Level IV body armor could defend against 5.56×45mm small-caliber rifle armor-piercing rounds, but it inevitably proved inadequate against .75-caliber ammunition at close range. Calling it inadequate was practically praise—the 20mm projectile was virtually an anti-armor shell, meant for high-value protected targets such as armored personnel carriers, aircraft, and fortifications. Conventional personal body armor was as fragile as paper before explosive rounds.
Faced with these temporal echoes that had entered the Material Universe from the subconscious, he could not even be bothered to use much supernatural power. He merely infused his Mental Power into the explosive rounds, clearing away every Trinity mercenary that appeared before him with sustained, precise, rapid fire. Sometimes, he did not even need to shoot. Merely approaching those indistinct specters caused them to evaporate like snowflakes beneath the blazing sun, leaving no trace behind—not even the half-real bullets and Anti-Tank Missiles. Those soldiers could not even realize that they were not real. They still shouted battle cries and called for comrades and superiors who did not exist, because they were merely fragments sketched out from incomplete memories.
To such lowly things that did not even qualify as Ghosts, the aura radiating from his soul was like molten gold. It was too bright, too scorching, easily burning away memories as ephemeral as dew. If anyone were to gaze directly upon his soul, they would be reduced to dried corpses like those of the Arcanist Family, their flesh desiccated by heat powerful enough to affect reality.
His shooting was exceptionally accurate.
Each time he pulled the trigger, the scorching blast from the muzzle stirred the dust on the ground, and he seemed to walk atop ripples shifting across a gray lake. He carried only one twenty-round magazine, yet every time he withdrew the drum magazine, an esoteric spell created