The revolver in Casia's hands still emitted wisps of white smoke, the massive shooting range swallowing the entire First-Star Academy students effortlessly. Around him, bursts of gunfire echoed in rapid succession, each crack slicing the air as if it would explode. The smell of platinum gunpowder was sharper than ordinary nitrate, and the post-surgical senses magnified it a hundredfold. While the surgeries enhanced basic bodily functions, they also made the students suffer immensely before full adaptation.
Ye Jielin expertly flipped the hexagonal cylinder of her revolver. Six golden cartridges, still smoking, clattered to the sand below in less than two seconds. Reloading and flipping the cylinder back, she raised the revolver again, aligning the sharp sight with the already destroyed target center. Just two and a half seconds had passed.
"Good," she thought, calculating the timing in her mind. Her fingers moved six times in succession. Although her .20-caliber revolver wasn't the most powerful, it could blow a robust bull's head to pieces. The platinum gunpowder from Avalon granted her bullets unparalleled velocity and destructive power.
Flames erupted from the barrel in a continuous streak. Under the dim lights, the six bullets traced bright paths, the friction with air producing a clear, vibrating hum, like a swarm of bees. All rounds hit the emptied target center, and the score calculator beside Ye Jielin whirred to sixty. She didn't glance at it, instead swiftly reloading to fire again. Her long arms remained steady despite the revolver's powerful recoil, six more bullets flying in succession, casings piling beneath her feet like golden pyramids.
"Eighteen more rounds… half the mission complete," she thought, firing the next six rounds. Nearby, the constant gunfire halted.
It came from a boy slightly taller than her, with an unremarkable face and darker skin. Muscles bulged beneath his thin training attire. His eyes, still a clear mix of black and white, allowed him to maintain scores between 59 and 60—remarkable compared to the other 1,023 students with cross pupils. His speed, nearly half faster than the others, earned him a huge reputation in the Academy's firearms training.
Feeling Ye Jielin's gaze, the boy turned. His revolver still spat fire as the calculator displayed sixty again.
"Honestly… how do you train like this? Is it talent?" Ye Jielin rotated her wrist, glancing at the half-spent second ammo box beside Casia.
"I had specialized firearms training at home, forced to fire thousands of live rounds daily by family instructors. That foundation got me to the forefront here. But compared to you, there's a chasm. And you haven't even unleashed the full power of your cross pupils yet." Casia smiled, aiming at the target. His revolver seemed almost sentient, releasing bullets just as it aligned fully. Each bullet traced one of six paths, most hitting the center. Occasionally, a round strayed, yielding a total of 59.
By now, two months had passed since training began. Fortunately, all students were in the compound growth phase; physical training intensity remained manageable. Casia had caught up to the theory lessons despite being fifteen days behind.
However, due to the inhibitory tubes, Casia lagged in physical and martial training. Students' post-surgery capabilities varied, but everyone started at a similar level. Over time, the burden of the tubes became apparent, especially in prolonged combat drills. Students with one tube felt almost nothing, but those with more experienced time limits and increased sedative requirements during intense sessions.
This was a clear signal: even among selected prodigies, some were stronger. Yet, as Bo Lang had said, "You are still young. Years can transform a person, let alone decades, even centuries."
Casia found this encouraging. Outside theory, revolver shooting, and driving, he was at the bottom in almost all other disciplines. The reminder fueled his determination.
He finished the last rounds into the hollow target, stretching sore arms. Ye Jielin had only completed a third of her second box. As the top firearms student, others lagged further behind.
"I'll go first," Casia said, lifting two metal boxes and the massive revolver. "The gun's wear is near its limit. Next use might break it mid-session. Remember to submit a new firearm request after training."
"Understood. Don't forget who I am," Ye Jielin said, her pinkish-red hair tied back. Gunfire erupted again.
"Need me to help once you finish?" she asked after Casia took a few steps.
Casia chuckled. He knew she meant sword training, which, like martial arts, required full-body coordination and endurance. Daily, he spent hours honing his swordsmanship—not just to master cold weapons but to strengthen his body.
Ye Jielin, his ally and unofficial leader, knew his training plan and volunteered to assist. Several times, she nearly overwhelmed him with blunt blades—had they been sharp, Casia might not have survived.
"No need. Not yet," he laughed, placing the boxes and revolver in the storage area. He filed a new firearm request at the management desk.
Ten minutes later, he reached another training area: the cold weapon center on a gentle mountain slope.
The air remained at –15°C year-round. Hexagonal protective glass above was partially broken, allowing the harsh winds of the Blanco Mountains to sweep in, enhancing training efficiency.
The area rose in steps. The lowest layer stayed at –15°C; the eleventh, at the top, faced the full force of the mountain's frigid winds. Only those in the late first phase of surgery could train on the top tier.
No elevators existed—only frost-covered wide steps leading to a training hall marked with a steel sword insignia.
Casia's breath turned to mist, then frost. At the first-level hall, few students were present. Cold stiffened his body, not movement.
He retrieved a standard steel sword from a neatly arranged weapon rack and approached a secluded corner. Here, several wooden and steel mannequins bore the marks of countless strikes.
These silent dummies would accompany him through long, grueling hours of training.