The World Is Mine For The Taking-Chapter 627 - 98 - Back Home (5)

"Hey, this fuck's really starting to piss me off!" one of my comrades growled. His eyes burned with rage. "I'll kill him!"

"Fine," I said darkly. "Make it as painful as possible."

The guy let out a nasty chuckle. "Heh… I'll skin him alive. Nice and slow…"

He ran his tongue across the edge of his blade, grinning wide like a madman before launching forward—his boots thudding hard against the ground as he dashed with murderous intent.

The man didn't even blink. He just exhaled softly.

"Haa… I can't believe this," he said with a tired, disappointed tone. "Exactly what I'd expect from a beast."

BANG.

The deafening crack of the gunshot echoed through the air like a thunderclap.

In the very next second, the charging man—my comrade—jerked back mid-step. His blade clattered uselessly to the ground as his body collapsed backwards like a puppet with its strings cut.

"You all seriously lack even the most basic common sense," the stranger said, his voice calm, unaffected.

We stood frozen, eyes wide. My comrade's body lay in a growing pool of dark crimson, a single, perfect hole in the center of his forehead. Blood streamed out slowly, soaking into the dirt beneath him.

"Rushing in with a blade when your enemy's armed with a gun… How dumb can you possibly be?" the man remarked, his tone now condescending, almost disappointed.

Another BANG. And then another.

Each gunshot tore through the air like a thunderclap, sharp and merciless.

One by one, my companions dropped, falling like broken dolls—some with holes in their chests, others struck in the neck, the shoulder, the gut. Screams rang out, short-lived and abrupt.

"E… Eeeeeek…!"

Terror flooded my veins like ice water. My breathing hitched, and panic gripped my chest.

I looked at him—really looked—and saw a faint trail of smoke swirling from the barrel of a pistol in his hand. A compact, sleek thing. And slung lazily on his shoulder was a much larger firearm—still untouched.

When…? When did he even pull that gun!?

There was no sudden movement, no reach, no rustle—just death.

"Now you're scared… Huh…" he said, eyes narrowing. "Just as expected of you low-lives."

He raised the gun slightly, pointing it squarely at me. "Now then… I suppose it's only natural to erase every last one of you. It would be foolish of me to let someone like you live—especially if it means you'd go blabbering about what happened here. Goodbye."

Fear seized my legs before I even registered the thought. I turned around and bolted, my boots pounding against the earth.

BANG.

I twisted my body, barely dodging the bullet that could've pierced my heart.

BANG.

Another—this time hitting me in the side. Pain burst through my ribs like wildfire, but I kept running.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

Each shot landed—one in my thigh, another grazing my back, one buried deep into my shoulder. None of them fatal. But all of them hurt.

No…

He wasn't aiming to kill.

He was aiming to make me suffer.

Every bullet felt like a message—like he was savoring my pain, dragging out my death. My vision blurred as the blood loss worsened. My limbs trembled. My pace slowed.

I stumbled.

And then—I fell.

My face hit the dirt. My body refused to move.

"It's bad to run when you're bleeding out, you know?" he said from behind, strolling casually. "Makes the blood flow faster."

My mind was slipping. Everything was growing cold. My ears rang. My fingers twitched.

And just then, through the veil of darkness settling over my eyes, I heard the sound of boots—multiple sets—approaching swiftly.

"General, we told you not to go off doing reckless things on your own. We don't know what this world has in store for us."

"I took care of them myself, didn't I?" the man replied flatly. "It's fine."

"It's not fine," came the stern voice. "We still have no way of knowing if there's another monster like the one that broke into our world hiding somewhere in this place."

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The atmosphere grew heavy.

"That guy must've been a one-of-a-kind anomaly," the man replied dismissively, his tone tinged with arrogance. "If the only resistance here is made up of trash like those guys, then we've got nothing to worry about."

A tense silence followed, before another voice broke it, laced with disapproval.

"Don't you think you're taking this otherworld experience far too lightly?"

The man turned to face the speaker, his expression composed, eyes cold.

"I'm not taking it lightly," he said firmly. "In fact, I'm taking this more seriously than anything else. Especially when my own daughter decided to side herself with that beast. How could I not be serious?"

The other's eyes narrowed.

"You say that, but you gave the order to execute the otherworlder during that battle—even if it meant putting your own daughter's life on the line."

"Of course," the man responded without hesitation. "I love my country. And it would be a damn shame—no, a disgrace—if I chose my daughter over it. I do love her, deeply. But I can't put the life of a single person, even her, above the survival of millions. That's exactly why I did what I had to do."

Silence once again gripped the space between them.

Or… was it silence?

No.

It could have been that my hearing was beginning to fade, swallowed by the darkness creeping over me. Every breath I took felt shallow, thin. Each heartbeat echoed slower, weaker. My limbs were numb, the coldness of death wrapping itself around me like a shroud.

Then, I heard his voice again—the stranger from before. Calm. Icy. Final.

"Well then," he said, almost too quietly, "I suppose we should begin… to conquer this world."

And that was it.

My body finally failed.

My heart stopped.

I died.

***

Leon's POV

I had finally returned to Leonamon.

After four long, grueling months of endless struggle—I was home.

The very moment my boots touched the floor, I was struck by a familiar scent—the unique fragrance of this place that no other place could replicate. The warm wind brushed past me, carrying with it the faint aroma of the bustling streets, the chatter of townsfolk, and the ever-present hum of life. It was overwhelming. Comforting. Real.

The buildings, the stone roads, the distant sounds of clattering footsteps—it felt like stepping into a vivid memory. I had only been gone for four months, yet every second had felt like a year, as if I'd been drifting through another lifetime.

"Master…!"

A voice—soft, trembling with emotion—pierced through the wind. I looked up.

There she was—Gabrielle.

My breath caught in my throat as I took her in.

Her eyes were glossy, and her lips quivered with the smile she fought to hold back. But what truly struck me was her figure. Her body had changed. Specifically, her stomach—it bore a gentle, visible curve.

But it wasn't fat.

No… I knew instantly what it was.

"You're…" I managed, my voice barely escaping my lips.

"Yes..." she said, her voice tender, her hands caressing the soft swell beneath her navel. "It's been four months now. I'm carrying your child."

Time seemed to stop.

My heart raced, emotions clashing violently in my chest—shock, disbelief, awe, joy. I didn't know how to process it. The whirlwind of thoughts left me speechless. But despite the confusion… I could feel it clearly.

I was happy.

Truly, deeply happy.

I stepped forward and wrapped her in my arms, pulling her against me. I felt her warmth, the soft curve of her stomach pressing gently into mine. That small but undeniable bump was proof of everything we'd planned. She had wanted this. She wanted me to get her pregnant. And I had given her exactly that.

"...I'm really glad that I'm back now..." I whispered.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I felt at peace.