"A-Are you sure you want me to shoot you?" Lohran asked.
While he was fond of combat, shooting another person, especially when the individual told him to, wasn't to his fancy.
He felt as though he was helping someone commit suicide.
To make matters worse, the man was his own father.
"Yes, stop hesitating and just shoot me."
"If you say so, then…"
*Bang!*
Lohran pulled the trigger, causing a steel pellet to shoot towards Garwin's gut with lethal momentum.
The next moment, the teenage runt's eyes widened as the bullet failed to penetrate his father's body, falling towards the metallic ground surface and rolling a few centimeters near his right foot.
The steel pellet didn't have a sharp tip.
However, its momentum could still easily pierce and kill a mundane human, especially since the Whispersting turned out to be—like its weight—two to three times more powerful than a pistol back on Earth.
He doubted that even his original, muscular body would have been able to prevent the steel pellet from penetrating his skin or even his flesh.
While it wouldn't have killed him, he would undoubtedly have been injured.
Lohran found it hard to believe that his father, who was built like a small track-and-field athlete, turned out to be tougher than his Greek-god-like body back in his former world.
'Weren't we supposed to be lacking in toughness and endurance?!' he thought in utter bewilderment, his emotions laid bare for his father to enjoy.
He had never been good at hiding then, even in his past life, especially to those he trusted deeply.
In this world, despite their frequent bickering, Garwin was one of the people Lohran trusted the most, along with his mother, older brother, and little sister.
At least he had been given a loving family, though he didn't quite appreciate that he had been nerfed to the damn ground by the petty gods.
If this was the modest boon they were talking about, he shall be satisfied with it.
A loving and supportive family was indeed a great advantage, as it allowed one to pursue their goals without unnecessary difficulties or distractions.
"H-How the hell did steel with that much momentum fail to penetrate mere skin and flesh?" Lohran asked, astonished.
"Hmph, my body is reinforced by Zoraph Cells. Mundane weapons could never harm me. At most, even if you shot my eyeballs, they'd just feel itchy," Garwin explained, subtly boasting.
But then, his slightly proud expression quickly shifted into a frown.
The lord continued:
"But the same goes for the Zoraphs and Zorphlings. We gunslingers need special bullets and guns made from certain materials if we're to support our squadron and deal real damage to the cursed monstrosities. The rest of what you need to know will be taught to you at the academy. For now, focus on practicing basic aiming."
Lohran nodded in agreement.
He, too, disliked learning everything in a single lecture, as he often forgot most of what he had learned.
Though his current body was far smarter than his old one, he still preferred to learn things one at a time.
"Now then, stand over there and try to shoot one of the stationary targets."
The teenage runt happily complied, assuming a basic shooting stance he had learned in the military.
After aiming for a second or two with the Whispersting, he pulled the trigger, cleanly puncturing the head of his chosen stationary target.
This time, it was Garwin who was surprised.
Had his son secretly realized all along that he would become a gunslinger and started training ahead of time?
Why else would Lohran already be at a decent novice level?
On second thought, that couldn't be the case—he had only given his son access to the shooting range today.
Furthermore, Louen and Lohran always trained together.
His eldest would have informed him if his troublemaker had been acting strange.
'But that form… is he just a naturally talented gunslinger?'
That could be the case.
After all, Lohran had always been exceptional in combat, maybe his runt was truly just a once-in-a-millennia talent
'If only his physique…'
The lord couldn't help but clench his fists once more, letting go of his somber thoughts shortly after with another sigh.
He had been sighing a lot lately…
"Great shot, Lohran." Garwin praised.
"Heh, of course! Who do you think I am?" the red-haired runt grinned.
"Hmph." The lord merely snorted in response, appreciating his son's confidence while also fearing that he might grow arrogant. "Well then, show me a few more times. But this time, change positions after every shot. Move a few steps, aim, and fire again. Let's see how many you can hit accurately in sixty seconds."
"Hoh, I like that challenge!" Lohran's grin widened.
Garwin then retrieved his digital handscreen from his pocket, setting the timer to sixty seconds.
A beep later…
*Bang!* *Bang! *Bang!*
Lohran began shooting the stationary targets, moving a few steps to change position after every shot.
As someone well-versed in combat in his past life, he knew all too well that precision is better than speed, so he focused on it.
He only managed to shoot a little over twenty targets in the alloted time.
However, every single shot landed perfectly—a clean headshot.
Garwin couldn't help but be taken aback even further.
W-Wasn't his son nearing the intermediate level already?!
Indeed.
Lohran had spent a year and a half in the military—fighting rebels, so he at least knew a thing or two about guns.
While he couldn't aim and shoot as quickly as his father, he shouldn't be far off in accuracy against stationary targets, at least.
Moving ones were a different story.
Sure enough, Garwin's next request was exactly what Lohran expected.
"Good shots. N-Now then, walk while shooting at the stationary targets. You are not allowed to stop to aim. You must hit them while on the move."
However, this time, his old man stuttered somewhat, leaving him grinning.
His father probably couldn't believe how accurate he was despite repositioning after every shot.
'Hahahaha! Take that!'
The next moment, the familiar beep of the timer once again sounded, prompting Lohran to start the challenge.
*Bang!* *Bang!*
This time, things weren't so easy.
Lohran switched his targets to the easier body parts like the chest of the dummy, but even so, there were a few times he almost missed the targets entirely.
He still went fifteen for fifteen, but the accuracy was now far from immaculate.
Shooting while walking turned out to be far more difficult than moving, stopping to aim, and then shooting.
"Tch…" Lohran clicked his tongue in dissatisfaction.
Garwin was the one extremely satisfied this time, both because Lohran acknowledged that he still needed improvement and was willing to work on it and because he could finally be certain that his son was, at the very least, a once-in-a-millennium talent.
Just the runt's unwavering drive for improvement already set him far apart from others his age.
This…
This might just be what allows his son to cross the vast chasm between Rangers and Prisms—an insurmountable gap for those with mediocre assimilation rates like him.
Of course, the lord didn't say anything to his son, as it would be better to remain silent.
He gently pushed his teenage runt aside, took his Whispersting, and said,
"Now that you're aware of the difficulties of firing while moving, I shall show you the level you must reach to be a respectable Gunslinger."
The next moment, Lohran witnessed the most graceful and lethal dance of guns and bullets as Garwin showcased a fraction of his combat power.
The red-haired middle-aged man sprinted at speeds far surpassing elite track and field athletes from Lohran's former world, seamlessly tumbling, leaping, and combining both as he unleashed a relentless barrage of steel pellet rounds upon the fastest-moving targets.
Lohran couldn't yet discern whether his father's shots were perfectly accurate.
However, Garwin's sheer speed and fluidity alone left the teenage runt awestruck.
Sixty seconds later, the digital hand screen beeped, signaling the end of the trial.
The red-haired lord came to an abrupt halt, casually blowing the smoke from the Whisperstings' barrels like the lead of a modern-day action movie.
Lohran, however, paid no attention to his father's dramatic flair—his eyes were locked onto the moving targets, each one bearing a perfectly placed steel pellet hole in the dead center of its forehead.
'Damn, what a monster…'