Plundering Worlds: I Have a Shotgun in a Fantasy World-Chapter 43: First-Rate

Kael walked into the forest.

The trees closed in, swallowing the last of the daylight. Shadows lay thick between the trunks. The air smelled of moss and damp earth. His pace stayed even and unbroken.

Hoofprints, boot marks, broken branches—the trail cut straight through the undergrowth, recent and unhidden. Kael followed it head-on, boots crushing leaves and twigs underfoot.

The forest grew denser. The canopy overhead knitted tight, shutting out the sky. Pale fragments of light filtered down, turning the ground a dull gray.

Kael’s hand rested on the long blade. The tracks led deeper.

The forest thinned. Firelight flickered ahead. Voices carried between the trees.

He found it after an hour.

A fortified settlement carved into the hillside—crude walls of sharpened logs, watchtowers cobbled together from stolen lumber, a gate reinforced with iron plates. Torchlight flickered between the gaps. Voices carried on the wind, rough laughter and shouting.

Kael stopped at the tree line and observed.

The gate stood open. Guards lounged on either side, passing a bottle between them. Beyond the entrance, he could see crude buildings—storage sheds, a longhouse, what looked like a barracks. Smoke rose from multiple fires.

The leader had lied. There were more than fourteen.

Kael counted the visible figures. Eight in the open. More would be inside.

He stepped into the clearing.

The guards saw him immediately. One straightened, squinting into the darkness. "Oi! Who’s—"

His voice died as Kael walked into the torchlight.

Covered in blood. Eyes cold. Empty.

The guard’s hand went to his weapon. "Fuck. Sound the—"

Kael closed the distance in two steps. His palm struck the man’s chest. Ribs shattered. The guard flew backward and crashed through the gate.

The second guard drew his sword. Kael’s hand lashed out, gripped the blade, and wrenched it from his grasp. He drove the pommel into the man’s temple. The body dropped.

Shouts erupted from inside the stronghold.

Kael walked through the gate.

The courtyard erupted into chaos.

Bandits poured from the buildings—some armed, some still grabbing weapons as they ran. They saw him and froze for half a breath, then charged.

The first three came at him together. An axe, a spear, a cudgel. Kael sidestepped the axe, caught the spear shaft mid-thrust, and snapped it. He drove the broken end through the spearman’s throat, then pivoted and caught the cudgel swing with his forearm. The wood splintered against his Qi-reinforced flesh.

He gripped the wielder’s wrist and twisted. Bone cracked. The man screamed. Kael silenced him with a strike to the base of the skull.

The axeman swung again. Kael ducked under it, stepped inside his guard, and delivered an open-palm strike to the sternum. The man’s chest caved in. He collapsed, blood foaming at his lips.

Four more rushed him from the right. Kael blurred into motion. His hand shot out and crushed one man’s windpipe. He spun, deflected a sword strike, and broke the attacker’s arm at the elbow. A kick sent another sprawling. The fourth tried to run—Kael grabbed the back of his neck and slammed his face into the ground.

The courtyard fell silent except for the crackling fires and labored breathing.

Bodies littered the ground. Nine dead in less than a minute.

Those who had come out to see what the noise was stood frozen, none of them daring to move.

Then footsteps approached, steady and unhurried.

Kael turned.

Two men emerged from the longhouse. Both wore better armor—leather reinforced with metal plates, weapons that looked maintained rather than looted. They moved with confidence, with purpose.

The first was lean, scarred, with a long saber at his hip. His Qi radiated clearly—Second-Rate, stable and controlled.

The second was broader and younger, carrying a heavy saber. His Qi was rough, but still Second-Rate—just barely.

The lean one smiled. "You killed our boys." He gestured at the bodies. "Impressive. Second-Rate?"

Kael said nothing.

The man’s smile widened. "Strong and silent. I like that." He drew his saber, the blade singing as it left the scabbard. "But you picked the wrong stronghold to raid, friend."

The younger one cracked his knuckles. "Let’s see how Second-Rate dies."

They attacked.

The lean one came in fast, his saber cutting in a tight arc aimed at Kael’s throat. The younger one circled left, waiting for an opening. Coordinated. Practiced.

Kael raised his sword and parried. The impact sent a shockwave through the courtyard, scattering dust and leaves. The lean bandit’s eyes widened—he’d expected to overpower Kael’s guard. Instead, his blade had barely moved Kael’s.

*First-Rate.*

His pupils trembled.

Kael pressed forward. His sword moved in a simple thrust, no flourish, no wasted motion. The lean bandit barely deflected it, stumbling back.

The younger one struck from behind, his saber coming down in a heavy overhead chop.

"Wait—!" the older man shouted, lunging forward.

Too late.

Kael twisted, caught the blade on his sword’s guard, and redirected it into the ground. Before the man could recover, Kael’s free hand shot out and gripped his throat.

Qi surged. His fingers closed around the man’s throat and tightened. There was a wet crack. He tore. Cartilage and blood came free in his hand. The man collapsed instantly, convulsed once, then lay still.

The lean bandit’s eyes went red. "You killed my brother—pay with your life!" he roared and lunged forward.

His saber erupted into a flurry of strikes—high, low, thrust, slash.

Faster than before. Harder. His movements burst past restraint, drawing out speed and strength he hadn’t shown a moment earlier.

It changed nothing.

Kael parried each blow with minimal movement, reading the attacks before they came, Lu Zhihuan’s muscle memory guiding his responses.

The bandit roared as he attacked, raw and continuous, spit flying from his mouth with every breath.

Kael’s brow tightened.

He shifted aside—no more than a half-step. The blade missed him by a finger’s width.

In the same motion, his sword went forward.

There was a dull, wet sound.

The bandit’s eyes went wide.

Then his movements stopped.

Kael withdrew the blade and let the body fall.

Only then did the blood well, spreading across the ground, and the wound reveal itself—his heart pierced clean through.

Silence.

Kael swept his gaze across the courtyard.

Some of the bandits were still standing at a distance, frozen. Others were already running, disappearing between the buildings and into the trees beyond.

*The runners first.*

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