It does seem that way, I admitted to Damas and threw the switchblade.
The clunky weapon wasn’t weighted for throwing, but enthusiasm and good aim did wonders. It thudded into the gunman’s shoulder, and he dropped his pistol.
A meaty orc fist flashed in from the side as one of the wolves crept in from the other side. I whipped my head back as the blow breezed past my nose and caught my assailant’s wrist. Gliding into him, I thrust with my hip and threw the orc over my shoulder. He smashed into the wolf.
As I readied myself for another opponent, a thunderous boom sounded just a few feet away—a weapon firing with the oomph of a howitzer. Everyone in the bar halted to stare at the gunman. The gunwoman.
Min had unwrapped her “ogre hunter” and fired it at the ceiling. The pump-action shotgun
