Dark Moon
Lexy watched me with a strange, unreadable expression before smoothing her features and asking,
"Why'd you lower the rifle? You've still got chances left. Three of them, even."
Even if you missed the target, they gave you three tries.
"There's no point. The target's out of sight. I can't see it."
Honestly, hitting eight hundred fifty meters already felt like a miracle. At that range the target looked smaller than a grain of millet. The only reason I'd managed it at all was the clear weather and a shooting lane free of obstacles. In a real fight, putting a round on an eight-hundred-fifty-meter target with the naked eye would be impossible.
"Fair enough. Hitting what you can't see is hard. But what if you could see it?"
"If I could see it, I'd hit it. Anyone would. A stationary target isn't hard."
"So shooting feels easy to you. Hmm… I'm getting more interested by the second."
"That was my limit just now."
Lexy stepped in front of me, blocking my path. I put on a troubled face. She was an instructor; I was a slave and a test subject. Ignoring her and walking past would bring consequences later.
"As long as you can see it, you can hit it?"
"Yes."
I answered without hesitation, full of certainty. Ever since I'd entered the game, shooting had felt almost absurdly easy — as if some new ability had been handed to me.
"You can use Telescope magic if you want."
"…I've never heard of that spell."
"Right. I forgot you're still a chick. It's a 2-Class spell. Enhancement type — boosts your eyesight."
Lexy reached toward my head. I flinched for a second, then relaxed slightly once I realized she had no intention of hurting me.
Her mana stirred. I felt the formula take shape. Foreign mana flowed into my body, and the alien sensation made my skin crawl. Given the situation, I endured it.
Judging by this, that must be Telescope magic. Better memorize the formula.
A 2-Class spell. Feeling the structure of it, I could tell it was clearly more intricate than anything 1-Class.
With five mana roads… even if the casting takes a bit, I should be able to use it myself.
The formula gathered in my eyes and sank into them. It felt different from something like Light or Fire.
So this is physical enhancement magic.
A new idea suddenly surfaced. What if I layered a Light Scope formula on top of Telescope? Would light come out of my eyes? Pure speculation, of course.
Try it and go blind, and I'd be a permanent idiot with no way back.
Lexy took her hand away. When I focused, my vision sharpened. Her face seemed to swell right in front of me; I could see every tiny pore in her skin. When I let the focus go, my sight returned to normal.
"That's Telescope magic. It'll last about an hour. Pick up the rifle and check the target."
I did as she said.
The nine-hundred-meter target came into view. The steel plate stood there as if no one had ever touched it.
"Think you can hit it?"
There was expectation in Lexy's voice. I answered without hesitation.
"Yes."
"Then pull."
I squeezed the trigger the way she wanted.
Bang.
The now-familiar crack of the rifle rang out, and the bullet flew. Roughly a second later it punched dead center into the target. The plate slid backward. I checked the electronic board beside the lane. The number that had read 900M flipped to 1,000M — the new distance to the target.
"See it?"
"Yes."
"Can you do it?"
"Yes."
"Show me your real limit. If that limit actually impresses me… I'll give you a reward."
"…What kind of reward?"
"Who knows. Plenty of possibilities."
Instructor Lexy held the rank of sergeant. How far her authority actually reached, I had no idea — not very far, most likely. I shelved my expectations and focused. I was curious about my own ceiling too.
You have to know your limits before you can grow past them.
I pulled the trigger.
Hit, as expected.
I kept landing shots past two thousand meters, all the way out to three thousand. From twenty-five hundred onward I stopped punching the exact center, but I still hit the plate every time.
The target stopped moving back. The lane's hard limit was three thousand meters.
"Don't lower the rifle. I still haven't seen your limit."
Lexy walked over to the control console and worked the buttons. A new target appeared at one hundred meters. It moved as if mocking me — motion that seemed to have a pattern and then didn't. The speed was about the same as a person walking.
"Start shooting."
My index finger moved. The muzzle spat fire. The bullet flew and struck the moving target.
"Nice feel. Figured you'd hit it."
Her praise never reached my ears. I was locked onto the target as it retreated, concentration absolute.
Confirm the target. Pull the trigger. Hit. Confirm. Pull. Hit.
The mechanical cycle started to stutter when the target reached fifteen hundred meters. The round went wide and kicked up dirt.
"You've still got two chances left. Take a breath and try again."
She was right — opportunities remained. I steadied myself with a deep breath and sharpened my focus once more.
Bang.
The target slid back.
And at eighteen hundred meters, I burned through every remaining chance. Feeling the disappointment, I lowered the rifle. Lexy grinned, walked over, and pulled me into a hug. Mentally I was an adult, but my body was still growing — I was shorter than her. My face buried itself in her full chest.
"You little chick! You're a real genius! I never thought I'd find talent like this here! With proper training… you might become the best sniper in the whole Freesel Kingdom!"
"……"
I quietly enjoyed the feel of Lexy's chest. Chances like this didn't come often. About five seconds later she set me back down.
"You can look forward to that reward."
She said it with a grin. Whatever it turned out to be, earning one instructor's goodwill was a good thing.
After that, Lexy ordered me onto free-fire practice and went to coach the other kids — correcting stances, teaching them how to shoot. Aside from No. 31, they were all roughly the same level.
By the end of class my record had stretched a little further, to 1,820 meters.
Lexy gave me a chocolate bar. My mouth had been bored, so I ate it on the spot. Everyone stared at me with envy. Objectively it was ordinary; subjectively it was fantastic.
After dinner in the mess hall I returned to the barracks. Personal maintenance time had been granted — sweet, precious free time. Everyone spent it roughly the same way: most of them cracked open magic texts and studied.
We weren't soldiers. We were slaves. Fail to prove your usefulness here and you got disposed of. Disposal meant death.
I pulled out a magic book of my own and opened to the page I'd left unfinished that morning. Ice magic formulas filled the page.
I was trying to focus when No. 212, in the seat beside me, spoke up.
"No. 211. You were incredible today. After that mana backlash you seemed like a completely different person. Especially the shooting… you even broke No. 31's record. What's your secret?"
"Secret? …Maybe it's that mana backlash Instructor Vinous talked about."
"So it was that? Some kind of unconscious enlightenment? Man, if I took a mana backlash, would I get an enlightenment too?"
"Probably. What kind of enlightenment, though — even I don't really know."
I brushed it off. Shooting and magic both still left me half-stunned myself. Calling it simple talent blooming didn't sit quite right.
Some kind of perk granted when I entered the game?
No. 212 treated me with acting that was a little smoother than yesterday. She was clearly hoping to pick up some scraps off me. Unfortunately, I had nothing to give. She and I were in the exact same boat.
An hour before evening roll call I showered. The baths were split into men's and women's. Slave and test subject or not, we were eventually supposed to become Battle Mages, so the treatment wasn't entirely terrible.
Even lab rats come expensive and cheap. We're on the expensive side, so we get this much.
Other countries ran human experiments too.
Some of them treat slaves worse than livestock — like insects. At least this place isn't one of those. Small mercies.
That didn't mean I liked this life. I would break free of slavery and take my freedom back.
Close-combat class arrived.
The instructor was a young man.
Instructor Belhaga. Solid build, face and arms covered in scars large and small. He was watching me openly.
Obvious. Lexy must have said something about me.
This kind of attention still felt unfamiliar and a little heavy. Not that it was a bad thing.
I can't forget my position. I can be discarded at any time. So I have to prove what I can do.
That didn't mean I planned to show everything I had. Someday I would escape this place. Hidden cards would definitely help when the time came.
"I covered the basics of close combat last session… so today we spar. No. 31. No. 211. Front and center."
Belhaga said it with a crooked grin.
He'd paired me against No. 31. Whatever Lexy had told him, Belhaga seemed to be overestimating me.
You didn't defy an instructor, so I stepped forward. No. 31 approached from the opposite side. Purple hair that swayed with every step, cool crimson eyes settled low — even her looks put her far outside the ordinary.
"Free sparring format. No mana. No targeting the eyes or the groin. No biting with your teeth either."
I clenched my fists while listening to Belhaga.
My talent for magic and shooting had surprised even me, but close combat was different. I had confidence there. Before entering the game I'd been an F-Rank Hunter. Lowest rank or not, I hadn't been a civilian. I'd fought monsters. My opponent, on the other hand, was still a green kid with no real experience.
"Begin."
Belhaga gave the word.
No probing. No. 31 charged straight in.
I can see her movement.
If I could see it, staying calm and responding would be enough.
Thud!
"……!!"
A fist drove into my solar plexus and sent me stumbling back. Breath locked in my throat; my legs shook. The body's reaction was one thing — my mind was pure shock.
I saw the punch clearly. I even raised my own fist for a counter. So why did I take it?
No. 31's fist came for my face. I saw it again. I lifted a palm, intending to catch her wrist and throw her over my hip.
Thwack.
She hit me again.
…Damn it.
I finally understood the problem.
It was simple. My body couldn't keep up with my awareness. Even when I tried to block, my hands and feet were a beat late — no, two beats late.
Physical conditioning wasn't the issue. No. 31 and I had roughly equal physical stats, and as a slave and test subject, No. 211 had always received decent food and regular exercise. Above-average body.
The exact opposite of shooting. I have zero talent for close combat.
A fist came flying.
I knew it was coming. I still couldn't dodge.
Crack! Thud-thud!
While I took the beating, a thought crossed my mind.
If I'd been allowed to use magic… the result might have been different.
This spar forbade not only magic but mana itself.
"Enough."
Belhaga called the stop. No. 31, who had been throwing fists and kicks without mercy, halted at once and opened distance. I had spent the entire spar getting pounded. Everything ached.
"Looks like close combat isn't your thing. No. 211. You're lacking even the basics. Hit the sandbag and toughen up those fists."
"…Yes, Instructor."
"No. 31. I know you barely got warmed up. Spar with No. 37."
While everyone else sharpened their skills in sparring, I was reduced to punching a bag. I didn't feel wronged. If anything, I was relieved.
At least it's not a punishment. Maybe they're going easy because of the shooting?
I threw punches at the sandbag. At first I hit it with real intent. But the longer it went, the more clearly I understood that I had no talent for fighting. Eventually I was just lazily swinging my fists while my mind turned over magic formulas instead.