You're a US police officer, what are you thinking about going back to the East for?

Chapter 95 Quiz

"Thanks, instructor."

"Leon didn't mince words and readily took the heavy black gun case."

Why use a bunch of worn-out firewood sticks when you have a good gun? That just makes you look like you've lost your mind.

In this situation where results matter, he doesn't want to be caught off guard by equipment issues.

"Alright, enough talk. First group, get online and ready!"

At Barnes' command, the team was quickly broken up and regrouped.

Following the order of their previous formation, Leon, the seasoned Jack, the academic genius Johnny, and a quiet, unassuming guy who hadn't said much were grouped together as the second batch to wait in line.

At this moment, the four unlucky guys in the first group had already taken their positions at the firing range, and with Barnes' whistle, sporadic gunfire began to echo across the empty range.

Taking advantage of the lull, Leon took out the Remington 700PSS from the gun case.

Pull the bolt to check the chamber, and lock it after confirming there is no ammunition. Then raise the gun and observe a distant reference object through the scope to check the clarity of the crosshairs and the focus of your eye.

This gun is indeed extremely well-maintained; the bolt is so smooth it feels like touching silk, completely different from the police's standard issue guns.

Just as Leon was adjusting his equipment, the seasoned veteran Jack, standing next to him, revealed a hint of smugness on his face.

God helps me too!

Jack glanced furtively at Instructor Barnes, who was yelling at the first group of trainees with his back to them not far away, and then looked at the two big shots beside him who had their own aura.

One is a famous Seattle superhero, and the other is a proud and arrogant SWAT student.

The two of them standing there were like two giant, luminous bodies, drawing all the attention away from those around them.

Who would bother to keep an eye on this middle-aged fat man who's just wasting his days?

Jack pretended to be adjusting his gun sling, but his hand secretly reached into the inside pocket of his tactical vest and pulled out a laser rangefinder patch that was no bigger than a matchbox.

Simply attach this thing to the inside of the handguard, press the switch, and you can read the precise distance to the target through a simple digital display. Then the distance estimation process will be a piece of cake.

He moved quickly, preparing to attach the patch to the gun body.

"Smack."

A hand suddenly reached out without warning and patted his shoulder lightly.

"Ouch, fuck!"

Jack was so startled that he almost dropped the rangefinder in his hand, but he reacted quickly and covered it with his hand, then turned around abruptly.

"Who?!"

Turning around, she met Lyon's eyes, which seemed to be both smiling and not smiling.

"Busy, buddy?"

Leon, holding the gun in one hand, glanced at Jack's tightly clenched fist with amusement and teased in a low voice, "Pretty well-equipped, huh? But if this thing doesn't stick properly and falls down, Barnes will really kick you out, physically."

Jack broke out in a cold sweat in an instant.

It was discovered!

But seeing that Leon didn't shout or make a scene, Jack's anxiety eased a little.

He forced an awkward smile that looked worse than a grimace, moved closer to Leon, and pleaded in a low voice, "Hehe—Um, Officer Vance, boss."

"Don't bother with a sharpshooter like you. I just want to earn some money for baby formula."

"You take first place, I'll just get a passing grade. Let's not fight amongst ourselves, let's look out for each other, look out for each other—"

Leon shrugged, said nothing more, and turned back to continue checking his magazine.

He hadn't intended to be an annoying snitch; he just happened to see it and decided to join in the fun. This guy wouldn't affect him anyway, so he could cheat however he wanted.

On the other side, the young man named Johnny had obviously also noticed this scene.

He frowned and glanced at Jack with disdain, clearly annoyed by this opportunistic behavior, but not in the mood to expose it.

His attention was entirely on Lyon.

He was observing Lyon's gun-holding posture and every detail of Lyon checking his weapon, trying to find flaws and understand his opponent in advance.

As for the fourth person in this group.

He was a young, even somewhat immature, white man named Wood.

He was a nobody, from a small branch office in the countryside. He was the kind of honest guy who worked quietly and didn't talk much.

Wood had been secretly observing Lyon since the beginning.

But his gaze was different from Johnny's, which was full of hostility.

Wood's eyes held more curiosity and inquiry.

He had heard about it in the news, but he didn't think it was just luck or a publicity stunt.

The layman looks at the excitement and the insider looks at the doorway.

He just wanted to find something worth imitating and learning from Lyon's movements.

"Is this what a real-world practitioner is like? —"

Wood muttered something to himself, then looked down at the rifle in his hand and, mimicking Leon's earlier actions, began to re-examine every detail of the weapon.

"Second group! Move forward!"

Just then, Instructor Barnes's roar rang out again.

"All present! Ready in prone position! Target: random position ahead!"

At Barnes's command, the four men quickly threw themselves onto their respective shooting mats.

Leon adjusted his breathing, pressed the butt of the rifle firmly against his shoulder, and put his eyes on the scope.

"Beep—!"

The moment the whistle blew, four palm-sized steel targets simultaneously sprang up from the grass between 200 and 400 meters away.

Distance unknown.

This is the part that tests a shooter's basic skills the most.

For American soldiers who grew up receiving American-style "happy education" and didn't even understand multiplication, having to mentally calculate the mil dot on a scope, combine it with the target's height, and then plug in that damned formula "target height (yards), 1000/mil reading = distance (yards)" was simply a death sentence.

And then there's wind deflection correction? That would be an even bigger disaster.

But for Lyon?

Isn't this just a primary school word problem?

With the help of the LV4 rifle skill, those dry data instantly transformed into intuitive ballistic curves in Leon's mind.

A mil reading of 1.5 indicates a standard half-body target height of approximately 330 yards.

A light breeze, at the three o'clock position, with a wind speed of approximately 3 meters per second.

Correct the two scale markings.

While Johnny was still mentally calculating "what is seven times eight?", Leon's finger had already pressed down to the critical point.

"Bang!"

A crisp gunshot shattered the silence of the shooting range.

Leon didn't even need to check through the scope; the vibration from the gun and the beautiful "clang" of metal striking each other told him the result in that instant.

Right in the bull's eye.

Johnny, who was next to him, immediately broke down.

He had just calculated half of the data and was still debating whether to adjust the wind drift again when Leon's gunshot rang in his ears.

"What?! So fast?!"

Johnny's heart skipped a beat, and his previously steady hand trembled slightly.

The panic of being completely overwhelmed made him lose his composure instantly.

If he doesn't shoot now, he'll look like a slow-witted idiot!

"Let's give it our all!"

Johnny gritted his teeth and, relying on the feeling he had just gotten halfway through the calculation, suddenly pulled the trigger.

"Bang!"

The bullet flew out.

Johnny hurriedly used the scope to track the point of impact.

Lucky you, you hit it.

It only grazed the edge of the steel plate, producing a muffled thud. The plate wobbled but didn't fall over cleanly.

Immediately afterwards, he subconsciously moved the scope to the side and looked at Leon's target.

In that instant, Johnny felt as if a stone was stuck in his throat.

Right in the center of the steel target, a piece of paint had been blown off, revealing the silvery-white metal underneath. The position was so precise it looked as if it had been measured with a ruler.

Is this some kind of shot, so fast and accurate? Is it even humanly made?

Just when Johnny was questioning the meaning of life.

"Bang!"

The third shot rang out.

It's that nobody named Wood.

This kid may not have any amazing moves or be very fast, but he's steady.

He was completely unaffected by Leon and Johnny, methodically calculated the data, fired, and hit the target—all perfectly normal.

And finally—

"Damn it—damn it—don't look at me—"

Jack, the seasoned veteran, lay on the ground, his back soaked with cold sweat.

Just as the whistle blew, that old devil Barnes, of all people, happened to stroll over and stand diagonally to his side, his eyes scanning around like searchlights.

To block the laser rangefinder, Jack didn't dare to move an inch, fearing that he would be caught on the spot for making even the slightest movement.

He could only endure it.

Until Leon's stunning shot caught Barnes' attention, the moment the instructor turned his head away.

"Now!"

Jack quickly pressed the switch, glanced at the reading, then swiftly aimed his gun and fired.

"Bang!"

At the same time the gun fired, the timer beeped.

Jack closed his eyes in despair.

Oh no, it seems too slow.

"Cease fire! Stand up!"

Barnes put down his high-powered binoculars, glanced at Leon with a complicated expression, and then glared at Jack, who was still lying on the ground.

"Report the target!"

"Target number one, Leon Vance. Hits. Bullseye."

Barnes' voice was devoid of emotion, but the deliberate pauses said it all.

"Target number two, Johnny. Hit. Edge scrape, but you still pass."

Johnny breathed a sigh of relief, but his face was still grim.

"Target number three, Wood. Hit."

"Target number four, Jack. Hit. Edge abrasion."

Upon hearing those four words, Jack was about to smile.

"but!"

Barnes glanced down at the stopwatch and sneered, "Two seconds over."

"According to the rules, one point is deducted per second. Two points are deducted."

"Also, Jack, your gun-holding stance looks like you're taking a dump. If you're still dawdling like this in the next round, I'll make you run ten kilometers while holding a gun."

Jack got up with a bitter face. Although he was scolded, at least he wasn't caught cheating, so it wasn't a complete loss.