The shooting was very accurate, and he was consciously locking down the space for dodging left and right.
Jeming stretched out his right hand and drew an arc in front of him.
The three bullets veered off their original trajectory as if pulled by a magnet, "sucked" toward his palm, landing neatly in the center of his hand.
He lowered his head and glanced at the three bullets, then looked toward the gunman's direction.
"Good accuracy." He said softly. His voice wasn't loud, but in the stillness of the night it carried very far.
The person behind the stone window had clearly heard him. The shadow froze, and the hand holding the gun trembled slightly.
Jeming didn't speed up. He kept walking forward at that same unhurried pace.
Since the other side's weapons posed no threat to him, he wanted to further test this world's technological level and see where the limits of these firearms lay.
At the same time, Jeming was sizing the four of them up.
