Ho ho ho!
Chuchuchu!
The convoy had only advanced a hundred meters before the first wave of zombies appeared. Gunfire and explosions thundered instantly.
From his position at the rear, Lin Xinghai couldn't see the front line, but streaks of blue light lit the battlefield—each shot of the electromagnetic railgun slicing through zombies, stone, even houses. Anything it touched shattered.
With power like that, accuracy didn't matter. A single hit tore zombies apart, even without striking the head. The rate of fire rivaled a heavy machine gun. Combined with crossfire, the horde couldn't advance at all.
At the front, two multi-functional vehicles unleashed devastation. The second and third teams joined in, Ripper rifles blazing, hand cannons thundering. Every shot ripped through two or three zombies at once. The undead couldn't even close within thirty meters of the convoy.
For Roger's first team, the task of rear guard was simple—almost relaxing.
The convoy pressed deeper toward the city center.
"Lao Luo," Lin Xinghai asked, frustrated he couldn't harvest blood energy, "at this pace, how long to the destination?"
"Half an hour." Roger didn't even look up, patting his rifle. "Time's tight. Watch carefully—I'll walk you through the basics, then you practice. Questions?"
"No problem!" Lin forced down his annoyance. Marksmanship meant survival.
"Good. Start with reloading. Press this button—the mag pops out. Magazines are under the seat, these black square boxes. Each holds fifty rounds. The loader does the work automatically. Remember: reload when you're down to a third."
He demonstrated, then raised the rifle. "This is the proper stance. The sight has two modes—mechanical and optical. Use mechanical. It builds instinct. In a fight, you won't always have time to aim. Feeling matters more."
Roger rattled off details, Lin listening as best he could—though the "lesson" barely lasted three minutes.
"All right," Roger said. "Any questions?"
Lin groaned inwardly. Three minutes? That's not teaching, that's speed-running.
Before he could speak, the system chimed.
Ding! Basic Shooting Skill acquired!
Lin blinked. Wait—it can learn by itself? His frustration melted into excitement. "No problem," he answered quickly.
Roger looked at him, surprised at how fast he seemed to pick up. But he said nothing, simply turned back to fire at the zombies.
Meanwhile, Lin pulled up his system panel:
Host: Lin XinghaiPhysique: 24Strength: 20Speed: 29Blood Energy: 63Gene Optimization: 29%+Basic Shooting Skill: Proficiency 1%+
His joy dimmed. Only 1%?
He tapped the plus sign.
Ding! Consume 1 point of Blood Energy to upgrade?
Lin gritted his teeth. Knew it—another routine. Still, shortcuts were shortcuts. He confirmed.
Knowledge poured into his mind—everything Roger had just said, now sharpened and crystal clear. His eyes widened.
Basic Shooting Skill: Proficiency 10%+
"Not bad!" Lin raised his rifle, sliding naturally into the perfect stance. His movements were smooth, precise. He aimed at a zombie fifty meters away.
Bang!
The bullet hit a wall two meters off.
"…Missed." His face darkened. That far off?
Roger, watching silently from the next window, frowned.
Lin steadied himself, fired three more shots. Bang! Bang! Bang! None hit. Closest: a meter wide. Furthest: three.
Embarrassment prickled his neck. Every bullet was worth money, and at this rate, he could empty the mag and never land a hit.
He glanced for easier targets—too late. The others had already cut them down.
Lin lowered the rifle with a grimace. "This is forcing me to cheat…"