Death Guns In Another World Chapter 2049: Night of Games and Silent Dominance

The tavern was alive with heat and laughter. The clinking of mugs, the soft notes of string instrunts in the corner, and the lingering sll of roasted at and freshly baked bread filled the air. Alex leaned back against the chair, eyes scanning the crowd with calm detachnt. His black hair shimred faintly under the lantern light, his sharp gaze watching everything even while he sipped his wine.

It hadn’t taken long for word of his feat in the dungeon to spread. By now, everyone in Avila’s adventurer circles knew of Alex—the newcor who had cut down a monster that even seasoned parties had little hope of facing. That power alone made him the center of gravity at the celebration. Conversations hushed when he passed, eyes followed his movents, and whenever he smiled faintly, people straightened unconsciously, as if they were basking in the approval of soone greater.

And of course, the won noticed.

One by one, female adventurers approached his table. So were brazen, pulling their chairs close, trying to press their chests against his arm while laughing at jokes he never told. Others were subtler, their eyes shimring with what they hoped looked like innocent admiration as they poured him drinks, leaning just a little too close. They were strong won in their own right—sword dancers, spear-wielders, healers, and archers—but in front of Alex, they softened, sensing the weight of power and the allure of mystery around him.

But Alex, unfazed, rejected them all with a gentle firmness.

When one warrior woman boldly asked if he had soone waiting for him, he rely smirked.

"I’m already accompanied," he said, his mind flashing to Nyx—though she wasn’t physically present, he knew she was sowhere nearby, watching as always.

Disappointnt flickered across their faces, but none dared press further. They had seen him fight; they knew he was beyond ordinary. So withdrew gracefully, others lingered for a mont too long before retreating, whispering among themselves.

Alex, however, didn’t linger on it. His focus shifted to a group of n who had been watching him just as closely, but with different intentions. They weren’t seeking to seduce—they were testing him in another way.

The vice guild leader, a burly man with gray streaks in his beard, approached with a grin. "Black Rank Adventurer, eh? Let’s see if you’ve got the sa luck outside of battle. We’re playing cards—co join us."

Alex raised a brow but nodded, standing smoothly. The n—hard-eyed warriors, mages with sharp gazes, and rogues with sly smiles—welcod him with cautious respect. They were strong in their own right, leaders of their own teams, and they weren’t afraid to test this rising star.

The first ga was cards.

They played a strategic ga of deception and probability, where the winner wasn’t always the one with the best hand, but the one who could read his opponents’ hearts. The n thought they had the advantage; they’d been playing for years, each knowing the other’s quirks.

But Alex sat down, calm and collected, his movents smooth as he picked up his cards. He studied their eyes, the twitch of their fingers, the rhythm of their breaths. He didn’t need to gamble blindly—his perception was too sharp. Every small tell gave him enough to reconstruct their intentions.

Round after round, Alex played flawlessly. He folded when he needed to, baited when the opportunity ca, and struck at the perfect mont. The others cursed, laughed, and shouted, but one by one, their chips dwindled until Alex’s pile towered above the rest.

"You damned monster," one rogue grinned bitterly, throwing his last card down. "You don’t just fight like a beast—you think like one too."

The others laughed, though with respect rather than resentnt.

But the gas didn’t stop there. Soone pointed toward the back corner of the tavern, where a dartboard hung. "Alright, genius," a spearman smirked. "Let’s see your aim without that magic gun of yours."

Alex accepted without hesitation. They lined up, the rules simple: three darts each, closest to the bullseye wins.

The spearman went first, his throws steady, each dart landing close to center. Applause followed. Next ca a mage, then a rogue, both doing well enough to earn cheers.

Then Alex stepped forward. He didn’t even grip the dart like the others did. His fingers held it loosely, his eyes narrowing just slightly. Without a wasted motion, he threw.

Thwip.

The first dart embedded itself dead center. Bullseye.

A hush fell, then applause.

The second throw—another bullseye, perfectly piercing the first dart, splitting it clean in half. Gasps followed, so adventurers nearly spilling their drinks in shock.

The third? A repeat.

The crowd erupted, laughter and disbelief mixing with awe. The vice guild leader roared with laughter, slapping Alex on the back. "Gods above, boy, you’re unreal!"

And Alex? He only shrugged, his faint smirk betraying amusent.

But the night wasn’t done testing him yet. Soone suggested bowling next, and soon the group was dragging Alex toward a small wooden lane set up in the tavern’s ga hall. Heavy balls lined the rack, and rows of pins waited.

The warriors each took their turns, so managing strikes, others fumbling with clumsy throws that sent pins wobbling. The laughter was contagious, the noise of the tavern spilling into the hall as others gathered to watch.

When Alex finally stepped forward, the atmosphere grew tense with anticipation.

He lifted the heavy ball effortlessly, his arm moving as though the weight was nothing. He studied the pins, his gaze calculating the angles. Then, in a single smooth motion, he released.

The ball thundered down the lane, striking the pins with explosive force. All ten scattered instantly. Strike.

The crowd cheered.

He repeated the feat again, and again. Strike after strike, his movents as fluid as when he wielded a sword or fired his gun. Every throw was perfect, the sound of pins scattering becoming a rhythm that echoed in the watchers’ hearts.

By the end, there was no doubt left—Alex wasn’t just strong in battle. He dominated in everything.

The n clapped him on the shoulder, respect shining in their eyes. They laughed, cursed their losses, but none were bitter. Instead, they were exhilarated. To them, Alex wasn’t just a rival—he was soone to aspire toward, a figure who raised the bar for what it ant to be an adventurer.

As the gas ended, mugs were raised again. They returned to the main hall, the atmosphere even livelier than before. Songs rose from the musicians, adventurers danced clumsily, and plates of food kept arriving from the kitchen.

Alex leaned back once more, sipping his whisky quietly, his gaze thoughtful even amid the chaos. He had rejected advances, proven himself in gas, and cented himself in the hearts of the guild. These n—the strongest among the adventurers—now looked at him not just as a peer, but as a leader. And that was exactly what he wanted.

When the ti ca to move forward with his plans, when the guild was ready to be taken, these connections would matter.

For now, though, Alex allowed himself a rare indulgence—relaxation. He listened to the laughter, the music, the sound of mugs clinking. He let the firelight warm his face as he thought of Nyx, silent as always but ever-present in his mind.

The celebration raged until the moon had crossed high above Avila’s walls. So adventurers passed out on tables, others stumbled out arm in arm, and still others whispered of Alex’s feats with excitent. His na was already spreading, carried on the lips of those who had witnessed the night.

And Alex? He remained calm, the faintest smile tugging at his lips.