I Was Summoned as the Weakest Hero, But I Awakened a Military System

John inserted the magazine into the rifle and slapped the bottom to lock it in place. He pulled the charging handle back and let it snap forward, chambering the first round.

”Alright,” John said, stepping back. ”Switch the safety off. Look through the sight, put the red dot on the center of the steel plate, and squeeze the trigger smoothly. Don’t jerk it.”

Elenore took a slow breath. Her thumb clicked the selector switch to semi-auto. She leaned into the weapon, resting her cheek against the stock just like John taught her. Through the optic, her eyes locked onto the steel target fifty meters down the range.

Her finger rested on the trigger. She breathed out halfway, held it, and gently squeezed.

BANG.

The rifle kicked hard against her shoulder, the muzzle flashing with a loud crack. Elenore stood her ground, leaning into the recoil without losing her balance.

Down the lane, a sharp CLANG rang out.

Right in the center of the steel silhouette, a fresh gray mark appeared. Dead center.

”Good hit,” John said, nodding. ”Now follow up. Fire two more rounds.”

Elenore didn’t hesitate. She realigned the sight instantly, using her natural archery instincts to adjust for the movement.

BANG.

CLANG.

BANG.

CLANG.

Both shots hit the steel plate within two seconds of each other. The second shot landed less than an inch from the first, and the third hit right between them, grouping all three rounds tightly in the chest area of the silhouette.

Elenore lowered the muzzle toward the dirt and flipped the safety switch back to safe, just as she had been instructed. She turned her head toward John, her long ears perked up straight, waiting for his critique.

John stared down the range, his eyes wide in genuine surprise. He blinked, looking from the tight bullet grouping on the target back to Elenore.

”Damn,” John said, shaking his head with an impressed grin. ”Most new recruits can’t even hit paper on their first try with a 7.62, let alone put three rounds in the same spot.”

A subtle smile tugged at the corner of Elenore’s lips. She raised her chin, clearly proud of herself, though she tried to keep her voice calm.

”It’s very similar to a bow, Commander,” Elenore noted. ”I think I can master this weapon in a day or two.”

”Oh, so confident, I like it. Would you like to try different weapons? To see what weapons suit you best?”

”Yes,” Elenore said without hesitation, her amethyst eyes shining with eagerness. ”Show me what else your army carries.”

”Alright, follow me,” John said, leading her to the weapons rack on the bench.

He picked up a small, compact black gun with a collapsible stock. ”First up, a submachine gun. This is an MP7. It fires small, high-velocity rounds very quickly. Its purpose is close-quarters combat, like clearing rooms, tight hallways, or personal defense for vehicle drivers. It lacks long-range power, but it’s light and spits out bullets fast.”

He handed it to her. Elenore held the small weapon, turning it over in her hands.

”It feels almost weightless compared to the rifle,” she noted.

”Lean in close and keep a tight grip,” John instructed. ”It climbs fast when firing.”

John flicked the selector to burst. Elenore aimed at a close-range silhouette at fifteen meters and pulled the trigger.

BRRRRT.

Three quick shots punched clean holes directly into the target’s chest. Elenore stepped back slightly, lowering the weapon with a thoughtful look.

”Fast, but lacking elegance,” she remarked. ”It feels like throwing a handful of darts at once.”

John laughed. ”Fair enough. Let’s see how you handle real distance.”

He moved to the far end of the shooting bench, where a long, heavy rifle rested on a bipod. The barrel was long and thick, fitted with a high-magnification glass optic.

”This is a sniper rifle. An M2010 Enhanced Sniper Rifle, chambered in .300 Winchester Magnum,” John explained, tapping the bolt handle. ”Its purpose is extreme long-range precision. You don’t use this in a chaotic shootout. You use this to eliminate high-value targets, scouts, or commanders from hundreds of meters away before they even know you’re there.”

Elenore’s eyes immediately lit up. ”This... feels like a true marksman’s tool.”

”Lie down behind it,” John said, patting the shooting mat.

She lay flat on her stomach, resting her cheek against the adjustable cheek rest. John pointed toward a tiny steel plate positioned at the very back of the valley, five hundred meters out.

”Look through the scope. See that tiny steel square on the far berm?”

”I see it,” Elenore said, her breath steadying as her elven focus took over.

”Line up the crosshairs. Account for the slight crosswind, hold your breath, and squeeze.”

Elenore stayed completely still for three seconds. Then, she pulled the trigger.

BOOM.

A heavy, thunderous roar shook the dirt around them. A second later, a faint ping echoed back from the distant hill.

Through his binoculars, John saw the hit right on the center diamond.

”Dead center at five hundred,” John said, turning to look down at her with a wide grin. ”Looks like we found your favorite.”

Elenore didn’t hide her smile this time. She looked up at him from the mat, her eyes bright with excitement. ”Yes, Commander. This weapon... this one speaks to me.”

”It definitely suits you,” John said, offering her a hand to help her up from the mat. Elenore took it, dusting the sand off her knees while keeping her gaze fixed on the long rifle with obvious admiration.

”However,” John continued, unbuckling the retention strap on his tactical belt holster, ”a long rifle is useless when an enemy suddenly jumps you at three paces. That’s why you never rely on just one weapon.”

He drew his sidearm with a smooth, practiced motion. It was an M17 service pistol, finished in coyote tan. He cleared the chamber, locked the slide to the rear, and presented the grip to her.

”This is a handgun,” John explained. ”Chambered in 9mm. It carries seventeen rounds in the magazine. Its purpose is personal defense, emergency backup, and close encounters.”

Elenore accepted the pistol, wrapping both hands around the textured grip. ”It feels compact. Like a short dagger, but with the power of gunpowder.”

”Exactly,” John replied, nodding. ”Now imagine this scenario. You’re in a firefight with your rifle. Suddenly, the bolt locks open. You run out of bullets, and an enemy charges straight at you. What do you do?”

Elenore thought for a moment, tilting her head. ”I reach into my pouch, pull out a fresh metal box, and reload the weapon?”

”Wrong,” John said with a faint grin. ”Reloading takes three to four seconds, especially under stress. In close combat, that gets you killed.”

He tapped the pistol resting in her hands.

”Always remember this golden rule: switching to your secondary is always faster than reloading. You drop your rifle on its sling, draw your pistol, and eliminate the threat. Seconds save lives.”

Elenore looked down at the handgun, nodding slowly as she absorbed the lesson. ”A practical philosophy. Direct, and without wasted motion.”

”Let’s put it to the test,” John said, stepping beside her. ”Ten-meter target. Raise both arms, align the front sight blade inside the rear notch, and fire two quick rounds.”

Elenore squared her stance, raised the M17 with two hands, and took steady aim at the center of the silhouette.

BANG. BANG.

Two clean holes punched straight through the chest marker. She lowered the weapon, a confident smile spreading across her lips as she looked over at John.

”How was that, Commander?”

”Deadly,” John replied, chuckling softly. ”Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

She flashed a grin. ”Oh definitely.