Lin Xinghai felt a little embarrassed at his poor shooting, but Roger, standing beside him, was stunned.
"You've really never touched a gun before?" Roger asked in disbelief.
This wasn't a fixed-range test. They were on a moving vehicle, targets fifty meters out. A novice's bullet should've gone wide into the sky. Lin's first shot could've been luck—but the next three? That was no accident.
"Yeah, what's wrong?" Lin asked curiously.
"Nothing." Roger swallowed the praise on his lips, then said in a teacher's tone, "Zombies sense danger. They'll dodge as soon as you fire. If you want to hit them, you need to lead your shots."
Lin nodded, fired three more rounds—missed worse. Prediction only widened the gap.
"Oh no… I'll have to cheat," he muttered.
Opening the system panel, he spent 1 blood energy point, raising basic shooting proficiency to 20%. Knowledge flooded in—angles, timing, recoil.
He steadied his breath, raised the pistol, and fired.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Five shots in quick succession. Every bullet landed within a meter of its mark; one even struck a zombie's shoulder. The progress was obvious, though far from the mercenaries' accuracy. By his estimate, the weakest of them sat around 40% proficiency, the best close to 60%.
As Lin compared, Roger's jaw hung loose.
"How the hell did you do that?"
Lin forced a smile. "Just like you said—leading the shots. Maybe I've got a little talent?"
Roger almost choked on his anger. Talent, my ass!
Meanwhile, Lin secretly tapped the system panel.
"Ding! Spend 2 points of blood energy to increase proficiency?"
"Figures…" Lin grumbled, but confirmed. His skill jumped to 30%. The pistol now felt alive in his hands. Targets within ten meters? He barely needed to aim.
Another tap.
"Ding! Spend 3 points of blood energy?"
Yes. Proficiency: 40%.
He resisted the urge to max it out. Every upgrade consumed more blood energy, and becoming a gene optimizer mattered far more than shooting mastery right now. His reserves had already dropped from 63 to 56 points. To reach 100% would drain 39 more. Too costly.
Better to hold back—and hide his growth. At 40%, he could perform just well enough, with a few "mistakes" mixed in to look natural.
Roger, however, was watching closely. Lin's accuracy seemed to sharpen every few minutes. Improvement at that speed could drive a man mad.
"I'm jealous enough to vomit," Roger muttered, emptying his rage into the zombies swarming their path.
Then the alarm blared.
Everyone stiffened. The urban threshold meant ordinary zombies no longer triggered it. Not even intermediates.
Lin's eyes darted to the screen. No red dot. A single purple glow pulsed instead.
He turned, and his pupils narrowed. A massive zombie was closing fast, its speed at least sixty, twice that of the horde.
"An advanced zombie…" Lin's heart sank.
Roger saw it too. His face hardened. "Xu Hao!"
"On it!" Xu Hao sprinted over, rifle snapping into position.
"Same as before," Roger said, swapping his magazine. He slid in a pitch-black round that gleamed with deadly weight. "You slow it down. I'll finish it."