Weapon seller in the world of magic

The shutters had already come down with a dull metallic thud, sealing the store from the street outside. Yet the street itself refused to empty, as if the closing of the shop had only shifted the center of gravity rather than ending the day. One by one, then in clusters, then almost as a quiet crowd, people drifted toward the fenced grounds across from the store.

The Nexus Training Grounds.

The name itself had begun to carry weight in the district, whispered between merchants and clerks, between guards and curious onlookers, and now that weight pulled them in like a tide... they did not resist.

No one had been forced.

No one had been threatened.

And yet when Queen Consort Callista Frost spoke earlier, her voice soft, her words polite, asking them to step outside and give space, everyone understood what lay beneath that gentleness, because in places like this, power rarely needed to raise its voice.

So they followed.

Quietly.

A while later.

In the middle of the training grounds stood Kiara, adjusting her stance as she held the Chimera SGM.

The weapon looked heavy.

It was truly heavy.

She could feel it through her arms, through her shoulders, through the slight tremor that ran along her muscles as she steadied it, while her finger rested against the trigger with a patience that did not quite match her racing thoughts.

"Control the recoil..."

"Don’t rush..."

"Let the weapon speak..."

Her breath slowed.

Her eyes narrowed.

Then—

*Brrrrrrrrttttttttt*

The sound tore through the air like a long rip in fabric, sharp and relentless, the vibration crawling up through her arms as the weapon roared to life, each round leaving the barrel in a blur too fast for the eye to follow, too fast for most to even register.

Eight seconds.

That was all it took to shoot a hundred rounds.

Each one screaming through the air with force enough to crush a peak 3-star expert if it struck cleanly, aimed at rows of clay vases placed far across the field.

Five hundred feet away.

A distance that felt almost unreal.

And yet, the vases shattered one after another, bursts of dust and fragments, the sound of impact arriving a fraction later.

Kiara’s arms trembled.

Not visibly.

Not enough for anyone to call it a weakness.

But she felt the recoil that pushed back again and again, a constant pressure that demanded control, and more than half the rounds went wide, tearing into empty ground or missing their mark entirely, but the performance of the weapon swallowed those imperfections, hiding them beneath its sheer output.

To the crowd, it was overwhelming.

To them, it was flawless.

The last casing fell, and silence returned, but not fully, because the echo of that sound lingered in the chest, in the ears, in the bones, as if the air itself needed time to recover.

Kiara then lowered the weapon slowly, her grip loosening just enough to ease the strain in her fingers, then turned her head toward the two figures standing behind her.

Callista Frost stood still.

Too still.

Her expression calm, her posture relaxed, as if what she had just witnessed was not that big of a deal, not even particularly concerning, and that calmness, more than anything else, felt out of place.

On the contrary, beside her, Serestia Phoenix looked entirely different.

Her mouth hung slightly open, her eyes wide, her gaze fixed on the distant, shattered remains, struggling to reconcile what she had just seen with what she believed possible, because the distance alone was absurd, and the speed, the invisibility of the bullets, made it worse.

She hadn’t seen them.

Not properly.

Only the results were captured by her eyes.

Kiara watched her reaction for a brief moment, then spoke.

"As I mentioned earlier," she said calmly, adjusting her grip on the weapon, "this is the machine gun. It has a high fire rate and can strike targets from long distances, even up to half a kilometer."

She shifted slightly, her boots pressing into the dirt, leaving shallow impressions as she moved toward the mounted section.

"But if you feel this wastes too much ammunition," she continued, "or if you think it is ineffective against higher-tier opponents, you can switch to another option."

Her hand moved.

Slow.

Deliberate.

"This."

She loaded the grenade launcher, the metal parts clicking into place with a firm, mechanical certainty, the sound crisp in the quiet air.

One grenade.

Then another.

Her fingers adjusted their position, her shoulders aligning, her stance lowering just a fraction as she aimed toward an empty patch of ground some distance away.

Sixty meters.

Seventy, perhaps.

Her breath steadied again.

Then...

Thump—Thump

The grenades were launched with a heavy, compressed force that pushed them forward in a clean arc, disappearing for a brief second before...

Boom.

Boom.

The explosions bloomed across the ground, fire and dust rising together, the shockwave rolling outward, carrying heat, sound, and pressure, hitting the spectators like an invisible hand that pushed them back a step.

Some flinched.

Some stumbled.

Even Serestia’s shoulders jerked slightly, her instincts reacting before her pride could suppress them.

A general standing nearby stiffened.

But Callista Frost did not move.

Not even a step.

She simply watched, her eyes following the fading smoke; her expression still remained unchanged. It was quite difficult to imagine her as someone mortal.

Kiara lowered the weapon again.

"Queen Consort Callista," she said, her tone steady, "this is only a basic demonstration. I will teach the princess how to use each component properly, depending on the situation."

She stopped and then waited.

The silence stretched for a while.

Serestia’s fingers tightened into a fist, her earlier shock settling into something sharper, something more deliberate, and when she spoke, her voice carried that edge. "No."

Kiara’s gaze shifted to her. "Hmm?"

"The demonstration isn’t over yet, Miss Kiara."

"Hmm?"

A faint pause followed, the air tightening just slightly as attention shifted fully onto her.

"What do you want?" Callista asked, her tone calm but firm.

Serestia lifted her chin. "I want to see its effect on a real target," she said. "How about you test it on me?"

The words landed like a stone dropped into still water.

The ripples spread instantly.

"Are you out of your mind?" Callista stepped forward and struck her lightly on the head.

"Ouch—" Serestia rubbed the spot, her brows furrowing, but she did not back down. "I’m a 6-star rank expert. Those things won’t hurt me."

Her gaze shifted toward Kiara.

"These weapons are not toys. They are meant to be used against Spirit Warriors."

A brief silence followed.

Then a man stepped forward.

"I will take that role, Your Highness."

It was General Calden, his posture straight, his voice respectful but firm, stepping into the space between them.

Serestia’s eyes narrowed.

"And you think you are stronger than me?" she asked coldly, her gaze locking onto him.

The general bowed immediately. "I spoke out of turn. I apologize."

She held his gaze for a moment longer, then turned back to her mother. "This is my weapon," she said. "If I am going to use it, I need to understand it fully."

Callista watched her.

Then turned toward Kiara. "Will it seriously injure her?" She asked.

Kiara did not hesitate.

"I cannot guarantee that," she said plainly. "After all, the Princess is a mage, not a warrior. High output, but low defense. My weapons are designed to pierce defenses."

The words hung in the air. The meaning was clear.

Serestia frowned. "Do not compare me to ordinary mages," she said, her tone sharpening. "I can fight someone like Xander Cross evenly. These bullets are nothing."

Kiara did not respond to her.

She looked only at Callista.

"So," she said quietly, "do I have permission?"

Serestia’s fists clenched.

Callista remained silent for a few seconds, her gaze moving between them, weighing risk against necessity, pride against caution, and when she finally spoke, her decision cut clean through the tension.

"General Calden will take the attack first," she said. "After that, we will decide."

Serestia opened her mouth.

Then closed it. "Fine."

The general stepped forward, walking slowly across the training ground, each step deliberate, until he stopped at the marked distance.

Fifty meters.

He raised a gold-grade shield, the metal catching the light, his ether energy wrapping around him like a second layer of skin.

Serestia snorted softly. "What a coward."

Meanwhile, Kiara lowered herself into position, one knee touching the ground, the other leg braced, the weapon resting firmly against her shoulder, her breathing slowing as her focus narrowed into a single line.

The world shrank.

Target.

Distance.

Angle.

For a brief moment, her aim drifted upward.

Toward the forehead.

Then...

She adjusted.

The elbow.

Unarmored.

Vulnerable.

Her finger tightened.

*Bang*

The shot cracked through the air, sharp and precise, the bullet moving faster than sound, faster than reaction, and though the general saw the movement, sensed the attack, he did not move.

He did not need to.

Or so he thought.

The bullet struck.

His elbow jerked slightly, a deep red mark forming instantly, swelling beneath the skin as a sharp sting spread through his arm, enough to make him grunt, but not enough to break him.

Kiara did not stop.

She fired again.

And again.