CXC. Unemployed Wandering People

The gunshot overpowered the howling wind, the double-barreled gun spewing deadly tongues of fire.

Nerve reactions, murderous intent sensed, trajectory predicted.

Grim could deflect bullets.

But these were deer bullets, each containing twenty to thirty small lead pellets.

Even at the highest speeds, one couldn't block everything in an instant—could someone really swing nearly a hundred shots in less than half a second?

The shotgun shells had already exploded violently.

The tip of the gun flashed coldly, picking up the severed leg of a previously fallen Magic Puppet from the ground, while Grim himself turned sideways, completely shielded by this rough iron.

Clang, clang, clang...

Sparks flew, but they couldn't penetrate the rough iron, only leaving dozens of slight indentations.