My Desertion Would Be Faster Than Heros’ Obsession

This time, as I focused on shaping the aura around the shotgun, it responded instantly, enveloping the weapon in a smooth, circular layer of energy.

This is easier than I thought.

It was far faster than my initial attempts to channel aura into a sword during training.

Once the aura was in place and the sound-dampening was complete, I lifted my head and looked at Winter with bright, expectant eyes.

“…Looks like you’re ready,” he said after giving my form another quick once-over.

Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “Salvia, Arkons are beings who have evolved to survive against monsters.”

Of course, I already knew that. The reason we could handle aura so easily was rooted in this very fact.

I tilted my head slightly, about to ask Winter if it was really safe for me to be handling a loaded gun, when it hit me.

…Ah.

Salvia had used a gun in the original story.

Winter hadn’t wanted Dalin to hold a gun because seeing her with one reminded him of Salvia.

When I followed his instructions and placed my finger on the trigger, I felt a strange sensation coursing through me.

Sergeant Brave was one of the rare cases who had wielded an axe instead of a sword from his recruit days. He excelled at it, to the point that it seemed he was born for it.

I’d heard that the first time he held an axe, he felt a strong conviction that it was his weapon.

Now I understood what that meant.

This was it. I had to wield this.

“That shotgun has a strong recoil,” Winter said, his voice cutting through my focus.

But his words barely registered. My entire attention was locked on the weapon in my hands and the target in front of me.

I gripped the shotgun tightly and pulled the trigger.

Bang!

The discharge echoed, though the aura dampened the sound to a manageable level. It was just loud enough to confirm the shot had fired.

The recoil pushed me back, but thanks to the strength I’d built up through training, I managed to hold my ground.

I turned my eyes to the target—the red bullseye at the center of the range.

It wobbled slightly, hit directly by the bullet.

“…I knew you’d handle the recoil well,” Winter said, but I didn’t respond.

Instead, I lifted my gaze to the blue sky above. Birds were flying overhead, oblivious to what had just transpired.

“Salvia, Arkons are beings who have evolved to survive against monsters,” Winter repeated.

Arkons, in one way or another, develop their own unique methods of survival and combat.

Every Arkon has a way to ensure they can live through encounters with monsters.

…If I account for the timing of the shot, then here.

Even though no one had taught me these things, it felt as though the knowledge was embedded deep in my soul.

I instinctively knew when to fire the gun to hit the target.

Bang!

The trigger clicked again, and the shotgun fired. The spread of the pellets scattered into the sky.

A bird fell from above, crashing onto the ground.

Winter turned to me, his usually calm eyes filled with surprise. Meanwhile, I kept my gaze on the fallen bird, my expression neutral.

“…Ah, this is it.”

I had found my weapon.

***

To cut to the chase, I had a talent for shooting.

Thanks to my Arkon physical abilities, handling the recoil of the shotgun had never been a challenge.

But what truly stood out was the ability to calculate the speed and trajectory of the bullets to hit a moving target.

The fact that I had grasped that sense in just two shots was nothing short of remarkable.

Winter was visibly stunned that I had suddenly aimed at a bird instead of the target, and it wasn’t just him—everyone present at the shooting range seemed equally shocked by my accuracy.

As a result, I was granted my own shotgun and officially permitted to use firearms going forward.

However, there was still one problem left to address—one that had absolutely nothing to do with my shooting skills.@@novelbin@@

“Do you want to die? Get on your knees!”

This… insane…

“Are you out of your minds? Who told you to fire a gun without permission? Do you have a death wish? If you’re so eager to die, why don’t you just desert already?!”

And so, here we were—Winter and I—getting chewed out by April.

I practiced shooting to survive, and now I’m going to die because I practiced shooting.

Looking back on it, I suppose we deserved this scolding. No, scratch that—I think I might’ve temporarily lost my mind earlier.

…It’s the perfect weather for desertion.