Chapter 10: Single-Action Rapid-Fire Master
After entering the hidden door and descending a flight of stairs, what came into view was a dim corridor.
The corridor was completely empty, without the guards Shiltina had expected to be protecting the secret chamber.
In fact, thinking about it carefully, that was quite reasonable—after all, this was just a small cult that had been established for less than half a year.
To be able to create something resembling a hidden door mechanism and station sentries outside the manor was already pushing their limits...
To imagine something as tightly guarded as a secret base in a movie, requiring the verification of seven or eight layers to get in, would be asking too much of these self-made cultists.
Rast and Shiltina walked through the pitch-black hallway, the dim yellow light on the wall flickering erratically beside them.
“By the way, do all of your ‘War Chariots’ gain that level of combat power once they reach Tier 3?”
Rast asked.
What he said earlier wasn't a lie—Shiltina’s performance in that battle had indeed exceeded Rast’s expectations.
Although the name of the War Chariot sequence already suggested powerful combat ability, and Shiltina was two tiers above him...
Still, slicing bullets with a lightsaber or whatever... in this Nightworld Remnant where only revolvers and bolt-action rifles existed, that was seriously overpowered.
By comparison, his own Tower sequence, which only offered spiritual deterrence, felt like a child adopted by the Nightworld and the Lord of Silence.
Whose idea of job balance was this?
Rast couldn’t help but recall the game company in his previous life, and that one data planner who rarely spoke but occasionally showed a wicked grin at the screen.
“War Chariot is merely the name of the sequence I belong to—it’s not my name.”
The ahoge on Shiltina’s head bounced slightly.
“And it’s not as exaggerated as you think. I’m something of an exception among Tier 3s... with one more experience in the Nightworld Remnant, I’m confident I can ascend another tier.”
“Also, to avoid any accidents, besides the War Chariot sequence abilities, I also activated my own ‘Night Blade’ just now.”
“Night Blade?”
“Mm. Night Blade—‘the blade bestowed upon chosen ones by the Nightworld.’ That’s how I interpret the name.”
Shiltina thought for a moment and explained, “If you consider different sequences as different professions, then even without entering the Nightworld, one could still play and train to become a professional through knowledge inheritance.”
“Then the Night Blade would be the blessing and protection granted to the chosen ones by the Nightworld—a unique supernatural power for every traveler of the night.”
“To my knowledge, there hasn’t been a case of two Night Blades being exactly the same.”
She paused her steps. “Once you leave this historical remnant and become a traveler of the night, you should be able to obtain your own unique Night Blade.”
“It’s said that the ‘Night Blade’ is the manifestation of each traveler’s inner landscape. To be honest, it’s quite intriguing—what kind of Night Blade would reflect your inner world?”
Of course, all of this was premised on them actually surviving this journey and making it out of Deep Blue Port.
Shiltina didn’t say that last part aloud, but both of them understood it clearly.
…
At the end of the corridor stood a tightly closed door.
Through the crack in the door, a faint light could be seen beyond.
Rast walked up to the door and pulled out his silver-white revolver, aiming at the bolt.
Bang—
The bolt snapped, and the door swung open.
“Don’t move. West District Patrol Bureau.”
“Under orders from Assemblyman Talis, we’re raiding this criminal hideout.”
Behind the wooden door lay a stone altar. Among the various ritual tools and offerings at the center stood a black iron sculpture.
A middle-aged man dressed like a fisherman stood before the altar, arranging ritual items. When he saw the two break in, hatred flashed in his eyes.
“That old bastard Talis again!”
“I knew it—he’s been coveting the Lord’s holy relic!”
“Even if the ritual fails, I won’t let him succeed.”
As he spoke, the middle-aged fisherman halted the ritual preparations and reached for the nearby shotgun—not to aim at Rast or Shiltina, but directly at the statue in the center of the altar.
Bang bang bang, bang bang bang—
Six short bursts of gunfire.
But it wasn’t the cult leader dressed as a fisherman who fired—it was Rast who shot first.
The first three bullets pierced the man’s wrists and side spine, causing the shotgun to fall from his hands as his body twisted in agony.
Then, the pain on his face froze.
Two shots to the chest, one to the head.
Mozambique Drill.
The remaining three bullets struck with deadly precision, blooming blood as they tore away the man’s life.
“So accurate.” Shiltina’s brown eyes narrowed slightly.
In her eyes, marksmanship alone didn’t mean much.
With the physical boost granted by the War Chariot sequence, she had scored full marks on every live-fire exam at Starfall University.
But Rast was using a single-action revolver, and the six shots he fired in just two seconds exceeded the theoretical firing speed limit of such an old model.
The only explanation was that he had used a technique called “single-action rapid-fire.”
Shiltina’s shooting instructor had once mentioned this technique—its principle was forming a continuous rhythm between hammer cocking and trigger pulling, greatly reducing the time between shots.
However, single-action rapid-fire demanded extremely high proficiency, and it was essentially a spraying technique for suppressive fire, trading accuracy for speed.
To hit even one or two targets with six shots would already be considered a success.
And yet, Rast had used this spray-and-pray style to achieve pinpoint accuracy.
Without a doubt, compared to his previously demonstrated skills like bartending or sculpting...
This was Rast’s true talent, one that had been honed, tempered, and engraved into his very bones after countless loops in Deep Blue Port.
“No choice. After all, when it comes to self-amusement, what could be more thrilling than sniping it out with the city’s entire police force and the Royal Navy?”
He spun the revolver’s cylinder and ejected the spent shells one by one. “When you fire enough times, even a spray-and-pray shooter can become a gun master.”
Rast figured that if he hadn’t spent all his time researching new tricks and gameplay in Deep Blue Port...
From RPGs to FPS, from Red Dead to Vice City, from playing Batman to cosplaying the Joker—he would’ve gone insane long ago in this hopeless loop.
“So, that little prank just now was part of your self-amusement too? Lying to a dead guy?”
Shiltina glanced at the fallen cult leader.
That poor bastard had died still believing his cult had been destroyed because of some unseen Assemblyman Talis.
“Not exactly.”
Rast shook his head. “He was still the leader of this cult, which means he was the chosen of an evil god...”
“The odds are low, but who knows—maybe the evil god might resurrect its chosen someday.”
“Now that we’ve misled him like this, if he really does come back, he’ll go after Assemblyman Talis first instead of us.”
“That actually sounds even more twisted.”