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With a final, singular crack, the battle was decided. Not by the strongest wizard, but by the nerd who brought a gun to a wand fight. As the smoke cleared, Snow bumped her shoulder against his, a playful smirk on her face. Lute sighed, looking at his girls and then at his rifle. The world of magic was changing, one bullet at a time.

"In this world, you call it magic," Lute said, adjusting his sights for the final shot. "In mine, we just call it ballistics." With a final, singular crack, the battle was decided

The silence of the valley was shattered by a rhythmic, mechanical thunder. It wasn't the chaotic explosion of a fireball, but the precise, high-velocity crack of lead meeting air. From their hidden positions, Chris and Meiya unleashed a crossfire that turned the Orc charge into a standstill. Lute sighed, looking at his girls and then at his rifle

The Orcs roared, a cacophony of iron and ego. Their shaman began a chant, the air shimmering with the heat of an impending firestorm. To any other village, this would be the end. "Open fire," Lute said. "In mine, we just call it ballistics

"Hold," Lute commanded, his voice steady. He wasn't just a soldier; he was a leader of a specialized unit—his "Army Harem"—though he often found the name more embarrassing than the girls did. To them, he was the man who had given them the power to protect their homes without needing a drop of noble blood or rare magical talent.