Copenhagen Sharpshooter Training Ground.
Rhodes stood at the edge of the target area, the young people watching him struggle to adjust the scopes on their rifles — ten men older than him were frantically tweaking their scopes.
Indeed, although these soldiers were the best marksmen of their units, the age gap was too vast. Rhodes even noticed the eldest of his squad — yes, really an old man, with white hair, a face wrinkled from wind and snow, and calloused hands.
Could such an old man really be a sharpshooter? Was he really not just brought in to make up the numbers?
He was the slowest one to adjust the scope and the only one who gave up, the old man put down the four-time scope and picked up his ten-shot rifle: "Lieutenant Sir, may I use the mechanical sight."
"...No problem, but this time the target is at three hundred meters." Out of respect for someone old enough to be his grandfather, Rhodes did not curse. If it were someone his age, he could have blasted the guy across to the wall of the shooting range.
Forget it, no need to argue with an old man about what’s good about a scope, he’s probably never used one in his lifetime, and perhaps won’t use it in his remaining years either.
"No problem, Lieutenant Sir, back in my hometown, I used to shoot prey at about this distance," the old man said, after which he aimed at the seemingly small target and fired a shot.
Rhodes turned to the target, only to see a plate below it displaying the score.
Rhodes lifted up the binoculars, and saw the numbers on it — 10.7 points.
"Lieutenant, does he have a sort of Sharpshooter’s Short Sequence?" Rhodes asked, putting down the binoculars, addressing the lieutenant who had brought these soldiers — where did this deceiver originally come from, really, appearances can be deceiving, old man.
"No, Lieutenant Rhodes, these soldiers are all hunters and mountain folk, the transcendent test didn’t detect any innate sequences in them," the lieutenant promptly answered.
"Soldier, do you have a Transcendent Sequence?" Rhodes scratched his head and walked up to the old man sizing him up.
"I do not, Lieutenant Sir." The old soldier’s reply prompted Rhodes to give a signal, and the standard bearer signaled to the old soldier’s group for the three hundred meter target to be lowered, and the four hundred meter one raised.
"Try it, see if you can hit that target." Watching the old man pick up the rifle and carefully adjust the sighting scale — right, he didn’t seem to adjust the scale earlier?
This discovery made Rhodes take another look at the list in his hand — not adjusting the scale, raising the barrel and hitting the target on the first shot? This wasn’t just a pretender, it was a different kind from the mountains.
With his complaints, Rhodes saw the old soldier’s photograph and his identity document.
Hmm... Simon Haye? Forty-two years old, a hunter from a small town in the North... he’s only forty-two? Rhodes thought he looked sixty at first glance.
But even this age was older than Rhodes’s father, truly a remarkable existence, this veteran, what hardships in winds and the wilderness shaped these skills.
And this soldier even didn’t use the gun rest at his side, but aimed directly and pulled the trigger.
Rhodes lifted the binoculars, this time, the score reflected in the mirror was 9.7 points.
With a sharp intake of breath, Rhodes put down the binoculars, turned and said to the lieutenant: "Lieutenant Sir, he belongs on our Sharpshooter team."
Four hundred meters, mechanical sight shooting, he even factored in the current wind direction... where did this monster come from? If he couldn’t get him for the Sharpshooter team, Lord Malin would certainly be very upset.
"Lieutenant Rhodes, I brought the soldiers here because the military wants you and your comrades to train them, not for you to line your own pockets," the lieutenant replied expressionlessly.
Of course, Rhodes wouldn’t give up his plan just because of that remark, since his own face wasn’t enough, he might as well change the approach: "On behalf of Lord Malin, I select the best soldiers to join the Sharpshooter team, you can refuse me, but you should at least consider Lord Malin."
"You damn little rascal..." Lieutenant Sir cursed, hands on hips, looking very reluctant, but this time Rhodes clearly struck his weak spot, so eventually he agreed to Rhodes’s request: "But aside from Simon, you cannot select any other soldiers, I’ll say it again, the military tasks you to train these soldiers."
"Yes, not for us to line our own pockets." After speaking, Rhodes instructed the standard bearer to signal the other side to raise the five-hundred-meter target as well.
Then Rhodes opened the drawer beneath the shooting position, took out a clip of high-caliber ammunition and tossed it to Simon: "Come on, five shots, you have one minute."
Simon nodded, removed the regular bullets from the rifle, loaded the chamber with high-caliber bullets, removed the clip, reset the bolt, and stood at the shooting position indicated by Rhodes.
"Begin," Rhodes said, watching the stopwatch in his hands.
Then came five crisp gunshots.
The young lieutenant turned his head in silence, raised his binoculars, and watched as five plates with numbers appeared one by one.