First Battlefield Commander! - Chapter 120
Chapter 120: Shooting
After the instructor finished speaking, several people around Fang Jianchen cast strange glances at him.
Zhao Zhuoluo shook his head.
Fang Jianchen hunched his shoulders defensively: "What?"
Cheng Ze immediately raised his hand to report: "Instructor! I request to switch positions with him. Since he wants to go, I'm willing to give him my spot and continue staying here for combat training."
"No need. Your skills are already sufficient for the next phase of training. We warmly welcome students who take initiative and show enthusiasm," the instructor directly refused. "Besides, aren't you brothers? Perfect opportunity to strengthen your brotherly bond. The shooting training will involve some teamwork. Good luck. Go on."
The group had a bad feeling about this but reluctantly stepped forward, heading toward the waiting instructor in the center.
Among the hundred students specially selected for shooting training, apart from the voluntarily registered Fang Jianchen, their Alliance University accounted for thirteen spots. Among the twelve military academies, their performance was indeed outstanding.
The instructor in charge of shooting training had them swipe their cards upon arrival, then instructed them to wait in the third-floor training room.
They were changing locations entirely.
The group turned and slowly made their way to the third floor.
Zhao Zhuoluo turned his head and whispered to Fang Jianchen: "I don't know what you were thinking, but you were really too careless."
"For the sake of accompanying you all, and accompanying my beloved gun!" Fang Jianchen said with genuine emotion. "Isn't it obvious? It's all for love!"
Neither physical endurance nor close combat were Fang Jianchen's strengths. Treating a sniper like this was simply too cruel.
Actually, his close combat skills weren't bad—just slightly inferior compared to Zhao Zhuoluo and the others. But if they targeted him like at noon, draining his stamina while wasting his combat time, he'd be in trouble. Staying here, he feared experiencing another noon-like situation.
"Clearly this side would be much easier, you idiot!" Cheng Ze poked his lower back with a finger. "Now that the top hundred have been taken away, those left behind definitely won't be as jumpy as this morning. If you take it steady while running, no one will bother you. How could you not finish in three hours? With the stragglers and overachievers both gone, it'll be a breeze!"
At noon, half the students had failed to complete their tasks and were punished with weighted gear. By now, few had energy left to cause trouble.
Moreover, the evening training's one-kilometer time limit was five minutes—one minute shorter than before, making a world of difference in stamina consumption. Anyone attempting mutual destruction would have to prepare for several consecutive kilometers. Probably no one would dare act recklessly now.
If Fang Jianchen just kept a low profile, he'd be safe.
"Actually, I think the attack-run exchange training is quite simple. Especially for those with excellent individual combat skills," Lian Sheng nodded. "Comrade Fang Jianchen, you should have more confidence in yourself. If you remove the top hundred rankings, your abilities would place you in the upper-middle range of the group."
Running just one kilometer before getting ten minutes of rest meant what? It meant a chance to reset. As long as one maintained a steady rhythm like Lian Sheng, victory was practically assured.
Whether the one-kilometer limit was seven minutes or five made little difference to her—she could use those ten minutes to adjust. In contrast, those who lost in combat had to resume running. The shorter the time limit, the faster their stamina drained. Without replenishment, their situation worsened.
Those who won all their matches had no such worries.
Before being targeted, Fang Jianchen's record was five wins out of seven matches—quite good. Tonight's training should pose no problem for him.
"Don't compare your close combat skills to mine. Your standards aren't normal—you're already a freak," Fang Jianchen said, giving her a sidelong glance. "In just a few days, you've become one of the base's top ten unsolved mysteries."
Lian Sheng asked: "Did you make up that 'top ten' yourself?"
Fang Jianchen retorted indignantly: "This is publicly acknowledged by everyone."
Lian Sheng: "Then what are the other nine?"
Fang Jianchen: "The other nine don't matter. You're the only unshakable one."
"..." Lian Sheng pondered this. "Hearing you say that, I feel quite honored."
Ye Buqing: "Fang..."
Fang Jianchen raised a hand to stop him: "No need to say more. My mind is made up. If it's about shooting, I'm not just upper-tier—I'm top-tier! Unequaled!"
His long-awaited moment had finally arrived!
Ye Buqing mused for a moment: "Not necessarily. I doubt it'll be simple shooting training. If it were that easy, they wouldn't have called the top hundred."
Lian Sheng: "We don't know the exact rules of this so-called shooting training, but it definitely won't be simple. Nothing here is simple."
The selected top hundred had all completed their tasks within two and a half hours. This meant that continuing to compete against peers of similar skill offered limited improvement, hence the need for new training.
As they walked and discussed, they soon reached the third floor.
The third-floor training area was larger than the second. The walls and floor were white, with no visible equipment—perhaps, like downstairs, everything was stored beneath.
The instructor followed them in, lined them up, then stepped to the side to swipe his card. Wall compartments slid open, revealing neatly arranged cabinets. Each contained a weapon and a set of clothing.
The instructor waved his hand: "Everyone, quickly collect your gear!"
The students obeyed, each taking a set before removing their jackets and donning the black uniforms.
The material was unfamiliar—smooth yet stiff like hemp.
As they suited up, a sense of foreboding grew.
The instructor reminded them, hand on his chest: "Swipe your cards to activate!"
Lian Sheng swiped hers. A number appeared on the chest pocket, followed by target-shaped markers appearing at various points on the uniform.
The students looked around, comparing notes. Everyone's target placements differed.
"The markers on your uniforms correspond to your rankings from today's noon task completion," the instructor said. "Each uniform has ten target markers. For ranks one through ten, all target positions are fixed. For ranks eleven through twenty, nine positions are fixed. This pattern continues until ranks ninety and below, where all target positions are random. You can study each other to figure out the specifics."
Zhao Zhuoluo and Ye Buqing were top ten. Lian Sheng, sticking to her pace with six consecutive wins, ranked twenty-third.
Cheng Ze was an all-rounder—good at both ranged and close combat, preferring to analyze opponents to strategize. A slow starter, his performance in this training was relatively sluggish. His strength wasn't overwhelming, focusing instead on steady progress. This time, he finished eighty-sixth.
As for Fang Jianchen... best not to mention.
The instructor said: "Our base's philosophy is that pressure breeds motivation. I trust you share this view and understand our good intentions."
He walked to the center and clapped. Two rows of shooting platforms rose from the floor, positioned back-to-back, each separated by barriers.
"Your teams will be divided into two groups based on ranking—odd and even numbers. First, the odd group will shoot while the even group runs. Then we'll switch."
"The runners must complete a lap around the area before swapping roles. This repeats for ten rounds. Normally, soldiers run continuously, but since you're students, we'll take it one round at a time." The instructor wore an expression of great magnanimity. "See the red lines on the floor? Runners must stay within them. Stepping out for over one second counts as being hit once. Obvious pauses also incur penalties."
"You can adjust your running posture to conceal your target positions. But I don't recommend it—you'll be running ten laps. I guarantee this area will have no blind spots, and you won't know when you're exposed to whose gunfire. In other words, you must maintain absolute speed to avoid being hit by stray bullets. This demands extreme stamina. Changing postures and breaking rhythm will only waste energy, making the later stages even harder."
The instructor said sternly: "Also, I absolutely forbid any cheating or signaling. If caught, punishment will be doubled. You've been warned, friends."
The instructor asked: "Are the rules clear?"
"Report!" Lian Sheng raised her hand. "Instructor, what exactly is the punishment?"
"Punishment? Every time a target on your uniform is hit while running, that's your penalty." The instructor clasped his hands behind his back. "Each hit counts as one point. One point equals one set of training—similar to a one-kilometer jog. Don't worry, I'll arrange different combinations based on your scores."
The students stirred uneasily, trembling as they asked: "We're not worried about that. Instructor, could you repeat how the scoring works?"
While running a lap, each person would pass through fifty fields of vision—meaning at least fifty chances to be hit. And they had to run ten laps.
If each hit meant one kilometer... with bad luck, the training volume could theoretically last until the end of time.
The instructor asked again: "Is everything clear? Are you confident?"
The students refused to answer.
These rules didn't sound much like shooting training.
High shooting skill only served one purpose here: trolling. But if running speed, agility, explosive power, or endurance were lacking—like with Fang Jianchen and Lian Sheng—the consequences would be brutal. Before trolling others, they'd be trolled by the system.
After carefully considering the rules, Fang Jianchen also realized how terrifying this was. His knees ached just thinking about it—he wanted to collapse and roll around.
The attack-run exchange training was so much simpler. So, so much simpler!
The instructor raised his gun: "Of course, these aren't real guns. And here's some good news: since it's your first time and you might struggle with pacing, and to prevent certain sharpshooters from making your scores too miserable, each shooter can only score one valid hit per runner per lap. Multiple hits won't count."
He led a round of applause.
"I heard one of you volunteered for this? Impressive." The instructor said. "Fang Jianchen? You'll join the even-numbered group first."
"Love makes fools of us all," Fang Jianchen said sincerely. "My mistake was my devotion. My mistake was not severing our fake brotherly bond sooner. But now I've seen the light. So..."
The instructor cut him off: "So use your gun to sever that bond completely."
Fang Jianchen shook his head mournfully.
No! This wasn't what he'd imagined!
The instructor clenched his fist: "Good luck!"
The students: "..."
They didn't really need his encouragement.
The base's rules seemed designed to make them accept punishment for failing tasks, but in reality, they were constantly testing their limits and escalating difficulty—trying to break them psychologically.
Lian Sheng exhaled and rubbed her shoulders. She knew the situation looked grim for her.
She then checked the target positions on her uniform.
Head, limb joints, chest, abdomen—all had targets. Though numerous, each was only palm-sized, with some in awkward positions.
The shooting platforms' barriers limited visibility, restricting how much information shooters could process quickly. If runners went full speed, hitting them wouldn't be easy.
But with ten laps and five hundred chances, the instructor was banking on probability.
Instructor: "Prepare! Even numbers line up at the starting area. Odd numbers assemble in the center."
Lian Sheng was odd-numbered. She followed her group to the center.
Curtains rose around the shooting platforms as the instructor adjusted spacing based on numbers. They put on helmets and were assigned positions.
Once ready, the curtains dropped.
Except for a ten-meter gap near the entrance for runners, the circular shooting platforms were fully manned.
"Everyone ready! On my mark!" the instructor shouted. "Begin!"
At his command, the first runner burst from the starting line, driving forward with powerful strides, torso low.
"What the—? Gone already?"
The front-row shooter blurted out in disbelief.
Too fast! The runner had flashed past in the blink of an eye.
This shooter, positioned at the first station, hadn't even focused before the target vanished. Finger on the trigger, he froze.
Recalling the moment, only a low silhouette remained in his mind.
Truly the elite of military academies.
Pursing his lips, he refocused, waiting for the next runner.
Three seconds later, the second student began running.
Lian Sheng anticipated her own miserable outcome, so she couldn't let others off easy either. A life of mutual destruction was a complete life.
She positioned herself at the far left of her shooting station for maximum visibility, raised her gun, and concentrated fully.
Soon, the first runner entered her field of view.
Lian Sheng blinked, visualizing the scene in her mind. Reconstructing it, she quickly identified his target positions.
Higher rankings meant more fixed targets—actually a disadvantage.
Most people couldn't react fast enough to spot targets immediately, so they'd aim for fixed positions first.
Lian Sheng pulled the trigger.
Her shooting speed and judgment weren't on Fang Jianchen's level—that was largely innate talent. Fang Jianchen's dynamic vision destined him to be an exceptional sniper. Lian Sheng relied only on experience and feel.
Their guns didn't need reloading—fully automatic rifles. Plus, runners had to follow the red line's winding path, slowing down and adjusting posture, giving Lian Sheng chances to adjust her aim and fire three shots.
A red flash—target hit. The figure disappeared.
Lian Sheng looked away, waiting for the next runner.
With fifty runners spaced three seconds apart, and varying speeds, some near the finish line began overtaking others. Some fields of view contained two or even three runners at once.
Flustered shooters fired randomly, creating chaos.
At full sprint, a 500-meter lap took the fifty runners less than four minutes total.
They switched roles.
The even-numbered group went straight to the shooting platforms based on finish order, while the odd-numbered group prepared to run.
A new round of chase-and-shoot began.
After their sprint, the even-numbered group breathed heavily, hands trembling as they gripped their guns. They tightened their grips, adjusting.
Fang Jianchen, positioned toward the back, was perfectly steady.
Another four minutes later, the round ended.
Fang Jianchen holstered his gun and snorted. Rough estimate: two-thirds would fall to him.
Professional trolling was his specialty.
The main rule was simple: half run while half shoot, with hits on uniform targets incurring penalties. The rest were details.
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Ty for the update!!
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