บท 62: Council of Owls [1]

At the stroke of midnight, Vanitas unboxed a sleek, jet-black case.

Inside, nestled in dark velvet lining, was a silver revolver.

"Tempest .707"

A hybrid between modern firearm design from his original world, and alchemical engineering.

The weight was perfect. Heavy enough to feel powerful, but not so much that it hindered movement.

Vanitas spun the cylinder with a soft whirr, watching it rotate smoothly. 

Six chambers. Six loaded with regular ballets. Magic bullets were actually expensive. So, for practice, Vanitas opted to use regular bullets for the meantime.

Raising the Tempest .707, his eyes narrowed, fixed on the line of earth–molded targets.

Vanitas took a steady breath as the memories rose in his mind.

His military service.

Two years of his life.