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Chen Chuan fixed his gaze on the Flying Head, drew the Halberd Pistol, aimed at the forehead, and pulled the trigger.
Bang!
Sparks flew from the muzzle.
Startled, the Flying Head squealed and flew up. Its long hair immediately blocked Chen Chuan’s vision.
Chen Chuan was sure he had hit it, but the bullet seemed to pass right through the head, as if what he saw was an illusion. He tightened his grip on the saber hilt and swung it one-handed where he thought the creature would be.
The Flying Head screeched. When Chen Chuan shot it, the bullet seemed to have done nothing, but when he cut into it with the saber, he felt a slight resistance. The attack seemed to have landed on something floating in the air, but it was lacking in physical presence and did not feel like a good hit.
Almost at the same time, Chen Chuan noticed that...
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