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In the Murim with Guns

🇯🇲TheLetterN
7
chs / week
The average realized release rate over the past 30 days is 7 chs / week.
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Synopsis
War was all he knew. The “God of the Battlefield,” Jackson“Jax” Vane had earned his title by turning the tide of every skirmish he fought. With unparalleled marksmanship , he wielded his twin pistols, Whisper and Bang, like extensions of his arms. His every bullet found its mark, his presence was overwhelming striking fear into foes. But on the blood-soaked field of his final battle a mysterious explosion shattered the world around him, leaving him hovering on the edge of death. When he opened his eyes again, it wasn’t the afterlife that greeted him. It was another world. In this strange and fantastical land where the clashes of blades, Martial arts and a mysterious power called Qi reigns supreme , Jax finds himself an anomaly. Armed only with his two guns , he is outnumbered, outmatched, and completely out of place OR so it seemed….
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Chapter 1 - Chapter 1: God Of The Battlefield

BangBang

The bullets whistled through the valleys, carving through the chaos like deadly whispers. The air reeked of blood, oil, and ash, a suffocating miasma of war. Smoke rose in thick plumes, blotting out a sun that seemed too timid to shine on this hellscape.

Jackson "Jax" Vane crouched behind a crumbling wall, his twin pistols, Whisper and Bang, resting easily in his gloved hands. The God of the Battlefield. That's what they called him. To Jax, it was just another lie, another empty title for a man too stubborn to die.

Jax, we're pinned down! Flank's collapsing!" a soldier screamed, his voice barely rising above the cacophony of gunfire and explosions. His tone carried the raw edge of panic, the kind that spread through troops like wildfire.

Jax snapped his head toward the voice, spotting Corporal Hughes crouched behind a half-shattered barricade, his rifle trembling in his hands. Smoke and dirt swirled around him as enemy fire tore into their cover, chipping concrete and shattering debris in every direction. Beyond Hughes, the right flank was in disarray—soldiers scrambling for better cover or lying motionless where they'd fallen.

"Hold your ground!" Jax bellowed, his voice sharp and commanding, cutting through the chaos like a blade. He didn't have time to process the desperation etched across the corporal's face. Instead, his mind calculated the battlefield with brutal efficiency: the advancing enemy, the collapsing formation, the narrow window to salvage the fight.

Through the smoke, he caught sight of the problem—a squad of enemy infantry pushing hard on their flank, covering their advance with suppressive fire from an entrenched position. Fifty yards ahead, an armored assault vehicle lumbered through the rubble, its mounted turret spewing bullets like sleet of hail falling . It tore through anything in its path, grinding debris and bodies alike beneath its relentless advance.

Jax's jaw tightened. His pistols, Whisper and Bang, rested heavy in his hands, their weight as familiar as his own heartbeat.

"Corporal!" he barked, his voice hard and unyielding. "Get your squad on the move! If you stay here, you're dead. I'll handle the turret."

"But—"

Do it!" Jax's tone was a whipcrack of authority, leaving no room for debate. Without waiting for a response, he vaulted over the crumbling wall, plunging headfirst into the chaos.

Bullets screamed through the air, searing past him with murderous intent. Dust and debris erupted at his heels as rounds struck the ground, hungry and relentless. Jax moved like a shadow, low and fast, every motion honed to perfection.

His pistols roared in unison. Bang. Bang. Two precise shots, two bodies crumpling to the ground. He didn't stop. Jax sprinted through the open killing field, his feet finding sure purchase even as the earth seemed to explode around him.

Another burst of gunfire ripped past his head, close enough that he felt the heat of it against his skin. He didn't flinch. His focus was razor-sharp, his every movement calculated to stay one step ahead of death.

A soldier lunged into Jax's path, his rifle snapping up in a frantic bid to fire first. The man's eyes widened in desperation, his finger tightening on the trigger.

Bang.

Jax's pistol fired before the enemy's rifle could bark, the muzzle flash briefly illuminating the battlefield in a staccato burst of light. The bullet tore through the soldier's forehead with a sickening crack, the force snapping his head back as if yanked by an invisible string.

A fine mist of blood sprayed into the air, catching the dim light like a macabre halo. The impact left a gaping hole, the edges of the wound jagged and raw. Bone fragments splintered outward, tiny shards glittering like shattered glass.

For a moment, the soldier stood frozen, his body's momentum faltering as if it hadn't yet registered death. Then he crumpled to the ground in a heap, his weapon clattering uselessly beside him. Dark, viscous blood oozed from the wound, pooling beneath his head in a sticky mess.

Pieces of brain matter glistened, pale and gelatinous, smeared across the dirt like some grotesque art. The stench of copper filled the air, mingling with the acrid bite of gunpowder. Jax didn't spare the body a second glance.

This was nothing new to him afterall.

His boots crushed the blood-soaked dirt as he moved past, the barrel of his pistol still faintly smoking, already searching for his next target that ducked behind cover to reload, but Jax didn't give him the chance—Whisper sang, silent and deadly.

By the time Jax reached the assault vehicle. He holstered Whisper and bang, grabbed a grenade from his belt, and leapt onto the vehicle. The turret swung toward him, but he was faster. He yanked the pin, dropped the grenade into the hatch, and threw himself off the side.

The explosion shook the battlefield, a shockwave of dust and debris swallowing everything in its wake. When the dust settled, Jax stood alone, twin pistols steady in his grasp. His expression was ice-cold, his voice low and razor-sharp as it sliced through the chaos. "Get up. We're not finished."

His men, battered and bloodied, exchanged weary glances. But the unflinching resolve in Jax's tone was enough. They gritted their teeth, hauled themselves to their feet, and followed him back into the fray.

Whoosh… Crack!

"A sniper!" a soldier shouted, pointing to a glint in a shattered window, three hundred yards out.

Jax raised Whisper without hesitation, adjusting for wind and distance. He exhaled slowly, his focus razor-sharp.

Crack.

The sniper's rifle clattered to the ground, followed by the lifeless body slumping from the window.

"Push forward!" Jax shouted, his voice hoarse but commanding. "Go!"

His team surged forward, emboldened by his audacity, their morale ignited like a flame. Jax didn't stop. He couldn't. War wasn't a game where hesitation was an option. You either committed fully, or you died.

The enemy's formation was cracking, their retreat chaotic. Jax's bullets tore through their ranks with unerring precision, and his commands rang out like the voice of inevitability. "Flank left! Cover fire, now!" Even as he fired, his eyes scanned the battlefield, processing its ever-changing tides with mechanical efficiency.

This was his domain. He didn't just survive the battlefield; he owned it. Every step, every shot, every move was calculated to turn the tide. He wasn't just fighting; he was orchestrating chaos.

The tide was turning, victory loomed along the horizon . The enemy lines were breaking, retreating in disarray under the relentless assault. But something gnawed at Jax's senses. A cold prickle ran down his spine, a whisper of unease he couldn't ignore.

"Sir, what is that?" one of his men called, pointing toward the enemy's retreating line.

Jax squinted. Among the fleeing soldiers, a small squad carried a glowing device—a strange, spherical object that pulsed with an unnatural blue light. They weren't running for safety. They were running for position.

"Target that device!" Jax ordered, raising Bang.

Before he could fire, the sphere erupted.

Light poured out, blinding and unnatural. A high-pitched whine filled the air, growing louder until it became unbearable. Jax stumbled, his vision swimming. The ground beneath him trembled as though the earth itself was screaming.

"What the Fuck is—" His words cut off as the light enveloped him.

Time seemed to slow. Jax felt weightless, suspended in the glow. His body burned, and yet he felt cold. The battlefield around him disintegrated, pieces of it floating into the void. He saw faces—soldiers, friends, enemies—flash before him, and then even they were gone.

Darkness swallowed him.

The first thing Jax noticed was the silence.

No gunfire. No screams. No explosions. Just an oppressive, unnatural quiet, as if the world itself were holding its breath. Slowly, he opened his eyes, wincing against the brightness of the sky above him. But it wasn't the sky he knew.

The stars were wrong. They moved—not with the steady arc of familiar constellations, but with a slow, rhythmic pulse, shifting faintly like living things. Wisps of color wove between them, veins of light that rippled and flickered in unnatural patterns. The air carried a strange, electric tang, crisp and heavy, buzzing faintly against his skin as though alive with unseen power.

Jax groaned and pushed himself up, his muscles protesting every movement. His head throbbed, a dull ache that refused to subside, but he was alive. His hands instinctively checked his sides. Whisper and Bang were still there, their weight solid and familiar. Anchors in an unfamiliar sea of impossibility.

He forced himself to his feet, his legs shaky but holding. And then he saw it.

Jagged mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks glowing faintly with an ethereal light, as if they had been carved from molten metal and left to cool. Trees with twisting, serpentine trunks stood tall, their leaves shimmering like emeralds, swaying gently despite the stillness of the air.

A river of silver light snaked through a valley below, its surface rippling with glowing patterns that shifted and danced like living creatures. Strange cries echoed faintly from somewhere far off—a sound halfway between a bird's call and the low hum of a gong.

The ground beneath his feet was unlike anything he'd seen: blackened stone shot through with veins of gold and blue, faintly warm to the touch. Glowing insects buzzed lazily above, leaving trails of light that hung in the air long after they had passed.

This wasn't home.

Jax scanned the horizon, his jaw tightening as he took it all in. Every inch of this world screamed of something ancient, primal, and alien. He reached for Whisper, gripping the handle with steady fingers. Its familiar weight steadied him, grounding him against the rising tide of confusion.

War was all he knew. But this wasn't a battlefield.

He wandered cautiously, the jagged landscape giving way to a small, unassuming village nestled in a shallow valley. The sight was disarming—wooden huts with thatched roofs, a handful of carts scattered along dirt paths, and an air of fragile simplicity.

Jax hesitated, instinctively reaching for his pistols, but stopped himself. He didn't know where he was or what kind of people lived here. With a quick glance around, he slipped Whisper and Bang into his coat, hiding them from sight.

As he approached the edge of the village, the sound of shuffling footsteps broke the silence.

"Get back!"

End of Chapter 1