The Whispering Verses
Chapter 77: The Gun of Kindness

This script lacks compulsive power; it won’t force Shad to act against his will. However, whatever is written on it will absolutely come to pass—it cannot be altered. It’s as if an invisible hand manipulates fate, and that’s precisely why Shad found himself back under the grape trellis.

Outmatched in strength, Shad had no other choice. He had never yearned for power as much as he did now. While he had sought to grow stronger in the past, he was ultimately just an outsider newly arrived in this world.

"In a world like this, strength is everything," he murmured.

Taking a deep breath to calm himself and suppress his inner turmoil, Shad stared at the man across from him. Then, moving deliberately, he retrieved a pendant holding the Vampire Ring. Upon seeing it, the man smirked.

“So, you were the one who stole that as well.”

But it wasn’t true.

Shad then produced a box containing the Dice of Twenty Fates, and the man’s surprise was evident when he opened it.

“That’s the Secret-Keeper-grade relic? A rare item capable of influencing fate? So that’s how you resisted the script—interesting. You’re a correspondence Ring Warlock from St. Byrons Comprehensive College?”

The man clearly knew a lot about such relics.

Next, Shad took out the pendant holding the Silver Moon Pearl, but the man simply glanced at it and shook his head.

“What kind of junk is this? So peculiar.”

Shad stopped his movements, and the man fixed his gaze on him, his eyes glinting with menace. He tapped his fingers on the stone table.

“There’s something else unusual on you. My other self told me so, and he never lies.”

With that, Shad retrieved a bag of dried frog legs, materials for the spell Frog’s Leap.

“Not this. What is this, anyway? Stop wasting my time!”

The man was momentarily taken aback but quickly grew impatient, drumming his fingers on the table to hurry him along.

Shad then presented a journal and revealed two Rhodes Cards, but the man didn’t even glance at them.

“A gambler? No, Rhodes Cards are ordinary items. Don’t you even know that? Hurry up and show me what you’ve been hiding. I know you’re banking on that thing to turn the tables.”

After a moment’s thought, Shad regarded him with an odd expression that made the man in his wine-red formal suit visibly uncomfortable. Then, from his rolled-up suit missing one sleeve, Shad drew a cold, antique revolver.

As Shad’s fingers brushed the intricate patterns on the gun, he felt as if he could see fate itself. A strange premonition came over him, and he realized that under the peculiar luck of this moment, his plan to feign death using the spell False Immortality was no longer necessary.

“Oh? What’s this?” The man in the wine-red suit didn’t immediately recognize the object but quickly deduced its true nature after some examination.

“So, it’s a relic. An antique revolver that consumes spiritual power to automatically reload. I’ve always wanted an offensive relic. This is perfect. It seems my luck tonight isn’t bad either. What you owe me must be repaid. Ha! Fate is indeed fair to everyone. The law of balanced luck is no superstition.”

His grin widened.

“I imagine you know what this relic can do. It must be more than just reloading bullets. That’s why you were saving it as a trump card, hoping I wouldn’t discover it in time to let you pull the trigger.”

Shad pressed his lips together, debating whether he should compliment the man’s wild imagination. Perhaps this person should follow Miss Louisa’s path and become a writer.

“Sorry, I actually have no idea what this revolver does,” Shad admitted honestly.

The man chuckled darkly. He raised the gun, the metal clicking as he cocked the hammer. Then, with a deliberate motion, he pointed the ominous barrel at Shad’s forehead.

“I’ve muted the gunshot with a spell. Since you won’t talk, let’s test it. Let’s see what this gun can really do. Do you want to die? Or will you tell me the truth?”

The round stone table between them was sizable. Though the gun was raised, it didn’t cross the table’s midpoint.

Under the grape trellis, illuminated by a gas lamp, the table was also lit by a flickering candle brought by the man. The dim, yellow light cast their faces into sharp relief. In that brief moment of silence, not a whisper of wind disturbed the garden.

Shad stared at the gun’s barrel, his lips trembling. Though he had a plan, he couldn’t suppress the sensation of his heart hammering in his chest. He felt sweat trickling down his face.

This life-or-death moment felt like teetering on the edge of an abyss. Yet amidst the countless thoughts racing through his mind, he focused on one: the possibility of survival.

“My plan must work. My luck tonight isn’t over yet!” he repeated to himself, like a mantra.

“What does this revolver relic actually do?” the man demanded again.

Shad shook his head. Unexpectedly, before the man’s eyes, he reached for the Dice of Twenty Fates in the open box.

“Good fortune granted by the Puppeteer’s Script can’t influence the Dice of Twenty Fates,” the man said, startled. “If you’re hoping to roll another 20 using that luck, you’re wasting your time. Luck can’t triumph over power. While the script may risk falling into fate’s trap, what more could you possibly have now?”

Still, Shad made the motion to throw the dice. The back of his shirt was already soaked in sweat.

Are you ready?

The whispering voice echoed in his mind, as if she understood him perfectly.

“I’m ready,” he replied.

The man in the wine-red suit laughed at Shad’s defiance.

“So, you still haven’t given up. Farewell, young Warlock.”

He pulled the trigger just as Shad prepared to toss the dice. The antique revolver fired, its brass-colored bullet spinning through the gun’s muzzle. It pierced the dim light of the gas lamp and the gentle summer garden breeze, leaving a swirling trail in its wake as it crossed the table and flew straight for Shad’s forehead.

In that instant before death, Shad didn’t think of the people he’d met in this world. Instead, clutching the dice, he closed his eyes.

“It has to be…”

The bullet, enveloped in a strange black-iron spiritual glow, didn’t strike its target. Instead, it curved midair and arced backward.

“What?”

Bang!

The bullet drilled into the shooter’s skull. His head exploded like a watermelon smashed by a heavy blow, spraying red and white matter in all directions. His body, now lifeless, slumped back into his chair amidst the gun’s lingering echo and the curling smoke from the barrel.

Covered in blood and brain matter, Shad didn’t move a muscle. The candle was knocked over by the spray, and the grape trellis’s gas lamp was smeared with gore, dimming the light significantly. Shad opened his eyes, watching the smoke from the revolver drift into the night sky before being carried away by the evening breeze.

Trembling, he exhaled.

“…A merciful gun indeed.”

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