Yesterday morning, Merrywick had been a witness to something extraordinary. On his way to the morgue to visit the corpses of his parents, he had encountered an inexplicable accident that could have spelled his death, had an anonymous mage not stepped in at the very last moment.
Some cylinders filled with volatile chemicals had fallen onto the ground due to the suddenly ruptured plastic bucket they were being carried on. After the threat had been neutralized, Merrywick had paid attention to the panicked arguments of the workers transporting those cylinders, and his suspicion at that time had been confirmed.
The bucket had been used earlier that day for the same purpose multiple times. It was sturdy enough to withstand the weight of those cylinders, and there was no reason for it to suddenly break. And more importantly, the valves of the cylinders had been tightened with a machine. For those three specific valves to be so loose as to release the contents inside the cylinders with a mere three-foot fall was absurd.
Coupling these two anomalies with the fact that Merrywick had just left his cabin at that time, the only conclusion he could reach was that a mage with unusual magical prowess had caused the incident in order to harm Merrywick.
The problem with this conclusion was that nobody should have been privy to the fact that he was going to leave his cabin at that moment aside from the mages from Sunbreaker's Church and the law enforcement agency. These mages would not indiscriminately try to harm him knowing their superior's interest in Merrywick and the deity behind him.
So, if it was not an attack meant for harm, it could only be... another test. Merrywick found this possibility quite likely to be true. He had been tested repeatedly since his revival. Who said all of them had to be open and direct?
Forcing him to use his trump cards, if any, in an unexpected situation, for further assessment, was a very safe and convenient strategy. What made him even surer of himself was the fact that some anonymous mage with fine reflexes just had to be present in that corridor, capable of saving everyone in case Merrywick failed to display any unusual ability.
Unfortunately for them, Merrywick had shown no response in that test. Unfortunately for Merrywick, this meant that the same test would come back to haunt him in various forms until they could learn a substantial amount of data about him and his deity.
So it hadn't surprised him when he had learned that people would tail him as a "safety measure". He had been certain that in the following days, every precarious situation he landed himself in would be a data mine for these observers. Although these observers wouldn't reveal themselves unless Merrywick's life was under direct threat, he knew that giving them an opportunity to test him would make them move.
And that was why, he had loudly, repeatedly, cast his spell, fully expressing the intention to utilize his magic, and rely on the domain of his patron deity to accomplish his purpose. The only move his tails needed to do was to disable the voidcoil when they realized this. And disable it they did...
"What the fuck?!" Sommer yelled in panic as Merrywick tore the cuffs binding his hands and feet in two or three tugs each.
His lack of experience had caused the spell to end up underpowered again. He had seen videos of humans under this spell tearing apart inch-thick shackles. In comparison, he had probably been able to activate 30% of the spell's potential.
But as he stood several inches taller than his original self and took a look at his limbs that had nearly doubled in girth...
"This should be enough."
Sommer turned around and ran for the door, yelling on the top of his voice.
"The voidcoil failed! Do something, Longman!"
Instead of running after him, Merrywick pulled the screwdriver out of his left palm, clenching the fist to test the pain. A second later, the screwdriver shot out from his hand at the speed of an arrow, whistling through the air.
Sommer's mistake was that he hadn't taken a detour behind the rows of large crates before heading for the door. Merrywick had a clear view of his back. And he watched with anticipation as the tool punched a small hole into Sommer's lower back, probably piercing his right kidney.
While Sommer screamed in pain and stumbled with his back arched, Merrywick leaped behind a large crate himself. If there was a mage among the five thugs, he didn't want to face them head-on.
Sure enough, Sommer's shouts had alerted the other four. Tiffy, who had been working just a dozen meters away behind a stack of boxes, immediately ran off, making the smart choice of keeping her body close to the ground.
Jonsie, the guy with the lookout duty was the closest person to the door. The moment he saw Sommer stumble and Merrywick moving, he kicked the door open and ran out at an impressive speed.
Sitting behind the crate, Merrywick looked up, assessing the possibility of someone ambushing him from the second floor. But it seemed that there was only one way up, a large steel staircase protruding from the wall on the other end of the hall. Even if someone was on second floor, they'd not be able to sneak up on him.
Bang!
The sound of a gunshot overwhelmed the sounds of rushing footsteps.
Bang!
Merrywick felt the faint, momentary vibration on the body of the crate he was leaning against. The shooter had a clear view of where he was hiding. The only thing stopping him from being able to put the bullets inside Merrywick was this three-foot-wide wooden box.
Merrywick recalled the brief training he had received in order to prepare for a possible future as a mage. The list of basic spells he had memorized throughout those training sessions was embedded into his memories, still fresh.
Aside from Forti-Mus-Haima, he hadn't had the chance to test out the rest. It was never a good idea to rely on untested weapons.
Bang!
A searing pain surged through his left shoulder. Gasping from the surprise, Merrywick examined the wound and its source. The third bullet had not only punched into the other side of the crate, it had perforated through the contents of the crate, and then created a hole on the other side to reach his shoulder!
Merrywick's knowledge of guns was little. But he knew enough to understand that no ordinary revolver could pack a punch so powerful. Even the first two shots hadn't made an impact on this side of the crate despite hitting it. There was no reason for the third shot to make it out of the crate unless...
The shooter was a mage, and the third shot was assisted by a spell.
Merrywick flattened himself to the floor and tried to sense the position of the bullet in his shoulder. It hadn't reached too deep into his body.
Bang!
This one was louder, its source closer to the crate. The shooter was approaching him, it seemed. The fourth bullet had followed the trail of the third, leaving a sizzling hole through the crate. But it had hit the wall behind Merrywick, flattening into a centimeter-wide metal clump.
To fool the shooter, he let out a pain-filled scream, howling curses at their ancestors. In the meantime, he picked the bullet up from the floor. Indeed, he could sense a trace of dense mana on its body. There was a very minute red imprint on the back of the bullet...and that was all he needed to see.
Red was the most common color of mana manifestation by mages of Rank-1 and below.
With a powerful heave, he punched the back of the crate he was hiding behind, focusing the exertion of strength near the holes made by the two bullets.
Two consecutive punches later, one of the wooden planks cracked and caved in, letting him see the contents inside. He found himself facing at least a dozen plastic bags, carrying piles of used, unwashed clothes.
Bang!
A fifth shot broke through the blockade of wood, plastic, and garments to narrowly miss Merrywick's waist. Not wanting to wait for the following bullets, Merrywick grabbed the crate by the holes he had just made and tried to lift it up, gently at the first attempt.
His nostrils flared as the bottom of the crate rose a centimeter. In his normal state, he would have trouble making the crate move in any direction. But now, he was certain that he could lift it above his head with proper grip and stance.
But lifting it that high wasn't necessary. Merrywick leaned back a few inches on his right foot and then hurled the crate forward with the entirety of his newfound strength!
Without stopping the momentum of his body, he sprang forward behind the flying crate. It traveled more than seven meters before touching the ground again. By then, he was just behind it, ready to ram into the crate with the momentum of a charging beast.
Bang!
Boom!
Two explosive sounds rang out at the same time. There was a fourth hole in the body of the crate, a second wound on Merrywick's left arm, and an ensuing scream of the shooter as the six-foot-tall wooden container flew towards him with a greater, renewed momentum.
Taking the opportunity, Merrywick leaped behind another stack of smaller boxes and took a peek from the top of the stack.
The shooter had narrowly escaped being flattened between two large crates. Unable to detect where Merrywick was positioned, he was refilling his revolver in a panic.
Merrywick grabbed the smaller boxes in front of him easily and hurled them at the man standing a mere dozen meters away. It felt no different from throwing a heavy pebble.
The very first box hit the man the moment he looked up from the gun, realizing that he was being targeted. Unfortunately for him, having a wooden block weighing two kilograms smashing into his face was not something he could withstand. He didn't even have the time to cast a spell to defend himself.
With a resounding smack, the man skidded backward and crashed into a row of large plastic racks. His face was painted red by his own blood within seconds. The hit had broken his nose and possibly multiple teeth. The gun dropped from his hand to the floor, and that was Merrywick's cue for a frontal assault.
Stepping outside his shield of boxes, the standing leap he made covered more than five meters. Barely a second after the gun had dropped to the floor, it was grasped inside his palm, loaded for action.
Pointing the gun at the door of the hall, Merrywick put a foot over the fallen man's head, keeping him glued to the ground. With a loud, thick voice, he issued a declaration for the two gang members who hadn't yet managed to make it out of the building.
"I'll shoot anyone who tries to escape. But since this is the first time I'm holding a gun, I'll most probably miss. So for every shot I miss, I'll put a bullet inside this friend of ours right here!"