CH974 · Rewrite
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Chapter 974: Combat Beyond Visible Range (Part II)

“How far is the first target?”

“Twelve kilometers.”

“Other directions?”

“Clear.”

Sylvie’s answers came without lag—the mind resonance had collapsed the distance between thought and response until the exchange felt like consulting herself. In the beginning, Andrea had found the sensation deeply unsettling. Now she moved through it like a second language she’d stopped translating, and enjoyed it in a way she couldn’t explain to anyone who hadn’t experienced it. Her perceptions were sharpened. The world breathed. Everything felt more present than it did in ordinary consciousness.

She found herself wondering, briefly, what it would feel like to be in resonance with Princess Tilly.

She pushed the thought aside.

“Flight Squad, this is Ark Squad. I have visual.” Lightning’s voice crackled through the Sigil. “Can you confirm my position?”

Andrea scanned the sky. “Confirmed. Move behind the cloud cover.”

“Copy.”

“Coo.”

The arrangement was simple and ugly in its efficiency: when Andrea couldn’t acquire a target or lacked the power for another shot, Lightning and Maggie would drop from the clouds and handle it themselves. At full sprint, Lightning ran three times a Devilbeast’s top speed. Maggie could transform into anything she needed on the descent. From directly above, there was no defense that worked.

But they got one pass. One surprise. After that, they had to withdraw.

Andrea had no intention of using them.

She was a marksman without peer—she’d outshot Ashes across every tested range, which was the only comparison that mattered. She was here to demonstrate what a professional looked like, and she planned to do so thoroughly.

“Six kilometers,” Sylvie said.

“First target is locked.”

In theory, her range extended beyond five kilometers. In practice, beyond that threshold the magic cost climbed faster than she could sustain it—push hard enough and she’d be unconscious before the shot counted. Five kilometers was where the math balanced out: maximum range consistent with remaining functional afterward.

She settled into the familiar stillness, and felt her power move.

It didn’t flow toward the target—it wrapped her, dense and close, and then from within it, a line of silver light extended outward. The targeting line. She’d watched it hundreds of times now and still found it strange. It arced outward like a suspension bridge over empty sky, then dissolved into a sinuous, wavering thread that moved constantly—bending, straightening, drifting—yet its far end remained fixed to the Devilbeast with the certainty of a nail driven home.

Nothing like a bullet’s trajectory. Nothing like a line of sight. Something else entirely.

She’d asked Roland about it once.

He’d been waiting for the question. She could see it in how quickly he’d shifted forward.

“Your ability isn’t what you think it is,” he’d said. “You assume you’re an exceptional marksman—that you calculate angle and wind and drop better than anyone. But that’s not it. Consider: a skilled sniper adjusts for everything he can measure, and still misses. Once the bullet leaves the barrel, wind shear, air density, a thermal shift—any of it can carry the round off target. At five kilometers, even the rotation of the earth matters. No human being can account for all of it consciously.”

“Then what am I doing?”

And Roland had smiled—the expression of someone who’d been holding something in his pocket and enjoying the waiting. “You flip a coin. A thousand factors determine where it lands, and somehow you always know which face comes up. That’s your ability. Not calculation. Not compensation. Certainty. You can determine the outcome before it happens.”

“Then why do I lose at cards?”

He’d laughed. “Cards are different. But do you want to grow stronger? There’s a framework that would give your ability real shape.”

“What framework?”

“Probability Theory.” He’d handed her the book with a smile. “From the perspective of conditional probability—many things affect where the bullet goes. You can learn to control or eliminate those conditions systematically. Understood properly, your potential is without ceiling.”

She still remembered the warmth in her chest as she’d taken the book. The smooth road she’d thought she could see stretching ahead of her, all the way to Transcendent.

That feeling had lasted until that night, when she’d opened the cover and read the first three pages.

What is this? No one can understand this.

She’d closed it and had not opened it since.

The silver line dissolved.

Andrea pulled the trigger.

The report hammered her chest—far louder than a bolt rifle, the concussion punching through her sternum and spreading through her ribs. The recoil drove her shoulder back hard; the cushioned stock and tripod absorbed most of it, but not all. She reset. Before the dust of the shot had settled, she was ready for a second.

Magic poured into her from the circle behind her. The witches had trained the timing precisely: the moment a shot went out, the transfer began.

“Did you hit it?” The question came from multiple voices.

The round still had four-plus kilometers to travel. Nobody could track it—not even Sylvie.

“The bullet won’t miss.” Andrea said it without heat, without performance. Simply the truth, as clear to her as the floor under her feet. She already knew which face the coin would show.

She could map its path from here: traveling fast enough at first that gravity barely touched it, then the curve beginning, the arc starting to bow earthward—and then, several kilometers out, a gust crossing its path at an oblique angle. Not fighting the round. Lifting it. A flat stone skipped on water, she thought—yes, like that—the bullet riding the thermal upward, climbing, arcing over the two Devilbeasts at the front of the formation and curving back down into the one at the rear.

She’d chosen the rear one first deliberately.

Andrea pulled the trigger a second time, and this time didn’t immediately prepare a third shot. She let herself watch.

A cloud of blood erupted from the hindmost Devilbeast’s back. Its organs broke free of its body in pieces, and the demon riding it was cut in two at the waist—upper half thrown high, red mist spraying from the tanks it carried. The spray caught the light as it dispersed.

From this distance, it looked like a red flower opening in the sky.

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