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Lute stood on the ridge overlooking the valley of the demi-humans, the cold steel of his custom-built rifle a grounding weight against his shoulder. In this world, magic was the ultimate authority—fireballs and ice spears decided the fate of nations. But Lute, a reincarnated military enthusiast, knew better. He knew that physics, when applied through a rifled barrel, didn't care about mana capacity.

The shaman’s eyes widened as his spell dissipated; his concentration broken not by a counter-spell, but by a 7.62mm round that grazed his staff. He looked up to see Lute descending the ridge, his silhouette framed by the smoke of gunpowder. Lute stood on the ridge overlooking the valley

The silence of the valley was shattered by a rhythmic, mechanical thunder. It wasn't the chaotic explosion of a fireball, but the precise, high-velocity crack of lead meeting air. From their hidden positions, Chris and Meiya unleashed a crossfire that turned the Orc charge into a standstill. He knew that physics, when applied through a

Beside him, Snow, the white-wolf girl, checked the magazine of her submachine gun. Her ears twitched at the sound of the approaching Orc vanguard. "They’re within range, Lute," she whispered, her eyes sharp with a focus that combined her natural predatory instincts with the modern tactical training Lute had drilled into her. The silence of the valley was shattered by