} }

He didn’t need to track. He didn’t need to compensate for bullet drop. He just aimed, clicked, and the great stag crumpled.

The game world shimmered. The dappled sunlight of the Hirschfelden reserve seemed to sharpen. And then he heard it—a grunt. Deep. Resonant. It wasn’t the sound of a normal deer. It was the sound of a god clearing its throat.

Leo frowned. He hadn’t seen that before. He clicked it.

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