From Pacifist to Predator
The bullet streaked out. I kept my eyes wide open, tracking its trajectory precisely.
It grazed left of the target's dead center by about 20 centimeters. Still, hitting the target at all was a relief.
Better than the last time, at least.
Experience really does matter. Stack it up steadily like this, and I might even master shooting someday. Not that I particularly want to.
"Not bad for a first try, Dos! Swing that muzzle to the right!"
Sergeant Hogg gave the order in a tone different from his usual bark. There was even a hint of excitement in his voice.
I adjusted my aim slowly, just as he said—a slight shift to the right. Squeezed the trigger again.
Bang!
The bullet arced gently toward the target, embedding itself about 5 centimeters off center. A massive improvement.
I'm getting the feel for it.
This was more fun than I'd expected. I tweaked the aim a bit more.
"Hoo."
Exhaled once, then fired five shots in rapid succession. No wobble in my stance, so all five bullets punched into the same spot. Perfect hits.
"Good! Dos! Haha! Who knew this guy had a talent for shooting! You're no total washout after all!"
Sergeant Hogg seemed more thrilled than I was. Talent? Nah. The target's only 30 meters away, after all.
One round left.
I held my breath, finger easing back on the trigger.
Click!
"Huh?"
The trigger wouldn't budge. No shot fired.
"Sergeant, the gun's jammed."
"Malfunction. Perform emergency measures."
Malfunction? Emergency measures? The hell does that mean?
"Is the gun broken?"
I stood from the firing position, rifle in hand. Sergeant Hogg freaked out and yelled.
"Muzzle forward, Dos! You crazy bastard!"
"Is the barrel clogged? Looks fine..."
"Point that muzzle away, asshole!"
Bang!
"Ah! There it goes."
The bullet soared cleanly into the air. Unfortunately, this time the target was Sergeant Hogg.
"Shit! Sergeant!"
"Cough...! You insane... worthless piece of shit...!"
Blood poured from Sergeant Hogg's thigh. Good thing it missed anything vital.
"Tch. Gotta be careful with guns at the range, huh."
Lesson learned. I stomped on the back of his neck, snapping it clean.
Returning to save point.
Reloaded to the shooting range segment. This time, I kept my cool and played it safe to clear the scenario.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Fired off all eight rounds. The clip popped out with a clink. Hot gunsmoke wafted from the barrel. Sergeant Hogg, who'd been watching my shots with a piercing glare, clapped slowly.
"Bravo! Perfect! Trainee Duran Dos! Looks like you've finally gotten your head on straight! You just blew the heads off eight Kyrrian bastards! Outstanding!"
Sergeant Hogg laughed heartily. His thick mustache made the grin look damn cool and memorable.
Ralph Coren
Born and raised in a small rural village, he got his draft notice like every other young man his age and enlisted in the army. He was relieved it was the army, not the navy. Coren, who'd never even seen the sea, knew he couldn't hack ship life.
He rode a train for the first time, leaving home behind, and reported to the 7th Army Training Depot in Zerotown. The place was packed with country boys just like him. That eased his nerves.
The buzzcut trainees all looked kinda similar, but each had their own vibe. Among them, Duran Dos stood out big time.
"Hey, what's that necklace?"
Once bunks were assigned and they waited for uniforms, Coren asked the trainee next to him, Duran Dos.
The guy wore a fancy silver necklace that didn't look like mere jewelry. More like something a wizard in a novel might sport—kinda intriguing.
"It's my holy symbol."
"Holy symbol?"
"Yeah. Ever heard of the Seventh Personality?"
Seventh Personality
Never heard of it.
"Nope."
"It's my faith. This proves I'm a follower."
"A religion, huh. Back home, we had just one church. Even the pastor got drafted. As a chaplain or something. Wonder if I'll run into him."
"Sadly, no Seventh Personality chaplains in the service. Our faith rejects bearing arms."
"Rejects bearing arms? What?"
"Means we don't hold guns."
Dos's words struck Coren as off. This guy was a trainee, same as him—destined for army grunt duty. Refusing a gun? Made no sense.
"No guns? You know where you are?"
"7th Army Training Depot. I get what you're saying. I'm here to defend the country. It's my duty."
"So you'll ditch your faith's teachings?"
"No. I won't hold a gun. Guns can't bring peace. That's my belief."
"Sounds pretty weird."
"Plenty of ways to support without shooting. Like medic."
"Medics shoot too, I hear..."
That was their first chat. In those few exchanges, Coren realized Dos was one weird dude. And days later, it proved true.
"Duran Dos! Refusing to bear arms!? Wanna rot in military prison?"
"I can help my comrades plenty without a gun."
"Think you can spout that crap if some bastard jams a muzzle in your forehead? We've got a real nutcase here."
Sergeant Hogg's face flushed bull-red with rage. His meaty palm slapped Dos's face hard. Shockingly, Dos didn't budge an inch.
The crack echoed so loud other trainees flinched and looked away. Yet Dos stood ramrod straight, head high, staring down Sergeant Hogg.
"You're nuts. Let's see how long you keep up that selfish bullshit."
Sergeant Hogg spat in Dos's face and stormed off. Dos remained a stone statue.
After that, Duran Dos became the training depot's biggest headache. Sergeant Hogg nitpicked and beat him over every little thing. But Dos's resolve never cracked. Coren, watching from the sidelines, was awestruck.
"Dos. Why go that far?"
"Because it's right."
What a weirdo. Can't reason with weirdos. Coren shook his head.
"Pain's fine on me. But if my stand screws over the others... Sergeant said if I keep it up tomorrow, my comrades pay."
"Oof... That's rough."
Dos was right. Soon, Sergeant Hogg's fury turned on his squadmates.
"Fuckin' hell. Rolling in the dirt 'cause of that asshole?"
"Total freak. Better if he just went to the brig."
Dos got isolated even among trainees. Coren suffered thanks to him too, but oddly didn't hate the guy.
The others finger-pointed and called him trash, but to Coren, Dos seemed the most soldierly there. No one else stuck to their convictions like him.
Just as they got used to the extra heat from Dos, a bizarre shift hit.
"Dos! How long you gonna pull this shit!? Grab the gun now, or I'll put a bullet in your skull!"
"What!?"
Duran Dos had changed.
Humans adapt. Shocking how fast I adjusted to this shitty training depot life.
"Training over for today?"
I brushed dirt off my filthy uniform heading back to barracks. Just alert duty today. But Sergeant Hogg tacked on brutal PT to everything. Not tough for a dungeon hunter like me, but rolling in mud left me grimy. Needed a shower.
"Hey. What's for chow tonight?"
Turned to ask. One trainee froze solid before answering.
"B-baked beans, chicken salad, veggie soup, pound cake."
"Chow's looking skimpy."
I'd become king of the barracks. Controlling these buzzcut punks was a breeze. Not that a trainee king could do much.
Dinner, shower—day done. My turn for guard duty tonight. First watch. Reported to the duty officer.
"Check barracks every 30 minutes. All posted."
Dungeon guard duty was routine. But no way was I playing nice here too.
Time for a surprise party.
I eyed my watch partner.
"You stand solo."
"M-me alone?"
"Yeah. Be back."
Slipped out past the duty officer. Quick march to the officers' barracks.
Good thing I scouted the women's barracks earlier.
This world had WACs. Spotted some during range training—decent specs. Games rarely ugly up their women.
Infiltrated the women's quarters stealthily. Prime yobai time. Door locked, but I twisted the handle till it gave. No puny lock stops my night hunts.