Era of Mist

Shi Tiexin stared, a little stunned. A faint circle, like a coin, was planted right in the center of his vision.

But he quickly understood what it was. The circle probably represented an auxiliary aiming function.

‘Does this mean wherever the circle is, that’s where my bullet will land? I can just point and shoot?’

‘Wouldn’t that be totally badass!’

But when he glanced at the pitiful “Qualified” on his training progress bar, Shi Tiexin figured it wouldn’t be that easy.

He shifted the angle of the muzzle, and sure enough, the circle moved with it. It seemed the circle really did represent his impact zone. But Shi Tiexin immediately discovered the catch—the circle’s size changed.

If the muzzle was crooked, off the optimal aiming trajectory, or if he lost the best shooting stance, the circle would suddenly expand. It was obvious that a shot fired then would have zero accuracy.

However, if he aimed properly from a standard stance, the circle would shrink. Its border grew sharper, looking much more refined than the faint circle from before.

Shi Tiexin experimented again and again. He found that the circle was at its smallest when he held his breath, focused his mind, kept his wrist as steady as possible, and remained perfectly still.

He aimed at the ten-meter target, shrinking the circle as much as he could. After a long moment, Shi Tiexin fired three consecutive shots.

BANG! BANG! BANG! Every shot hit the target. His marksmanship had definitely improved!

Shi Tiexin kept switching between single shots, double-taps, and full-auto bursts. He emptied two magazines in one go, then deftly started loading more rounds.

He found that even with the circle, it was still incredibly difficult.

Even with a perfect sight picture, a shot wasn’t guaranteed to be accurate. The simple act of pulling the trigger could shift the muzzle, causing the circle to expand to some degree in the instant before firing. Furthermore, during sustained fire, the recoil would also make the circle grow larger and larger. Without proper control, the last few shots in a burst would be completely off-target.

The smaller he could get the circle, the better his accuracy.

On the other hand, taking too long to aim was also a non-starter. An enemy pops their head out, and you have to shrink the circle. An enemy charges you, and you have to shrink the circle. An enemy makes a run for it, and you have to shrink the circle. Then they unload a clip in your direction, you dive for cover, and realize all your careful aiming was for nothing. You have to start shrinking the circle all over again.

Accuracy and speed were a true contradiction. The only way forward was to relentlessly improve his shooting skill, strengthening both aspects at once.

“Interesting.”

CLICK. CLACK. After loading the magazine, Shi Tiexin resumed his training.

From that day forward, he cast aside all other distractions, even his studies, and dedicated himself completely to practicing at the shooting range. Accuracy and speed were bought with bullets. Box after box of ACP rounds were delivered to the range, only to be rapidly expended by Shi Tiexin.

Practicing with a gun burned through money like water, but the expense was clearly paying off. His accuracy on the ten-meter target steadily improved, so he moved on to fifteen, then twenty meters. His familiarity with the pistol grew as well. He no longer needed to consciously keep track; he could tell how many rounds were left just by the weight of the gun in his hand.

He trained by day, and he trained by night.

In his sleep, Shi Tiexin seemed to connect to the memory stream of another version of himself. In his dreams, he relived, as if he were there, everything this timeline’s ‘him’ had gone through while practicing marksmanship.

Gun practice was grueling, and this timeline’s version of him was a serious, hardworking man. Training, training, and more training. It was tedious, lonely, and sometimes even painful, but it also brought the most solid improvements.

That feeling of being boosted by a pro washed over him again. Every time he awoke from these dreams, Shi Tiexin felt his understanding of pistols deepen. This was reflected on his progress bar, where a stream of stars would fly in, rapid-fire like a submachine gun.

Night and day, he trained relentlessly. In an incredibly short time, Shi Tiexin covered ground that would take a competent shooter ages to cross. His progress in ‘Basic Marksmanship: Level 1’ surged forward as if he were using a cheat, climbing rapidly with every crack of his pistol.

From Qualified to Good, from Good to Excellent, and then, very quickly, he reached Profound.

One day, Shi Tiexin was at the range, practicing as usual.

By now, his speed at shrinking the reticle was very fast, and both his accuracy and rate of fire were far greater than before. Even when he deviated from a standard stance or wasn’t on the optimal aiming trajectory, he could still keep the reticle’s size under decent control.

Shi Tiexin felt he could probably pull off some slick moves, like a mid-air spinning landing into an instant shot, or a 360-degree rapid-fire spin. A lot of the master gunslingers in pulp novels did stuff like that. ‘Oh, right,’ he thought, ‘and what about those guys who could throw punches and kicks while shooting in every direction? In the movies, they call it Gun Fu. It looks so damn cool.’

Shi Tiexin gave it a try.

And then, he came to a profound understanding: the “Basic” in ‘Basic Marksmanship’ wasn’t just there for decoration. Basic meant basic. He’d have to wait until he learned a more advanced shooting technique before trying any slick moves.

Just as Shi Tiexin settled down, determined to continue his climb to the summit of Profound-level marksmanship, his phone rang.

He picked it up. It was Ah Fei.

“Yeah?”

“Boss! Something’s happened! Boss, something big!”

Shi Tiexin frowned. “What happened?”

“The Green-Hat Car God… that guy, Fujiwara Jizhen—” Ah Fei’s voice was filled with panic. “He’s been killed!”

“What?!”

SNAP. Shi Tiexin closed his phone, stunned.

‘Fujiwara Jizhen… dead?!’

VROOOM! Amidst the roar of an engine, Shi Tiexin sped away from the shooting range. Ten minutes later, his crew was talking over each other, recounting the news. After hearing them out, Shi Tiexin realized the situation was dire.

With almost no warning, a major upheaval had hit the streets. While Fujiwara Jizhen was out practicing on his bike, he was ambushed by a surprise assailant. The attacker, said to be riding a black motorcycle, had chased down the green-clad rider from behind like a bolt of lightning. Then, with a single, swift strike, they had taken Fujiwara Jizhen’s head.

“Everyone’s spreading a crazy rumor that you’re the one who killed the Car God, Boss!” Ah Fei said, scratching his head anxiously. “A black motorcycle, and fast enough to catch the Car God… in all of Tokyo, that sounds like only you. Uh… was it you, Boss?”

“Of course it wasn’t me!”

Shi Tiexin gritted his teeth.

‘He found it hard to believe. That guy he’d joked with, the one who’d shared rice balls with him… was just gone?’

‘They hadn’t known each other well, but he’d been a decent guy to talk to. That man who had lost his spirit for racing… was just dead?’

“Are there any leads? Who killed him? And why kill a guy who only knew how to ride!”

“Nothing. No leads for now.”

Ah Fei was at a loss.

Just then, Ah Fei’s phone rang. He answered it, murmured a few words, then let out a surprised yelp and looked over at Shi Tiexin.

“Boss, the attacker struck again! This time it was the Tokyo Wolf! They cut off both of his hands! He’s in the hospital, they’re trying to save him!”

Shi Tiexin shot to his feet. “Let’s go. We’re going to see him now!”