I'm me again.
He touched his chest, laughing nervously. "I-I can't believe this... I feel like a kid again. No... not a kid. A damn warrior in his prime. My body's lighter. Stronger. Faster. I can feel it in every breath." His hands clenched into fists, the veins glowing faintly under the starlight. "I've been reborn."
Eios sipped his tea with an amused smile. "Satisfied, Wes Walker?"
Wes laughed in disbelief, pointing at the mirror. "Satisfied?! Old man, I haven't looked like this in over two decades! Look at me—I could run ten miles without even sweating. I feel like I could take on the whole battlefield with one hand tied behind my back. This... this is insane!" He shook his head, staring at his reflection again. "Unreal... absolutely unreal..."
The mirror shimmered and faded away, rippling back into the void. Before Wes could comment, Eios snapped his fingers again.
A sudden brilliance flooded the air in front of Wes. A swirling orb of light began to form, twisting and spinning like a miniature star being born. Wes squinted, shielding his eyes. "H-hey, what now?!" His voice cracked in nervous anticipation.
The orb pulsed. Each heartbeat seemed to shake the starry water beneath his feet. Slowly, the light condensed, stretching and shaping into long, sleek forms. Runes etched themselves across glowing barrels. Metal took shape, gleaming brighter than silver or darker than shadow.
And then they appeared.
Floating before him were two revolvers—yet they were unlike any weapons Wes had ever seen.
The first revolver gleamed with radiant silver-white brilliance. Its barrel glowed softly with etched runes that pulsed like veins of light, each symbol shifting faintly as though alive. A low hum resonated from it, like the gentle roar of a flame held in check, waiting to be unleashed.
The second revolver was its twin, but opposite. Forged in obsidian-black, its surface shimmered faintly with streaks of silver veins that moved like liquid moonlight across a midnight sky. Its aura was colder, steadier, and deeper—like the stillness of eternity.
Wes froze. His breath hitched in his throat. "W-what the hell..." His voice trembled as his crimson eyes widened further. "These... these aren't normal guns. I can feel it. The power they're giving off—it's overwhelming. It's like standing between fire and ice, storm and silence. It's... alive."
His thoughts raced wildly. This isn't just craftsmanship. These things are radiating something more—something divine. I can feel my blood react to them. Like they're calling to me. Like they're waiting. No... like they've been waiting for me specifically.
He stared at the two revolvers for what felt like forever, torn between awe and hesitation. The silver one's glow flickered warmly, as if urging him forward. The black one's moonlit veins pulsed in calm rhythm, patient and eternal.
Wes's hands trembled. Slowly, almost reverently, he stretched them out. His fingers hovered just inches from the grips.
Am I even worthy to touch these? he thought. No... screw that. I've walked through hell. I've earned this. If they're mine, then I'll take them.
He wrapped his right hand around the silver revolver, his left around the obsidian one.
Wes lifted the twin revolvers in awe. The weight felt perfect in his hands, neither too heavy nor too light, as though they had been forged solely for him. Energy pulsed through his arms, into his chest, and resonated with his very heartbeat. The guns seemed alive, almost breathing with him.
His thoughts spun wildly. These revolvers... they're more than weapons. I can feel it. They're part of me now. It's like I've grown another pair of limbs, but instead of flesh, it's pure power. Every breath, every heartbeat syncs with them. They want to fight alongside me. They're waiting.
He chuckled nervously, staring at the glowing etchings across their barrels. "So... what do I even call them? You don't just wave around divine artillery without knowing their names, right?"
Eios grinned knowingly. "The silver-white revolver is Reveria, the Dawn of Destruction. And her twin sister, the obsidian-black revolver, is Aurelia, the Twilight of Eternity."
Wes blinked, then whistled. "Reveria and Aurelia, huh? Damn... even their names sound like they could burn down cities or freeze worlds. Fancy names for fancy guns. But... they suit them. They fit."
Eios nodded. "They are your partners, your weapons, your will made manifest. Speak to them. Respect them. And they will answer with power the world has never seen."
Wes laughed, shaking his head. "You talk about them like they're real people. Like they've got personalities and all-powerful wills of their own." He smirked. "What are they gonna do, talk back to me one day?"
But Eios only grinned wider. Wes caught that grin and narrowed his eyes. "Okay, what's with that smile? You're hiding something, old man."
The god leaned back slightly, his calm eyes glimmering. "There is one thing you must know about Reveria and Aurelia."
Wes tilted his head, wary. "And what's that?"
Eios's grin grew wider. His silence stretched for a moment too long, making Wes fidget nervously.
His thoughts churned. Why is he smiling like that? Why do I feel like he's about to drop a nuke on me?
Finally, Eios spoke. "The two revolvers you hold... are not mere tools, Wes Walker. Once, long ago, they were goddesses."
Wes froze. His entire face went pale. Then he screamed, voice cracking: "WHAT?!?!"
He stuttered, almost dropping the guns. "H-how... how the hell do goddesses end up as... as pistols in my hands?!"
Eios's expression softened as the Loom behind him began to flare. Threads of red and silver twisted together, weaving into towering figures of light and shadow. The cosmic domain shook, though the god still sipped his tea calmly.
His voice turned heavy with memory. "Long before order reigned, before temples and prayers bound the world in chains, there were two sisters. Not born of worship, nor shaped by command, but born from the first elemental clash that birthed this world. Reveria, the Dawn of Destruction—flame, light, and storm incarnate. She burned away the void and gave mortals fire to survive. Aurelia, the Twilight of Eternity—ice, darkness, and silence eternal. She cooled the flames of chaos, cloaked mortals in shadow, and gave them dreams. Together, they upheld balance. Without them, flame would have consumed all, or shadow would have smothered all."
The Loom pulsed violently, its threads weaving visions. Wes saw gods in ivory armor, their blades raised—not against demons, but against the radiant sisters. His stomach twisted.
Eios spoke with quiet sorrow. "But harmony terrifies those who rule through dominance. When the War of the Primordials began, the higher gods feared the sisters more than any rival army. Not because they sought war, but because they proved that balance needs no master."
Visions sharpened—gods ambushing Reveria and Aurelia. Spears of light rained upon them, piercing their thrones. Their screams echoed in Wes's ears.
Eios's voice trembled faintly. "They were betrayed. Ambushed by their own kin. The gods dared not destroy them outright—for annihilation would unravel the very laws of creation. Instead, they devised a prison. I was there. I wove the binding with my own hands, though not by choice. Their spirits, their divinity, their very souls, were sealed within vessels of creation itself—twin revolvers forged from the first metals of the Loom."
The visions shifted—two glowing cores, one burning crimson gold, the other shimmering silver-violet, sank into forged steel. Twin revolvers rested upon an altar of starlight, runes pulsing like heartbeats.
Eios's eyes dimmed, galaxies swirling within them. "For eons, they slumbered. Forgotten. Feared. Passed between tyrants who believed themselves worthy. But the weapons chose no wielder. Not until now. Not until you."
Wes's throat tightened. He looked down at the revolvers in his hands. They pulsed faintly, like living beings responding to their names being spoken aloud.
Eios leaned forward. "They are not tools, Walker. They are goddesses who remember betrayal, who remember what it is to be free. And you... you are the one thread I have woven outside the pattern. Walk with them. Hear them. Perhaps redeem what was lost."
The Loom fell silent. Only the faint glow of the revolvers illuminated the domain. Wes swallowed hard, mind racing. My guns... are goddesses. Actual betrayed goddesses. And now I'm supposed to carry them. Redeem them. No pressure, right?
He lowered his head, gripping the revolvers tightly. "Then I'll use them wisely. No matter what."
Eios's smile widened. "Good. And know this: within them also lies the power of the elements. Fire, ice, lightning, shadow, and more. You will forge bullets from the fabric of creation itself."
Wes blinked. Then he grinned slowly. Elemental magic bullets? Now that's my style.
The revolvers glowed brighter, then dissolved into twin lights. They shot into his chest, merging with him. Wes gasped, staggering. Whoa—what the hell... they're inside me now?!
Eios nodded calmly. "They are bound to your heart."
Before Wes could speak, a chime rang in his head. A violet screen appeared before his eyes.
Class: Magic Gunslinger.
Wes laughed, wide and wild. "Magic Gunslinger, huh? Hell yeah. That's what I'm talking about."
"Congratulations," Eios said warmly. "You are their chosen."
Wes twirled his fingers like he was spinning imaginary pistols. "Awesome. So what now?"
"Now," Eios said, rising with the weight of the cosmos in his voice, "you will go to the new world and live out your second life."
Wes's grin spread from ear to ear. "Sweet. I can't wait."
Eios's robe and mantle shimmered, constellations turning. "Are you ready, Bullet Reaper?"
Wes smirked. "Yeah. I'm ready."
Eios nodded. "Good. I hope to see you again, young Magic Gunslinger."
Wes raised his chin. "See ya later, old man."
Eios chuckled softly. "Good luck, Wes Walker."
He snapped his fingers.
Light engulfed Wes. In a heartbeat, Eios's starry domain vanished.
When the light faded, Wes opened his eyes. He stood in a vast forest unlike any he had ever seen. Towering trees stretched skyward, their leaves shimmering with faint luminescence. The air was crisp, filled with the hum of unseen magic. Strange birdlike creatures called from above, their voices melodic, haunting.
Wes turned in a slow circle, marveling. "Well, damn... this is no battlefield. This... this is beautiful."
He bent down, scooping up a handful of soil, letting it fall through his fingers. The ground itself pulsed faintly, alive with energy.
He inhaled deeply, grinning. "Fresh air. Real air. Magic in the air, even. Ha... yeah, I could get used to this."
He spread his arms wide, spinning once like a kid. His smirk widened into a smile that showed all his teeth. This is it. My second life. My second chance. Time to see what kind of legend a Magic Gunslinger can become.
Wes Walker stood tall, eyes burning with renewed fire.
"Alright... let's get this adventure started."
Before Wes could take his first step into the unknown forest, he stopped. A thought crossed his mind, and a sly grin crept onto his lips.
Wait a second... if this really is like those isekai stories the kids used to ramble about back in the old world... then does that mean I have a status screen?
He chuckled at the ridiculousness of it, but his curiosity got the better of him. "Alright, let's test this out. Open Status!"
For a moment, nothing happened. Wes almost laughed it off as nonsense—until a violet glow shimmered before his eyes. A translucent screen materialized out of thin air, hovering in front of him.
His jaw dropped. "Holy hell... it worked! It actually worked!" His crimson eyes scanned the glowing words eagerly.
Name: Wes Walker
Age: 17 (Reincarnated Body)
Race: Human (Reborn)
Level: 1
Class: Magic Gunslinger (Unique Class)
Titles: The Bullet Reaper, First Magic Gunslinger, The Whistle of Death
Health Points (HP): 180 / 180
Magic Points (MP): 220 / 220
Strength: 14
Agility: 18
Endurance: 12
Mana: 20
Luck: 25
Charm: 30
Normal Skills:
Reload – Magical reload using mana instead of bullets.
Quickdraw – Instantly draw and fire weapons.
Iron Will – Psychological resistance against fear, charm, and madness. Born of surviving countless battlefields.
Appraisal – Instantly assess enemy stats, weaknesses, or item details.
Close Quarters Combat – Mastery of grapples, counters, and strikes when disarmed.
Gun Kata (Basic Form) – Blends fluid movements with rapid-fire precision in melee.
Pain Resistance – Dulls received pain without dulling reaction speed.
Silent Step – Move without sound for short distances.
Whistle – Wes's iconic signal. Used for psychological warfare, team coordination… or to taunt monsters and make them panic.
Ability Skills:
Mana Skin (Lesser) – Weak defensive coating against minor magical damage.
Bullet Craft – Convert raw mana into basic elemental bullet forms. Higher levels expand to advanced ammo types.
Mana Sight – Sense nearby mana flows and magical presences. Allows limited detection of enchantments, hidden runes, or invisible entities.
Spirit Nerve – Sharpened reflexes from reincarnation trauma. Provides occasional danger-sense flashes—like a magical sixth sense.
Echo Dash – Short-burst movement using air-element mana, useful for repositioning in a gunfight. Leaves behind a faint afterimage.
Adapted Physique – Reincarnated body adjusts quickly to physical stress. Faster recovery from light wounds and fatigue, especially after battle.
Eagle Eye – Sharpens long-range accuracy.
Aura Pulse – Pushes enemies back with a magic aura burst.
Magic Bullet Skills:
Mana Bullet – A pure mana round.
Fire Bullet – A bullet ignited with flame, explodes slightly on impact.
Water Bullet – A bullet infused with liquid mana, pierces with hydraulic force.
Earth Bullet – A heavy, stone-coated bullet — crushes defenses.
Wind Bullet – Faster than normal shots, creates slicing winds.
Ice Bullet – Freezes upon contact, slowing enemies.
Lightning Bullet – Electrified round, arcs to nearby foes.
Light Bullet – Holy round, burns undead or darkness beings.
Shadow Bullet – Cloaked in darkness, ignores armor and strikes vitals.
Poison Bullet – Infused with toxic mana, applies lingering damage.
Gravity Bullet – Increases weight upon impact, crushes target down.
Smoke Bullet – Creates a vision-blocking smokescreen.
Sonic Bullet – Erupts in a screeching blast, dazing targets.
Unique Skills:
Genesis Round (Locked) – Unknown (Rumored: survive a goddess's judgment or fall in love during battle).
Soul Link: Twin Spirits (Unlocks at Level 10) – Forge a telepathic bond with Reveria and Aurelia. Allows full conversation, emotional resonance, and mid-battle synchronization. Unlocks fusion bullet types and combined combat styles.
Echo of the Reaper – As Wes's legend spreads, the world itself begins to echo his presence.
Bullet Tempo – The longer he fights without pause, the faster he reloads and the stronger his elemental bullets become. Each continuous shot adds a 1% damage multiplier (up to 50%).
Mark of the Bullet Reaper – An invisible divine sigil placed by Eios. Protects from reality collapses, forced fate rewrites, and narrative erasure. Activates when anomalies (e.g., multiverse versions) appear nearby.
Requiem Reflex – Once per day, when Wes would be struck by a fatal blow, time slows for a heartbeat—just long enough for a reaction shot. Can also trigger manually once per arc in dramatic slow-motion moments.
Weapons:
Reveria – Dawn of Destruction (Sentient Goddess Revolver of Fire, Light, Storm).
Aurelia – Twilight of Eternity (Sentient Goddess Revolver of Ice, Darkness, Void).
Items:
Adventurer's Starter Bag (map, ration cubes, flint, basic compass).
Journal of the Reaper (blank notebook gifted by Eios, bound with divine thread).
Polished Silver Whistle (enhances Whistle-based skills when used manually).
Wes whistled softly. "Damn... this is stacked. I've got more skills than half the armies I used to fight. Reload without bullets? Elemental rounds? Danger sense? Hah! The kids back in the old world would lose their minds over this."
He turned his head toward a tall tree nearby, smirking. "Alright, let's test this out." He raised both hands, palms open. "Come to me, Reveria. Aurelia."
With a shimmer of light, the two revolvers materialized in his hands, as if they had always been there. He felt their warmth and coolness, the dual pulse of fire and shadow.
"Heh... feels natural already," Wes muttered, twirling the revolvers in his hands with ease. He spun them in tricks, flipping them between his fingers, before leveling them at the tree.
"Alright... let's try something basic. Fire Bullet! Lightning Bullet!"
Both guns flared. From Reveria erupted a blazing round of flame; from Aurelia, a crackling streak of electricity. The bullets soared through the air and struck the tree with a sharp boom, splintering bark and sending smoke into the air.
Wes's eyes widened. "Holy crap! That... that was insane. The recoil, the impact... and the explosion! I've never felt power like that. This isn't just pulling a trigger—this is shaping the world with every shot."
He holstered the guns with a flourish, then looked up at the glowing sky peeking through the canopy. A wide grin spread across his face.
"Alright then... let's start my new adventure." He laughed, a booming, joyful laugh that echoed through the forest. "The Magic Gunslinger has arrived!"
And with that, Wes Walker strode into the forest, the weight of his revolvers at his side, and the future of his second life unfolding with every step.
To be continued...