Chapter 18 : Shooting Training

A bright morning.
Like yesterday, training to become a full-fledged mercenary began.

“Today, you’ll learn how to use this.”

Karen placed a very familiar object on the table.

“A pistol?”

“The start and end of combat.
Stones or implants can’t match a gun’s versatility.
Marksmanship isn’t optional—it’s essential.”

She was right.
Power Stones only enhance physical abilities, lacking ranged capability, making them unsafe.

To cover that weakness, you need a gun.

Picking up the pistol from the table, I nodded solemnly.

“Got it.
So, we’re going outside?”

“Huh?
Why outside?
We’ll do it here.”

“…Shooting practice inside?”

Blinking at the odd flow of context, Karen chuckled, understanding.

“You haven’t seen everything yet, have you?”

I soon realized what she meant.

This wasn’t an ordinary bar.
I’d suspected as much with the guest rooms and infirmary, but a shooting range in the back?
Unimaginable.

The front was a bar, but the whole building was practically Red Dog’s hideout.

Admiring the impressive shooting range with moving targets, Karen approached, tapping my shoulder.

“By the way, today’s marksmanship training will be taught by a different daily instructor.”

“Huh?
Why?”

I’d assumed Karen would train me like yesterday, so I was startled.

“Honestly, I’m not that great with guns.
Just barely decent?”

“But you said guns are the start and end of combat.”

“Yup.
So I’m smack in the middle.
Skipped the start and end, sorta.”

Her shameless flip from her own teaching minutes ago left me dumbfounded.

“I prefer close-quarters fighting.
But for a rookie like you, that’s too dangerous to copy.
At least in beginner class, stick to shooting practice first.”

Somewhat grumbling, I agreed.
Honestly, safely shooting guns felt better than risky hand-to-hand combat.

“Plus, for marksmanship, no one beats that guy.
At least from what I’ve seen, he’s the best sharpshooter.”

“With that level of skill, it’s gotta be Lycan.”

Knowing his reputation, it was an obvious conclusion for me.

“Haha!
Sorry to disappoint… hic!”

Turning at the familiar voice behind me, I saw Franklin, swaying with a red nose.

Processing what I’d heard, I asked Karen with a sinking feeling.

“No way…”

“Meet your daily instructor for today.”

“Looking forward to it, hehe.”

Completely unreliable.
So drunk, he looked ready to collapse and snore on the floor any second.

“Good luck!
I’m off to Wave Department Store for a bit.
Later!”

“Wait, hold on!”

Watching Karen’s carefree exit, a reasonable suspicion hit me.
Did she dump me on this drunkard just to go shopping?

Please tell me it’s not true…

Regardless, shooting training with Franklin began.

“Right.
First, I’ll tell you the most important thing in shooting.”

Surprisingly, Franklin shifted to a serious demeanor for the lesson.
Just as I wondered what sets a top-tier mercenary sharpshooter apart—

“Drink booze.”

“…What?”

“Getting buzzed by chugging booze is the core of shooting.
Damn right… hic!”

Just a potbellied, balding drunk after all.
She did ditch me to go shopping!
I wanted to believe otherwise!

“What I’m saying is—eliminate tremors in your hand.”

“Tremors?”

“Yup.
For me, booze completely stops ‘em.
That’s the secret to my perfect aim.”

Nodding slowly with my mouth agape, I thought—okay, not totally pointless.

Come to think of it, Karen was similar.
I thought she was just a chain-smoker, but her cigarettes were herbal, countering Stoner side effects.

Though now she seems addicted and can’t quit.
Point is, everyone has hidden reasons.

So, does Spade’s gambling addiction or Mary’s lewdness have special reasons too?
Recalling Mary’s dangerous vibe yesterday, I shuddered.

Whatever else, Mary’s perversion is the real deal, no explanation needed.
If I hadn’t escaped, I might be…

No.
Focus on training.

“Of course, eliminating tremors varies by person.
Once, Karen asked for shooting help, so I told her the same.
She downed one shot and puked it all up.
Who’d guess a chain-smoking chick had such a weak stomach?
Haha!”

“…”

“Anyway, eliminate tremors before shooting.
Remember that, and you’ll nail the basics.”

“Got it.”

“Great.
Let’s start… hic!”

He pressed a button, and the shooting range lit up.

“We’ll start easy.
Keep going ‘til you hit 100 points.
Okay?”

Breathing deeply, I focused on eliminating tremors.
Breathing causes tremors—so I hold my breath when firing.

Closing one eye, I aligned the sights with my focus.

The moment the center target popped up.

Now.

Bang!!

Hitting the center, the target fell back.
Brief joy at the clean shot—

“Don’t relax.
They keep coming.”

As Franklin said, targets kept popping up during the time limit.
Appearing from the right end, then peeking from the opposite left.

Forcing my vision wide and swinging the gun toward targets, tremors disrupted my accuracy.

Zip!

The bullet grazed the target’s edge, missing futilely.
Each miss crumbled my calm, anxiety taking over.

“64 points.
Fail.”

“I’ll try again.”

“Obviously.
You don’t stop ‘til 100 points.”

Bang! Bang! Bang!!

Gunshots filled the shooting range.
Feeling my skill slowly improving, but only briefly—hitting a plateau, my progress stalled.

“87 points.”

“89 points.
Bit better.
Heh.”

“85 points.
Getting tired?
Hic!”

“91 points.
You know it was luck, right?”

Annoying, but I couldn’t argue.
After countless tries, I’d long judged my skill objectively.

Late 80s.
That’s my limit now.
I occasionally scraped the 90s, but as Franklin said, it was luck, not skill.

At this rate, 100 points might be impossible even after hours.

Standing still without moving a step, sweat poured like rain.
Mental focus drained stamina more than expected.
All I could see was collapsing from exhaustion before hitting 100.

The shooting range blurred time.
Was it lunch?
Evening?
Late night?
I couldn’t tell.

“Phew…”

During a brief break, sipping water, the door slid open.
A black-haired girl peeked in.

“Ruby?”

“Sis, when’re you done?”

She must’ve grown tired waiting and came here.
I wanted to say soon, but knowing I couldn’t, my lips stayed sealed.

“Wow!
What’s this place?”

Thankfully, Ruby seemed distracted, marveling at the unfamiliar setting.

“A shooting range.
Where you practice shooting guns.”

“Ruby wants to shoot a gun too!”

Blinking, thinking I misheard, I shouted in shock.

“No!!”

The shooting range fell silent.
My sudden yell startled both.

“I-I mean, guns are super dangerous, and you can’t handle ‘em carelessly, so I’m worried you’ll get hurt, not that…”

Frantically babbling excuses, it didn’t seem to help much.

Franklin, watching with amusement, spoke with a playful tone.

“Why not let her try?”

“Are you crazy?
What’re you trying to make a kid do?!”

“What’s the big deal?
In a place like this, knowing one self-defense skill can’t hurt… hic!”

Before I could argue, he pulled a crude pistol from his coat and fired at a target.

Zip! Splat!

A sound unlike the usual gunshots.
Seeing red paint splatter the target’s center, I realized what it was.

“This works, right, sister freak?”

“…”

“And who knows?
Your sister might have unmatched shooting talent.
Let’s see.”

Ruby glanced at me, then took the paint gun from Franklin.
Pressing the button, the same shooting exercise I’d done began.

Zip! Zip! Splat! Splat!

I stared blankly as my sister fired a gun for the first time.
When all targets fell and stayed down, I could only gape in shock.

“98 points.
Told ya.
Heh.”