Saving The Monster Race Starts With Breeding The Elf Village

Of course, Nyx, who loved violence and brutality with the same passion that others loved sunshine and flowers wouldn’t miss out on an opportunity to shoot some guns.

But when Luca had announced that only handguns would be available for the shooting experience, she had looked at Luca like he had personally offended her entire lineage and had thrown what could only be described as a full-scale tantrum.

”No pistols!” She had declared, stamping her foot like a child denied sweets. ”Pistols are boring! They’re tiny! They barely make any noise! I want the big one! The one that makes things explode!”

And in response, Luca had tried to reason with her.

He had explained safety concerns, lack of experience, the fact that shotguns had significantly more recoil and required more control.

But Nyx had not been swayed by reason.

And Luca too didn’t budge.

So she had employed other methods.

Without warning, she had grabbed his wrist and dragged him behind a large tree, away from prying eyes.

What happened behind that tree, Luca would never fully disclose.

But when he emerged fifteen minutes later, he had a very satisfied smile on his face, slightly ruffled clothing, and a look of dazed contentment that made several elves raise their eyebrows.

The other elves had stared in shock as Luca, without further argument, set up an entire separate range just for Nyx.

He had spent about half-an-hour drilling safety rules into her head, making her repeat them over and over until she could recite them in her sleep.

He had emphasized, with the gravity of a life-or-death lecture, that she was not to aim at any living creature. No birds. No squirrels. No passing insects.

”But what about chickens?” Nyx had asked hopefully. ”Just one chicken? A small one? They’re not even native to the forest, they’re domestic, so it’s not like I’d be disrupting the ecosystem—”

”NO CHICKENS.” Luca didn’t keep her a chance to speak.

”But Hero—”

”The pellets would shred it into pieces you couldn’t even eat because of all the shrapnel. It would be a massacre, not a meal.”

Nyx’s eyes had lit up. ”That sounds perfect—”

”NO.”

So instead, Luca had produced a contraption from his world—a clay dove launcher, which he had acquired by leaving an appropriate amount of currency on a counter in his world before stepping through a portal.

The device sat to one side, operated by a very important, very serious little girl.

Lisa.

She stood beside the launcher, wearing her own tiny set of ear protection, her hand resting on the button. Her face was scrunched in concentration, waiting for the command.

And Nyx?

Nyx was in heaven.

She stood at the firing point, shotgun cradled in her arms like a lover, her expression one of pure, unadulterated bliss.

Spent shells littered the ground around her.

The remains of clay doves—dozens of them—lay scattered across the grass in front of her.

”Pull!” She called.

Lisa pressed the button. A clay dove launched into the air, spinning as it flew.

Nyx raised the shotgun. Her movements were smooth, practiced—all the drilling had paid off. She tracked the target, led it just slightly, and—

BOOM!

The clay dove exploded into a cloud of dust and fragments.

Nyx’s smile widened into something almost feral.

”Pull, Lisa! Two this time!”

Lisa pressed twice in quick succession. Two clay doves shot into the air, arcing in different directions.

Nyx’s eyes tracked both simultaneously. She pivoted slightly, leading the first—

BOOM!

—then swung smoothly to the second—

BOOM!

Both targets obliterated and Nyx looked like she had shot down a dragon.

And Luca approached from behind, watching the display with a mixture of approval and mild concern.

”Looks like you’re having fun.”

”Fun is an understatement, Hero.”

She cracked open the shotgun, spent shells ejecting, and began reloading with practiced ease.

”I’m having the time of my life.”

She then glanced toward the main range, where elves were diligently shooting at paper targets and said,

”When I saw the pistols, I was so disappointed. Paper targets? Neat little holes?”

She shuddered dramatically.

”So boring. So formal.”

”...But this?”

She stroked the barrel of the shotgun, her fingers trailing along its length in a way that made Luca raise an eyebrow.

”Holding this mighty, thick thing...feeling its power...knowing that one shot can destroy something completely, utterly, thoroughly...”

She bit her lower lip.

”It turns me on, Hero. In ways I cannot adequately express.”

She then glanced at his crotch, her eyes heavy-lidded as she added in a sensual tone,

”Almost like something else that’s thick and powerful and can destroy whatever it’s pointed at.”

Luca blinked. Then chuckled.

”Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself.”

”And you know how I could enjoy myself even more, Hero?”

Nyx leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper.

Luca’s expression shifted to suspicion as he asked,

”How exactly?”

”Well, istead of clay doves...”

She gestured at the trees, where birds fluttered and sang, oblivious to the danger below.

”Why not use real doves? Or those birds that always poop on my house? I could solve two problems at once.”

Luca’s face hardened.

”No.”

”But—”

”No, Nyx. The moment I see you even look at those birds with that shotgun, I’m taking it back. Permanently. Do you understand?”

Nyx’s pout deepened, but she nodded reluctantly.

”Fine. But only because you made those exploding disks so fun.”

She turned back to the range before saying,

”Pull darling!”

Lisa pressed the button, and another clay dove soared into the air.

BOOM!

Luca then walked over to Lisa, crouching down beside the little girl.

”You okay, little one? Your finger holding up?”

”I’m fine, big brother!” Lisa beamed at him. ”Watching Big Sis Nyx shoot is so much fun! She’s really good at it!”

Luca chuckled. ”She certainly has...enthusiasm.”

Lisa nodded before her face scrunched up slightly as she said while pointing at her head,

”But these things on my head are really tight! Can I take them off now?”

”Sorry, Lisa, but you have to keep them on.”

Luca gently adjusted the noise-canceling headphones on her head.

”The shotgun is really loud—loud enough to hurt your little ears permanently. We need to protect them, okay?”

Lisa nodded solemnly. ”Okay, big brother. I’ll keep them on.”

Just then, Nyx’s voice rang out.

”Pull! Three at once, Lisa!”

”Okay, Big Sis!” Lisa’s tiny finger pressed the button three in rapid succession.

Three clay doves launched.

Nyx tracked them, led them, and—

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

All three targets exploded in perfect succession, which made Nyx glanced back at Luca with a smug grin on her face.

He shook his head, smiling despite himself, and ruffled Lisa’s hair before standing and walking away before he surveyed the clearing with satisfaction.

Elves were laughing, learning, experiencing something completely new.

Children were giggling over their BB guns.

Adults were comparing shots and techniques.

Lulu was still kneeling with her sign, looking pitiful but at least learning her lesson.

Everything was going perfectly.

Then his eyes caught something.

A figure standing alone near the table where the sniper rifle rested.

Leona.

She stood before the table of guns, and her attention was fixed on one weapon in particular.

The sniper rifle.

She circled it slowly, like a predator studying its prey or perhaps like an artist studying a masterpiece.

Her eyes traced its length, from the stock to the barrel to the scope mounted on top.

Her hands hovered over it, fingers twitching, as if she desperately wanted to touch it but was holding herself back through sheer force of will.

It was obvious that Leona was fascinated.

Not curious. Not mildly interested.

Fascinated.

Luca smiled and changed direction, walking toward the table where the sniper rifle lay.

”You know...” Luca said casually, coming up beside her. ”...that’s not some kind of ancient artifact that belongs in a museum, which you have to admire it from a distance.”

Leona blinked and turned toward him, caught off guard.

”What I’m trying to say is that you don’t have to just admire it from a distance.” He continued with a small smile. ”If you want to pick it up and check it out, go ahead.”

For a moment Leona felt embarrassed at being caught staring so intently, but she quickly composed herself and returned to her usual cool expression.

”It’s not that.”

She said calmly and explained saying,

”It’s just that a weapon that can shoot from such a distance must require extremely precise alignment. Every piece must be perfectly aligned, perfectly calibrated.”

”So, if I were to handle it incorrectly, if I twisted something the wrong way, or bent something, or pulled something out of alignment...”

She shook her head.

”The shot would be compromised. It would never fly true again.”

She crossed her arms, as if defending her position.

”I was merely being cautious. Hesitant to risk damaging such a finely crafted instrument.”

”You’re absolutely right. Every tiny detail matters.”

Luca nodded thoughtfully, running his hand along the rifle’s stock.

”If something’s off by even a millimeter, the bullet could go miles off target.”

He paused, then smiled.

”But here’s the thing—you’d have to do something pretty extreme to throw it off that badly. Drop it on rocks. Step on it. Slam it against a tree repeatedly.”

He tapped the barrel gently.

”It’s not made of glass, Leona. It can handle being held. So, go ahead and properly check it out.”

He gestured toward the rifle, giving her permission.

Leona’s eyes flickered to the gun, then back to Luca, then to the gun again.

She was clearly trying to maintain her dignified exterior, but the excitement bubbling beneath was obvious to anyone paying attention.

Finally, slowly, she reached out.

Her fingers wrapped around the grip—the same grip Luca had used, fitting perfectly into the curve of her palm.

Her other hand found the forestock, supporting the weight as she lifted it from the table.

The heft of it surprised her. Heavier than she expected, but not unmanageable. Solid. Real. Deadly.

She adjusted her grip, trying to remember how Luca had held it. Her dominant hand on the grip, finger resting along the trigger guard—not on the trigger itself.

Her other hand supporting the front. Elbow slightly bent. Shoulder relaxed.

And inside, where no one could see, she was absolutely giddy.

It felt like being a child again, picking up her first bow, feeling the potential of it singing through her fingers.

That same thrill.

That same wonder.

She tried to hide it. She really did.

But Luca saw.

He saw the way her eyes traced every contour of the rifle, the way her fingers explored each component with reverent curiosity.

The way she turned it slightly, examining it from different angles, memorizing every detail.

The way she tested the weight distribution, shifting it in her hands to feel how it balanced.

She was analyzing it. Cataloging it. Committing it to memory.

And underneath all that analytical intensity, there was pure, unfiltered joy.

Luca smiled and teasingly asked,

”So, Leona. What do you think? Is it better than a bow?”

Leona’s expression immediately shifted to one of mild offense.

”Not at all.” She said firmly. ”No matter how fast a gun can shoot, no matter how powerful it is, a bow will always be my first choice. Always. That’s what I’ll pick up, no matter what.”

She paused, looking down at the rifle in her hands.

When she spoke again, her voice was softer.

”But this...” She ran her fingers along the barrel, feeling the cold precision of machined steel. ”This truly is a beautiful instrument. Just from holding it, I can feel the power it contains. The potential.”

She looked at it with something approaching reverence.

”I can only imagine the number of hours—the number of skilled hands—that went into creating something like this. The craftsmanship. The attention to detail. The artistry.”

”Whoever made this was a master of their craft.”

She then looked up at Luca, curiosity replacing admiration.

”I have questions. I wonder if can ask them.”

”Go ahead.”

Luca gestured her to fire away and she didn’t waste a moment, immediately pointing at the trigger.

”First—the trigger. It feels different from the pistols.”

Luca raised an eyebrow.

”I didn’t fire any of them.” She clarified quickly. ”But I did press the triggers. Lightly. Just to feel them.”

She demonstrated with the sniper rifle, her finger barely brushing the curved metal.

”The other guns had resistance. A little bit of tension before they would release. But this one...”

She pressed slightly, and the trigger moved with almost no effort at all.

”There’s nothing. The moment I touch it, it goes. Why?”

Luca smiled, pleased by her observation.

”That’s called a feather trigger.”

”In a gun like this, even a tiny bit of resistance can affect your aim. The time it takes to squeeze through that resistance, the slight movement of your finger—it all adds up. At long distances, that tiny variation could mean missing your target entirely.”

He tapped the trigger guard.

”So this trigger is designed to be as sensitive as possible. The slightest touch, and it fires. It lets the shooter focus entirely on their aim, without having to fight against the trigger.”

Leona nodded slowly, processing this information.

Then her eyes moved to the barrel.

”And the shaft? Why is it so long? Surely the bullet and firing mechanism are the most important parts. Does the length really matter that much?”

”Great question.” Luca gestured along the barrel’s length. ”The longer barrel does a few things. First, it gives the bullet more time to accelerate, which means higher velocity and more energy downrange. Second, it stabilizes the bullet’s spin, which improves accuracy. Third—”

He tapped the barrel.

”—the extra weight helps absorb recoil and reduces barrel rise, which means you can stay on target for follow-up shots.”

Leona nodded her head, then pointed at the stand that had been used to stabilize the rifle during the demonstration.

”And this? It looks like a simple stand for displaying the gun, but something tells me that’s not right.”

”You’re right. It’s actually very important.”

Luca said, pleasently surprised that she wasn’t hesitating to ask questions before saying,

”That’s a bipod. It’s a stabilizer. When you’re using a sniper rifle properly, you’re supposed to mount it on a solid surface. Rest it on something stable. The bipod gives you that stability, so your hands aren’t the only thing supporting the gun.”

But hearing this, Leona frowned.

”But you...you shot it while holding it. You held it in your hands and fired, and you hit every single target.”

Luca paused.

Then he grinned.

”That’s because I’m simply built different.”

Leona stared at him flatly.

”I’m serious.” Luca shrugged, unapologetic. ”For most people, their hands shake. Their shoulders can’t absorb the recoil properly. Their stance shifts. All of that ruins accuracy at long range.”

”But me?” He let out a arrogant chuckle. ”I don’t have those problems. So, don’t use me as a comparison.”

”I’m not exactly the ideal candidate for that because of how high up I am in the clouds.”

Leona rolled her eyes, but there was no real annoyance in it.

If anything, she seemed almost amused.

She then turned back to the rifle and continued to let out a barrage of questions.

”What about the bullet? What metal is it made from? How is it shaped? Does the weight distribution matter as much as with arrows?”

”And the thing you call a scope—how does it magnify? Is the glass enchanted?”

”And you mentioned wind earlier—how do you calculate that?”

”And the bolt action—why do you have to manually cycle it instead of it automatically reloading like the other guns?”

Question after question after question.

And Luca answered each one patiently, thoroughly, watching her expression shift from curiosity to understanding to more curiosity.

She was like a sponge, absorbing every detail, analyzing every answer, connecting every piece of information into a larger understanding.

And seeing her like this, he couldn’t help but think of Luna.

’This is exactly where Luna got it from.’ He couldn’t help but think in amusement.

The insatiable curiosity.

The need to understand everything.

The way she would ask question after question, note down answers, build mental models of how things worked.

It was Leona’s trait, passed down to her daughter.

And right now, Leona was asking so many questions that she was essentially trying to extract the entire blueprint of how to make a sniper rifle from him.

Luca didn’t stop her.

He kept answering, kept explaining, kept giving her every piece of information she asked for.

Because something important was happening here.

Leona was opening up to him.

She didn’t realize it. She probably wouldn’t admit it if he pointed it out.

But she was letting down her walls, letting him see her genuine enthusiasm, her passion for understanding, her excitement at learning something new.

After all the coldness, all the distance—she was finally, actually opening up.

And Luca wasn’t going to let that opportunity pass.

So he answered every question.

He explained the metallurgy, the rifling, the gunpowder.

He described the manufacturing processes, the quality control, the precision required.

He walked her through ballistics, wind compensation, elevation adjustments.

He gave her everything.

And in the back of his mind, he hoped that she wasn’t asking all of this just so that she can manufacture and distribute the gun like some arms dealer.

But for now, he simply enjoyed watching her eyes light up with each new piece of understanding.

Leona, the former matriarch, the cold and distant mother, the woman who had treated him with suspicion and hostility—

Was absolutely geeking out over a sniper rifle.

And it was the best thing he’d seen all day.