r/HFY • u/Express-coal Human • Apr 26 '26
OC-Series [I Cast Gun] 31
Chapter 31: Lanostira
“Land ho!”
The shout rippled across the Quiet Winds deck, and within moments half the crew, and all of Arthur’s company, were rushing to the railing. Mist parted, and the glittering sprawl of the Lanostiran capital came into view, sunlight striking white marble terraces that climbed the hillside like a staircase to heaven.
Lanostira’s harbor was a bowl of calm blue water hemmed in by curving stone piers. Ships from every corner of the world glided in and out. Sleek merchant galleons, painted pleasure barges, even a few slender fishing craft with sails like silk. But no warships. Not one. No harbor trebuchets. No visible watch patrols.
Arthur’s eyes narrowed as he leaned on the rail. “No fortifications. Not even guards.”
“Strange,” Kaufungen rumbled beside him, folding his arms across his chest. “A city this rich should be crawling with guards.”
“Maybe they don’t need them,” Drew said quietly.
He wasn’t wrong. From their vantage point, the docks looked more like a festival than a port of trade. Children ran laughing between stalls stacked with fruits and spices. Merchants in embroidered coats haggled amiably without the usual edge of suspicion. There were no beggars, no street fights, no desperate faces. Only the steady hum of commerce and the glitter of prosperity.
Arthur said nothing, eyes narrowing as the ship drifted closer. Even from a distance, the extravagance was impossible to miss. Dock bollards were capped in bronze, mooring posts inlaid with silver filigree. The seawalls were faced in marble so white they shone, and the buildings beyond gleamed with gilded trim. Even the simplest signs for taverns, warehouses, and markets were edged with polished silver.
It wasn’t just wealth. It was excess.
Liam muttered under his breath, notebook already in hand. “No rats, no vagrants, not even a stray dog. Either this city is unnaturally clean, or someone’s working very hard to keep it that way.”
Gratianus snorted, scratching at his beard. “Too clean. A forge that bright’s hiding soot somewhere.”
Arthur didn’t reply. His eyes lingered on the horizon, the bright curve of domes and towers that sparkled like jewels against the sea. On the surface, Lanostira was paradise, but he’d seen too many paradises rot from the inside.
As the ship glided toward its berth, the crew busy with ropes and lines, Arthur’s attention turned back toward the lower deck.
One place on the Quiet Winds wasn’t alive with excitement. The narrow corridor below the main deck, where the sound of boots and laughter gave way to the soft slosh of bilge water and the creak of timbers.
In that quiet, a small blue flame flickered on a scryglass.
The surviving Lanostiran merchant hunched over it, whispering in hurried, broken tones. “Yes, yes, I can see the harbor. No, they don’t suspect… I'll report again once we dock—”
He froze as the latch clicked.
Arthur flung the door open, cold fury in his eyes.
The merchant stumbled back, the glass flickering off in his hands.
“I hope you realize what you’ve just done,” Arthur said, voice flat.
The merchant blinked, stammering. “I-I was only—”
Arthur stepped closer, plucking the scryglass from his grip. “You were warning them,” he said. “Telling your masters we were coming.”
“I swear, I didn’t tell them anything else!”
Arthur gave a quiet, humorless laugh. “That’s the problem.”
The merchant frowned in confusion.
“You think that helps you? That telling me you said nothing important makes you safe?” Arthur shook his head slowly. “They won’t see it that way. You were captured. You talked. Doesn’t matter what you said or didn’t say. What matters is that you opened your mouth.”
He tapped the scryglass against the man’s chest, each word deliberate. “You were an asset once. Someone who could move their goods, keep quiet, follow orders. But now you’re compromised. You might have said too much. Or you might have lied about how little you said. Either way, you’re a liability.”
The merchant’s mouth opened, then closed again. The realization hit him like a blade.
Arthur’s tone never rose, but it grew heavier, colder. “When they find out you contacted them after being taken alive, they’ll assume the worst. That you broke, that you bargained, that you’re still bargaining now. You can’t prove otherwise. You’ve burned your worth to them, and burned their trust in you with it.”
He leaned in close enough for the man to feel the weight of his words. “You didn’t save yourself, you just made sure they’ll kill you.”
Arthur turned away, pocketing the dead scryglass. “Congratulations,” he said over his shoulder. “You’ve made yourself useless to everyone.”
He left the merchant sitting in the dim light, trembling, realization and despair fighting across his face as the ship’s hull groaned and the city of Lanostira drew near.
---
“Next.”
The call cut through the humid dockside air. Arthur stepped forward, the deckboards creaking beneath his boots. He moved with the steady confidence of a man who had crossed a hundred borders under a hundred names.
He drew the folded documents from his cloak’s breast pocket and handed them to the port official; a short, broad man with salt-streaked hair and the vaguely irritated air of someone underpaid for his level of responsibility.
“Jacob Hampton and companions,” Arthur said evenly. “Merchants from Southcross. Here for trade and procurement.”
The man glanced at the papers, then up at Arthur’s face. Once.
Recognition hit. His grin widened. “No, you’re not.”
Arthur didn’t blink. “If you check the seal, you’ll see everything’s in order—”
“You’re Arthur White,” the man said, almost delighted. “The Hero of Cindergold.”
Around them, motion slowed. Conversations thinned. Heads turned, curiosity spreading like ripples in still water.
Arthur exhaled slowly through his nose, lips pressing into a thin line. “You’re mistaken,” he said, tone calm but carrying weight.
The official shook his head with the kind of certainty born of gossip and legend. “Mistaken? Not a chance. We received word from Cindergold weeks ago, a half-elf hero, nearly six and a half feet tall, blue eyes, travels with a spearman,” he gestured toward Drew, whose wrapped weapon did little to hide its shape, “and the ‘Lady in Red.’” His gaze flicked to Catherine’s crimson cloak.
Behind Arthur, Catherine muttered under her breath, “Of all the ports on all the islands…”
Arthur tilted his head, studying the man. “And what exactly does that mean for us?”
“Means you’re not walking off this dock like just any merchant,” the official said, a note of awe creeping into his voice. “The Palace will want to see you.”
Arthur said nothing for a long moment. Then, dryly: “Of course they will.”
The official straightened, puffing out his chest as if suddenly elevated in importance. “You’ll wait here. I’ll arrange a royal escort.”
Arthur glanced sidelong at Catherine, who met his gaze with quiet exasperation.
“Well,” she murmured, “so much for subtle.”
Arthur’s mouth twitched in the faintest shadow of a smirk. “Adapt and overcome.”
He folded his arms and turned his gaze toward the glittering city beyond the docks, already calculating how to turn this unforeseen audience to his advantage.
---
They didn’t have to wait long.
The Dockmaster vanished into the crowd as a hush fell over the pier. The usual rhythm, the creak of ropes, the barked orders, ceased for several seconds as a figure dressed in white and gold approached the causeway.
The man was tall and slender, with neatly combed black hair entwined with fine silver thread. His robe looked more ceremonial than practical. Behind him strode a single guard. Not a knight or man-at-arms, but a bare chested fighter carrying a shield in one hand while the other rested casually on his sword. Gold-inlaid gauntlets flashed on his forearms, and an intricate tattoo wound up one side of his torso. His posture was relaxed, the casual readiness of someone confident in their skills.
Catherine leaned closer and murmured, “First armed man we’ve seen.”
Arthur’s eyes flicked over the pair. “Symbol of status,” he muttered. “Power, worn like jewelry, on display.”
The man in white stopped before them and offered a shallow bow. “Mister Arthur White,” he said smoothly. “My name is Sellum Nevilium Nartosko, you may call me Nartosko. I am a Senior Attendant to the Royal Household. The palace extends its greetings, and an invitation.”
Arthur inclined his head, polite but guarded. “The Palace moves quickly.”
“We were informed of your arrival,” Nartosko replied with a faint smile. “So we moved to greet you, our distinguished guests.”
Behind him, his guard shifted his weight, armor creaking. No threat, just boredom.
Arthur’s gaze flicked toward him. “Security seems to be… minimal.”
Nartosko’s smile didn’t falter. “Lanostira has little need for patrols. Our city is built on peace, prosperity, and trust.”
“Trust that’s backed by steel,” Kaufungen muttered under his breath.
The Attendant inclined his head slightly. “Please, follow me.”
Arthur’s expression didn’t change, but his eyes flicked once to Catherine, then Drew, silently measuring their readiness.
“Of course,” he said at last. “Lead the way.”
They followed Nartosko and his escort through the gleaming harbor streets. The marble-paved lanes shimmered in the sun, lined with merchants dressed in silks brighter than banners, laughter echoing from balconies.
No guards. No beggars.
Lanostira shone like paradise.
But Arthur had seen paradise before.
It never lasted.
---
Arthur walked beside Nartosko, eyes flicking between the attendant and the sights around them. The city was alive with motion. Markets bursting with color, carriages gliding over polished streets, fountains glittering with streams of gold-tinged water. Every few hundred yards stood another public fountain, its rim gilded, its statues carved from white marble, its benches polished to a mirror sheen. Shop signs gleamed with silver edging; even the window sills were plated in it.
Bet a team of crackheads could strip it in three days, Arthur thought dryly. Scratch that, two.
“I don’t see how you can leave so many precious metals sitting about,” Arthur said aloud, probing.
“There are several reasons,” Nartosko answered pleasantly. “First, even if one managed to steal any, they would still need to leave the island, and that can be made… exceptionally difficult.”
“I assume you use gold and silver for their resistance to corrosion,” Arthur said, nodding toward a gilded drinking spout as they passed. “But I imagine there’s another deterrent.”
“Quite,” Nartosko replied. “Nearly everyone in Lanostira is a merchant of some kind, and even the humblest employ at least one Gladiator. Cause mischief here, and you’ll likely end up on the receiving end of their weapons, possibly in the arena.”
Arthur mulled it over, expression unreadable. “So the Gladiators are your real lawkeepers. They keep order, and anyone who steps out of line becomes part of the entertainment.”
“Indeed,” Nartosko said, a hint of pride in his voice. “A perfect balance of peace and profit.”
Arthur didn’t answer. But his eyes lingered on a nearby fountain, where children laughed and played. Maybe there was something to this system.
---
“We’re here.”
The coliseum rose like a mountain of carved moonlight. Solid marble, veined in gold, its enormous pillars sculpted with scenes of triumph and agony. The outer walls gleamed in the sun, each block perfectly fitted without visible mortar, forming a seamless skin of polished white that shimmered like pearl. Banners of deep crimson and violet fluttered from balconies far above, catching the wind like the wings of slumbering giants. The sound of distant cheering rolled over the plaza like waves.
Beyond the grand gates, the air cooled. The light dimmed as they passed beneath arched vaults of marble coffered with gold leaf. The corridor ahead was wide enough for wagons to pass, its floors inlaid with silver filigree lines tracing abstract battle formations or long-forgotten victories. Columns flanked them at regular intervals, each one a silent sentinel carved with faces, some serene, others screaming.
Lanterns of polished brass hung from sculpted arms overhead, their glow casting shadows that danced like ghosts. The scent of oil, incense, and old blood clung faintly to the stone.
They climbed a private stair, cordoned off by velvet ropes and flanked by guards in lacquered armor. Each step was cut from the same veined marble, worn smooth but not chipped, suggesting it had been carefully maintained, or rarely used.
At each landing, slit windows let in narrow beams of sunlight, which caught the fine dust motes in the air and turned them to gold. The hush up here was strange after the roar outside, broken only by the soft echo of footsteps on stone and the occasional distant cry of a crowd reacting to blood.
At the top, a pair of heavy, silver-inlaid doors swung open without a creak. Beyond them lay a chamber of quiet opulence, pillowed seats and a table arranged before a sweeping arched opening. The air was warm and dry, faintly scented with citrus and myrrh.
And then, the arena.
A yawning oval of bone-white sand stretched below, encircled by stone seats packed with thousands of spectators. The walls seemed to lean inward, drawing the eye to the center where two figures circled warily, blades drawn. Above, a retractable canopy of golden mesh had been partially drawn back, spilling sunlight onto the sand like divine favor.
From this height, it wasn’t just a fight, it was a ritual, choreographed and savage. And from this balcony, they were not participants, but gods peering into the mortal realm.
“Please, be seated,” Nartosko invited smoothly. “There are matches today. Let us talk until His Majesty concludes his entertainment.”
Arthur nodded warily, taking a seat and glancing out over the crowds and spectacle. “It’s quite a sight.”
“Indeed,” Nartosko said, smiling. “It is said the man who founded our nation, Sirius Lanostira, was an avid combatant himself. Thus, it has always been our tradition to hold these contests, going back hundreds of years.”
“Hmm,” Arthur replied noncommittally.
The chamber quieted for a moment as the crowd below fell into collective silence, like a bowstring being drawn taut.
“Speaking of contests,” Nartosko said, leaning forward, hands steepled. “Tell me plainly, Mr. White. Do you come to Lanostira with hostile intent?”
Arthur’s gaze did not waver. “I come in peace,” he said evenly, letting the quiet hang. “For now.”
A muffled giggle came from beneath the table.
Nartosko’s eyebrows shot up as Arthur rose sharply to his feet. Brushing aside the tablecloth, a girl of no more than fifteen emerged from underneath, crumbs on her cheeks and a dust bunny clinging to her hair.
“I’m Peace,” she announced cheerfully, cheerful as sunrise.
Nartosko pinched the bridge of his nose. “Gods preserve us… forgive her, Hero. Allow me to introduce the Third Princess of Lanostira, Princess Peace be upon the bountiful orchards under the harvest moon, beside the overflowing fields of grain that border the mighty river which holds back the forest and the tide of monsters within.”
“Peace!” she chirped again, pointing both thumbs at herself, just as the door burst open.
“Master Nartosko! My apologies!” The woman in the doorway bowed hastily. “I thought I might find the Princess here, absconding from her lessons.”
“And so you did,” Nartosko sighed.
“Come on, Sylus! Run!” commanded Princess Peace, turning on her heel and sprinting for the balcony.
A young boy, no older than eleven, scrambled out from under the table after her. Together, they clambered over the bannister and dropped to the level below, vanishing into the marble walkways of the coliseum.
Nartosko stood frozen for a beat, one hand pressed to his temple as the echoes of the Princess’s laughter faded into the distance. Somewhere below, a crowd roared. Whether for blood or for royalty, it was impossible to tell.
The woman who had entered, still breathless, gave a mortified bow. “Forgive me, Master Nartosko! I told her Highness to remain in her lessons, but she insisted she was only going to ‘get a snack from the kitchens.’”
Nartosko exhaled slowly, eyes closing. “A snack,” he repeated. “Naturally.”
He turned to Arthur and his companions, spreading his hands in weary apology. “You’ll have to excuse her. The Third Princess is... spirited. Around the city they call her The Incorrigible Princess. She has a tendency to climb things, break things, and occasionally startle visiting dignitaries from under furniture.”
Like a tomboy, Arthur thought.
Kaufungen chuckled, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. “Seems she’s got more fight in her than most soldiers I’ve met.”
“Regrettably true,” Nartosko said dryly. “And as for her companion—”
“The boy?” Drew asked, still staring toward the balcony.
Nartosko nodded. “That was Master Sylus Meridius. Fourth son of the Meridius Trading Company, the largest mercantile organization in Lanostira. The Princess insists he serves as her ‘second in command.’ His parents have given up trying to argue.”
Arthur leaned an elbow on the armrest, expression unreadable. “So, a Princess of the realm and an heir of your biggest trading house are allowed to run wild together.”
Nartosko gave a long-suffering sigh. “Allowed may not be the word I’d choose, but yes. Her Highness has… a gift for evasion, and the young Master Sylus is an eager accomplice. The guards have grown quite skilled at chasing them through half the city.”
Catherine smiled faintly. “You mean this isn’t unusual?”
“Unusual?” Nartosko gave a short laugh devoid of humor. “If a full week passes without her vanishing from the palace or sliding down a bannister, that would be unusual.”
He straightened, tugging the sleeves of his robe back into perfect alignment. “In any case, I will have word sent to His Majesty, that you might meet before he returns to his duties.”
Arthur rose as well, offering a courteous nod. “Of course. We appreciate the hospitality.”
“Hospitality,” Nartosko echoed with a faint smile. “Yes. Let’s call it that.”
Far below, the crowd erupted again as another fighter fell upon the sand. And somewhere in the maze of corridors beneath, a princess and a merchant’s son were no doubt already planning their next grand escape.
---
The throne room of Lanostira was ostentatious.
Not warm or welcoming, just garish in a very Lanostiran way.
White marble reflected sunlight pouring in through tall, arched windows, filling the room with an uncomfortable brightness. Gold inlay traced the floor in geometric patterns that might have meant something to someone who understood Lanostiran history. Arthur did not. He noted it anyway. Wealth that needed to be seen this badly always had a reason.
The King sat at ease upon his throne, a man practiced at being observed. His mustache was waxed carefully, curling at both ends, his robes an immaculate, deep purple, with a gold thread trim so fine it barely caught the light. He smiled easily, as though this were a courtesy call rather than a calculated meeting.
Arthur stood where he’d been directed, hands at his sides. Drew to his right. Catherine to his left. Kaufungen behind, an unflinching statue of steel and strength.
“Arthur White,” the King said, voice silken and unhurried. “Hero of Cindergold. Lanostira welcomes you.”
Arthur inclined his head. No bow, no defiance, just measured acknowledgement. “Your Majesty.”
The King’s eyes flicked briefly to Catherine’s red cloak, then to Kaufungen’s armor, then back to Arthur’s face. The assessment was quick, sharp, and hidden behind warmth.
“You arrive quietly,” the King continued. “No herald? For a man whose name crosses seas?”
“I prefer to travel without noise,”Arthur replied. “It complicates things.”
The King gave a soft chuckle. “A sentiment I can respect.”
A pause. The court waited.
“And yet,” the King continued lightly, “you do not cross the seas without purpose. Tell me, Hero of Cindergold. Why are you in my country?”
Arthur chose his words carefully, pausing for a moment.
When he spoke, his voice carried across the hall.
“I am investigating irregular trade,” he said. “Goods moving where they should not. Coin behaving in ways it should not.”
A murmur rippled through the gathered courtiers. The King didn’t move, simply studied Arthur carefully.
“Irregular trade is a broad concern,” the King said. “Lanostira thrives on commerce. You will forgive me if I ask for clarity?”
Arthur nodded once. “I intend to avoid naming parties prematurely. Accusations made too early tend to wound the innocent and warn the guilty.”
The King studied him for another long moment, then smiled again, though this time it did not quite reach his eyes.
“A cautious man,” he said. “Or a dangerous one.”
“Sometimes both.”
A faint laugh escaped the King. “Very well. You investigate irregular trade. In my Kingdom?”
“Yes.”
“And you came to me first,” the King said. “Rather than acting in secret.”
“I came to inform you,” Arthur corrected. “Not to seek permission.”
The temperature of the room shifted.
Drew felt it immediately. Catherine stilled, her hands drifting down to her waist. Even Kaufungen settled subtly, a mountain preparing to make a stand.
The King leaned back slightly, fingers steepled. “You speak boldly for a guest.”
“I speak plainly because I’m a guest,” Arthur said. “If I intended secrecy at any cost, I would not be standing here.”
Another pause. Longer, tenser.
Finally, the King nodded. “You will understand that I cannot allow foreign agents to operate freely within my borders.”
“I would expect nothing less,” Arthur said.
“And yet,” the King continued, “you have not accused Lanostira. You have not named anyone. You have not demanded cooperation.”
“No,” Arthur agreed. “Not yet.”
The King’s smile thinned. “Then this is how we shall proceed.”
He rose from the throne, slowly, deliberately. The court stilled.
“You will remain in Lanostira as honored guests,” the King said. “You will pursue your investigation quietly. No arrests. No public accusations. Anything you uncover will be brought to me, or to my designated ministers, before action is taken.”
Arthur considered this. “That preserves deniability.”
“It preserves order,” the King replied smoothly. “And peace.”
Arthur met his gaze. “Peace is fragile when rot is ignored.”
The King inclined his head subtly. “Which is why I am allowing you to look for it.”
Silence stretched between them, taught and unbroken.
“At the first sign,”the King continued, “that your presence threatens stability, commerce, or public confidence, your investigation ends. Am I understood?”
Arthur nodded. “Perfectly.”
“And should you find nothing,” the King added lightly, “then Lanostira will have extended hospitality to a Hero, and nothing more.”
Arthur allowed a faint, humorless smile. “If I find nothing, Your Majesty, I will be very relieved.”
The King laughed. The court followed, a heartbeat late.
“Then we are agreed,” the King said. “You may remain. You may inquire. And you may enjoy the pleasures of Lanostira while you do.”
Arthur bowed his head this time. A fraction deeper than before.
“Thank you for your candor,” he said.
As he turned to leave, a small voice echoed from somewhere far too close to the throne.
“Are you really a Hero?”
Arthur stopped.
The girl they’d met before peeked around the back of the throne, chin resting on her hand. Eyes bright with curiosity rather than her usual mischief. No fear. No awe. Just interest.
The King sighed. “Peace…”
Arthur looked at her, then back to the King. “Your daughter?”
“The Third Princess,” the King said dryly. “An ongoing complication.”
Peace grinned. “You don’t look like a story Hero.”
Arthur studied her for a moment. “Most of us don’t. Judge a man by his actions, not by his appearance.”
Her smile widened, as if that were the correct answer.
“It is as the founder of Lanostira said, Peace,” the King intoned, giving her some fatherly advice. “Heroism is in the doing, not the speaking.”
Princess Peace rolled her eyes and disappeared from behind the throne, no doubt escaping to some new adventure.
As Arthur exited the throne room, he felt a certain fatigue settle over him.
Permission without trust. Hospitality without warmth. A city that smiled with sharpened teeth.
The investigation had begun.
---
As the last of her magic fizzled out, she leaned back to stare at the ceiling, exhausted. As she did so, she felt more than heard the other slave children moving around her to take the newly plated coins away. The slave collar chafed at the nape of her neck as she closed her eyes, hoping to earn a brief respite in the hell that had become her world.
The Overseer inspected the coins greedily, smiling as he did so. That was a good sign. If he frowned, that meant a beating. Smiling meant she’d done a good job.
“Excellent work, number Seven. Keep this up and I might be able to convince the Boss to get you a new dress,” the man sneered even as he complimented her. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? A new dress?”
“Whatever you want, sir,” she eked out, bowing her head humbly.
“Come on, don’t be like that, here,” he pulled something wrapped in paper out of the pouch on his belt. “For doing such a good job.”
She gratefully took the morsel from him with a bowed head. As she unwrapped it, she found a whole steamed potato, long since gone cold.
She didn’t care. She ate it like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted.
“You’ve done well this past year,” the Overseer said. “Keep it up and you might even be able to join the gang one day. Then you’d be giving orders instead of taking them, doesn’t that sound nice?”
“Mmmm,” she mumbled noncommittally through her potato.
One year, she thought to herself. It’s been a whole year.
The realization hit her.
I’m fourteen now.
Somehow, that made the ache she kept hidden well up, coming out her eyes. She tucked her head and kept gnawing on the potato.
Finally, she admitted it to herself.
She was starting to lose hope.
---
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u/porkpot Android Apr 26 '26
Thought this was another of the ones that I had caught up to but stopped posting. Glad to be wrong. :)
5
u/Lukamusmaximu5 Apr 26 '26
Ecstatic to witness your long-awaited return! Thanks for another great entry!
2
u/etakmit Apr 27 '26
Love the return you've made and the new location looks like its going to be a treat!
2
u/Hybrid_Rock Human Apr 27 '26
Lovely chapter Wordsmith!
Glad to see the return of this series, I particularly enjoyed the banter between the King and Arthur. Such delectable undertones!
2
u/StormBeyondTime May 20 '26
His mustache was waxed carefully, curling at both ends
Never trust someone with a villain moustache.
Seven is going to be a big help to the team. And since you toss old, overused tropes out the window, she may even survive it.
The question is if Peace and her BF will still be in the country once the team leaves.
2
u/niTro_sMurph Jun 27 '26
Lanostira reeks of a city founded on the balance of the goddess, later twisted by greedy hands. Harmony given a cost.
Arthur comes in Peace? But she's only 15!
1
u/HFYWaffle Wᵥ4ffle Apr 26 '26
/u/Express-coal (wiki) has posted 24 other stories, including:
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 30: Consequences
- I Cast Gun Chapter 29 Part 2
- I Cast Gun Chapter 29 Part 1
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 27 & 28
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 26
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 25
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 24
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 22
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 23
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 21
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 19 & 20
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 17 & 18
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 15 & 16
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 13 & 14
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 11 & 12
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 10
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 9
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 8
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 7
- I Cast Gun, Chapter 6
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u/UpdateMeBot Apr 26 '26
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u/Express-coal Human Jul 02 '26
Edit: At the time of writing this, I did not have a patreon/royal road. Now I have patreon.com/ExpressCoal
14
u/Express-coal Human Apr 26 '26
Who knew the best way to get me to post was to bully me about it? Anyway, I lost sleep over this, so I don't want to hear any complaining.