TRIO TRESPASSERS

A floating cube of light shifted shape—into an SMG.

The FN P90, matte black with neon circuits pulsing down the barrel, hung in the air before launching into the hero's grip.

"At last… found you."

He raised the weapon and opened fire.

Debu dove sideways, mud exploding beneath him, bullets slicing past like lightning. He had no time to read the book. No time to strategize. Just raw instinct.

He rolled, grabbed his sword mid-motion—not elegance, just survival.

Three steps, one pivot.

The Hero rushed in.

The P90 vanished into particle mist---dispelled. His backup weapon clicked into place---Heckler & Koch VP9 semi-auto pistol. He fired once.

CRACK.

Debu swung his blade with a clean horizontal slash—Basic Form #3: "Line Sever."

The bullet grazed his shoulder but the blade intercepted the second shot mid-air, cleaving it apart. Sparks flew.

The hero was already in his face.

Left elbow jab-----Debu blocked with the side of his blade.

Counter: Basic Form #1: "Straight Pulse."

A forward thrust, lean and rapid. The tip scraped the hero's ribs—he barely flinched.

Debu was gasping. Blood dripping. The hero… smirking.

"I want to see your soul bleed," he said.

Then—something behind him glowed purple.

Another weapon manifested mid-air:

KRISS Vector, short-barreled, high ROF beast.

Debu grabbed dirt and flung it toward the hero's eyes----Classic distraction. Then ducked, dashed left, and prepared a low slice----

Basic Form #5: "River Sweep."

Wide arc, blade hugging the earth.

The hero dodged----barely.

Debu stood—body torn, but not broken. The field was cracked beneath him, steam rising from glowing bullet fragments. His sword trembled in his hand, dirt stained across his face. But he didn't flinch. He didn't kneel.

Across from him, the hero smirked.

He'd used SMGs, shotguns, miniguns, revolvers—each summoned with ease.

A Benelli M4 had nearly blown Debu's ribs apart.

The Barrett M82 sniper caused the air itself to snap.

But Debu dodged, countered, and returned every shot with nothing but basic sword forms.

"Line Sever."

"River Sweep."

"Pulse Strike."

Metal clashed with magic, and somehow... Debu landed a clean hit. A cut across the hero's thigh.

The hero laughed.

"A scratch? Heh... looks like you won't go down easy."

He tilted his head—his eyes lit crimson.

"Then face my full power."

The air bent behind him—distorting.

A storm of floating weapons appeared: thousands of guns, their barrels glowing with magic inscriptions.

Desert Eagles etched in fire.

Glocks humming with lightning.

AK47s wrapped in gravity fields.

RPGs pulsing void energy.

The bullets themselves weren't normal anymore. They shimmered blue, red, gold—infused with elemental magic. Fire danced on shell tips. Frost coiled around trigger guards.

The hero raised his hands.

And the guns began to fire—on their own.

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Far outside the battlefield, under a moon-split sky, Krishna stood watching. He created a massive magical barrier rippled in front of the village, shielding every soul within.

His robe fluttered in the storm winds, but his stance didn't break.

Beside him—the blacksmith, hammer still strapped to his side.

Krishna one eye glowing blue, faint aura swirling behind his shoulder.

On the other side, leaning quietly---Ishu, watching with calm focus. His eye too----glowing.

Their vision was synced. Krishna had learned Vision Link, a rare ancient magic allowing one soul to share their sight with another.

The bullets rained. Debu moved.

His blade spun, dipped, slammed, surged.

Every movement—still using basic techniques, just now pushed to the edge of mastery.

He began redirecting bullets, slicing them mid-air, absorbing shockwaves, using rebound force to accelerate his footwork.

He turned damage into momentum.

The hero narrowed his eyes.

The fight was no longer to test Debu—it was turning into something more.

A true war of souls.

Debu barely managed to keep his footing. His clothes were shredded, his stance shaky—but still intact. Then…

WHOOOSH.

A bazooka shell tore across the battlefield, trailing smoke like a comet. Debu just dodged it—barely. The projectile slammed straight into Krishna's protective barrier—

CRACK. BOOOOOOM.

The sky flashed white. Energy dispersed in waves. The barrier shattered into glowing fragments like falling glass.

 Krishna stumbled, eyes wide.

"Big brother—I need your mana. NOW."

Ishu didn't hesitate.

"All yours."

Krishna slammed his hands together, chanting under breath. Sparks lit around his fingertips.

"Ten High-Density Layer Barrier--- Pure Mana Seal."

CLINK. CLINK. CLINK.

Each sound marked the formation of a magical wall.

In an instant, ten barriers layered over the villagers, glowing like concentric rings of light. A fortress of mana. An absolute zone.

Debu turned toward the next incoming rocket.

This time… he didn't dodge.

He held his trainee blade tight and stepped into the blast.

THUD–BOOM.

The explosion threw dust and flame everywhere.

As the smoke cleared—Debu stood.

His sword was broken. Half of it gone. The other half scorched and bent.

The Hero watched, face contorted.

"…A trainee sword?" he spat. "You were blocking that with a dull practice blade?"

His eyes burned crimson.

"No. I won't allow this to be a joke."

He stepped back and raised his arms to the heavens.

"Time to etch this battle into history." 

"WHO WILL WIN THIS FIGHT GUNS OR SWORDS?" HAHHAHHAHHAAHHHHAHAHHHAAAH

From behind him, thousands of weapons rose from particle mist----

SMGs. Shotguns. Sniper rifles. Revolvers. Launchers. Every variant known, and some that weren't.

The bullets glowed with elemental enchantments: fire, ice, lightning, poison, soulburst...etc....

Then----

The guns fired. All of them. At once.

From the edge of the battlefield, Krishna and Ishu watched. The storm raged beyond the mountain lines.

They couldn't interfere.

Beside them stood the blacksmith, unmoving. His eye glowed faintly with mana detection.

"This boy," he muttered. "He's earned something better."

He raised a hand, chanting in a lost tongue but They understood because of their language skill.

From his forge---a blade ascended, shimmering in air.

The Fairy King's Sword. A silver-and-golden weapon. Ancient, bound to myth.

Krishna knew what blacksmith was trying to do....

Krishna reached out, grabbed it mid-air, then---

FLUNG IT.

Debu was cornered, dodging bullets in spirals—when he saw the sword flying toward him.

He launched upward, legs pumping off cracked ground.

Bullets howled past him in streams.

Mid-air, he used the broken trainee sword as a surfboard---riding it through the chaos, angled like a shield.

Mana particles gathered around his feet.

And just before impact---

He reached out---

Caught the Fairy King's Sword.

The moment he gripped the hilt, something changed.

Golden and silver aura exploded around him—but then it twisted, pulsing deep red… and then black.

His eyes sharpened. His aura surged like a tidal wave.

Debu landed hard, dragging sparks with his blade.

He exhaled.

"I didn't want to use magic," he said.

"I thought you could be defeated by swordsmanship alone."

He lifted his blade.

"But you kept asking for it."

The ground cracked beneath his feet.

"Playtime's over."

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