In a poorly lit room, only illuminated by a bright singular table lamp directed towards the contraption on the table, a young man with black hair sits on the very edge of his chair against the table top. The smell of dust was covering the corners of the room. Only the sound of scribbling is reverberating in the confines of the wall.

It’s been a whole day, locked up in the four corners of his room, working diligently on his project.

His eyebrows arch, forming wrinkles in between. His temples starts dripping with warm sweat. The lips on his mouth is forming a frustrated frown.

What next?… what next?……

After an idea starts from his brain, the hand that carries a pencil starts moving— jotting illustrations and words to one of the sheets of paper that is sprawled through the top of his desk. Right next to his writing is the bulky frame of a weapon.

The two ruby red eyes shot a glance on the unwieldy contraption, reflecting the cold metallic barrel that is attached on a brown piece of mahogany wood that serves as a handle.

This is the Gun…

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

To let alone think of creating a weapon that could kill anything even though it is blade-less or point-less is something that is only present in a madman’s thoughts.

But he is not mad, only mad in craft.

A weapon that could strike strong and far, much faster than a bow and arrow.

A weapon that has strong enough force to pierce through the toughest of armors.

A weapon that would revolutionize how the battlefield plays, how the blood drops in war.

A weapon that a low-level adventurer like him could use to defeat any type of enemy.

A weapon that would be called The Gun.

His very own invention, but not for the purpose of money, not for war, and not for glory.

But to serve as a weapon for venturing the furthest depths of the Dungeon, for vanquishing the monstrosities that lives on the very depths of the torturous place. The place where almost everyday claims a life that seeks the spoils it gives.

Frustration disseminates through him. The incompletion of his work drives him to the brink. Even though he brain storms different possibilities that he could use as a propeller for the gun, he couldn’t come up with a single successful item that would function properly.

 Although the frame of the Gun is complete and the projectiles he calls bullets are made, he has yet to find a substance that could be loaded into the gun and be used to launch the bullet.

All he need is a propeller to launch the bullet of the gun.

It was still a prototype and a failing one at that.

Sunlight breaches through the cracks of his curtains, shining a straight vertical line through his right eye.

The sunlight signals the dawn of a new day, his second day in the largest, most influential city in the whole world.

This isn’t fit for the Dungeon yet, but I need to go there. Now.

Pushing the chair behind him, he stands up, grabs his coat and start heading towards the exit of his room.