novelsite Chapter 66 Shooting Training
Chapter 66 Shooting Training
Mentioning Zhang Yiqiang, Rajish's face flashed with an instinctive fear. This Chinese gang leader was different from the Iron Hand Gang; he was more low-key, rarely showing his face, but his methods were said to be even more ruthless and merciless. Last year, a reckless Vietnamese gang tried to seize a smuggling route at the docks, resulting in the "accidental" deaths of three leaders within a week—one drowned in his bathtub, one in a car accident, and one overdosing on drugs. The rest all fled, and that route remains firmly in the hands of the Hua Qing Gang.
"Let's be careful." Rajish finally gritted his teeth, as if convincing himself, "Infiltrate two hours in advance, hide behind the containers, and don't make a sound. When you see Andrei, take him down as quickly as possible, stuff him into the trunk. After you've got him, get out of there immediately, and absolutely do not run into the Huaqing Gang. In case... in case we really do run into them, just say we're from the Iron Hand Gang, chasing Andrei. Zhang Yiqiang will have to think twice about Mr. Wolf's reputation."
He glared at his three men, his eyes filled with a murderous malice: "This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity! If we seize it, we'll be unstoppable in Neukölln! If we fail... we'll continue to languish here like vermin, bullied by the Turks and looked down upon by the Chinese! Tomorrow night, all of you, be on your best! Amir, take that old pistol you've been hiding! Sahir, get the rope and duct tape ready! Raju... you're in charge of driving and keeping watch!"
Amir nodded emphatically, twirling his machete dangerously in his hand. Sahir stood up and began checking the tools in his backpack. Raju opened his mouth, as if to say something, but seeing Rajish's greed-reddened eyes, he swallowed his words and silently nodded.
Rajesh sat back down on the mattress, picked up Andrei's photo, and ran his fingertips over the face as if he could feel the texture of banknotes. He then imagined the "seventeen or eighteen-year-old, blonde" Ukrainian girl, licked his teeth stained black with betel nut, and gave a nauseating smile.
As for what will happen to the girl in Wolf's hands? What does he care? Maybe after Wolf's had his fill, he'll give her to his brothers a "taste of something new." Eastern European girls—he's never been with one before.
He could almost see himself sitting in a Mercedes, driving through Chinatown, with the Chinese shop owners bowing their heads and making way for him; he could see himself walking into a high-class nightclub he used to be too afraid to approach, with the bartender respectfully calling him "Mr. Rajesh"; he could see Wolf patting him on the shoulder and saying, "From now on, this street is yours to manage."
The day after tomorrow may be the auspicious day for Taragish to completely turn his life around.
In the dead of night, the marshalling yard was so quiet that only the faint whistling of the wind passing through the gaps in the rails could be heard. Inside the sixth maintenance compartment, the lights were cold and white. Wang Zhengyang stood in the center with his eyes closed, his clothes already soaked with sweat.
The power within him—awakening level 0.57%—flowed steadily, like a warm undercurrent. He could clearly feel that his "connection" with the surrounding metal was stronger than before, as if the steel was no longer inanimate objects, but had a faint "pulse".
Three training pistols floated silently on either side of his body, forming a stable triangle. They were motionless, but Wang Zhengyang's entire spirit was engaged in a silent communication with them.
He first tried to "listen".
He didn't listen with his ears, but felt with that power. His consciousness, like the lightest tendrils, reached into the nearest pistol. The state of every small part of the gun—the firing pin, the spring, the bullets in the magazine—was clearly visible in his mind. He could "feel" the degree of spring compression, and even vaguely "touch" the fine texture on the inner wall of the barrel.
That wasn't enough. He turned his attention to a steel target hanging in the distance. The target was still swaying slightly. In his perception, this swaying was no longer just swaying, but had become a set of information—the speed of the swing, the amplitude, and where it might swing to next. This information didn't require him to calculate; it appeared naturally in his mind.
He thought: Hit the most likely position.
The pistol on the left immediately rose, its muzzle smoothly turning to point steadily at the predicted spot. The entire movement was so fluid it didn't seem like he was controlling it; it was as if the gun itself understood his intentions.
Just before he was about to "fire," another system activated automatically. It was the "instinctive rule" he had developed through repeated practice—the muzzle made a final, almost imperceptible adjustment, locking onto the target with even greater precision.
"Click." The firing pin simulates firing, producing a crisp sound.
Almost simultaneously, the pistol on the right was raised, pointing to the second position where the target might sway, adding another line of fire.
Wang Zhengyang began to move, simulating combat maneuvering. The three floating guns immediately followed, maintaining their formation. Their muzzles adjusted their direction as he turned and paused, like three most loyal guards who knew where to look without being told.
The pressure increased. He imagined three "enemies" in his mind: one charging from the left, one peeking out from behind a box on the right front, and one watching from a high vantage point. The three guns instantly "understood" and automatically divided their tasks: the left gun continuously "fired" to suppress the charging "enemy," the right gun kept its eyes on the edge of the box ready for bursts of fire, and the rear gun was raised to guard the high vantage point while also keeping an eye on the ammunition consumption.
My mental energy felt like it was being rapidly drained, my head started to throb, and a familiar feeling of fatigue washed over me.
The more difficult part comes next. Imagine the left gun runs out of bullets. Almost simultaneously, a spare magazine floating behind it moves. The empty magazine is pulled out by an invisible force, a new magazine is pushed in with a "click," and the bolt returns to its original position—all these actions are completed in the blink of an eye, while the right gun's "firing" never stops. Then the right gun reloads, and the left gun provides cover. This cycle repeats, simulating a continuous stream of firepower.
Sweat stung my eyes. The familiar warmth returned to my nose. My mental energy was stretched to its limit; it felt like countless threads were taut in my mind, and my vision blurred.
But he didn't stop; instead, he pushed himself to increase the pressure. He increased the number of imaginary enemies to four, and at the same time, he diverted a portion of his power to make several metal plates float up and combine in front of him to form a mobile shield.
Under extreme pressure, he felt a deep resonance emanating from the core of his inner strength. It seemed to be adapting, adjusting, and finding a more efficient way of working under the immense pressure. The multiple tasks that previously required his painstaking coordination gradually became smoother, with less interference between them, like chaotic streams flowing into the main channel.
The consumption is still enormous, but the brink of collapse has been pushed back a little.
Wang Zhengyang stopped abruptly, bent over, braced his hands on his knees, and gasped for breath, his lungs burning with pain. The three pistols silently floated back to their positions. Only his heavy breathing remained in the cabin. He wiped his nose, leaving a bright red mark on the back of his hand.
In that moment of utter exhaustion yet heightened clarity, deep within his consciousness, the line of numbers that had always followed him skipped a beat:
Awakening level: 0.58%.
He didn't suddenly learn any new skills, nor did he see any further. But everything was different. The world was clearer in his "eyes"—not because he saw more, but because information about everything he saw came faster and in greater detail. When controlling multiple things simultaneously, the feeling of being overwhelmed was lessened, becoming smoother and less strenuous. The three floating guns responded to his thoughts faster, consumed less mental energy, and almost became a part of his body.
He walked to the window, letting the night breeze caress his burning face. Outside, the steel hull of the Longyuan stood silently in the moonlight, gradually transforming into the form he needed. The ship was changing, and so was he. 0.58%, still far from that crucial turning point, but each step gave him more confidence in preparing for the coming storm.
He gazed at the hazy lights of Berlin in the distance. A spectacle would unfold at the docks the night after tomorrow. And he, here with his steel behemoth, would wait in silence. Waiting for the chaos to pass, waiting for his path to unfold clearly after everything had collapsed.