Chapter Three: The Marksmanship Contest

On the very first day at camp, a new recruit challenged his commanding officer in marksmanship!

This news exploded through the training base like a high-powered grenade tossed into a pond, shaking everyone to their core.

And to make it even more sensational, the new recruit had collapsed from heatstroke while running, and the commanding officer in question was a captain, a professional trainer in the military. The contrast between the two caused a seismic stir throughout the base.

Both soldiers and officers, upon hearing the terms of this wager, were left dumbfounded before inevitably feeling pity for the recruit.

“Of all people, he had to offend Captain Bryant? I heard the captain once placed in the top three in inter-unit marksmanship competitions.”

“That rookie must be out of his mind.”

“He’s given up hope, that’s all. Now he’s going to embarrass himself beyond redemption.”

No matter what, this was exactly the kind of spectacle busybodies relished. By the time it was just before five o’clock, nearly everyone in the base was headed toward the shooting range, eager to witness the humiliation of the soldier named Kyle.

“Kyle, you’re being reckless.” Steve sighed repeatedly. “You’ve barely even handled a gun before. There’s no way your marksmanship can compare with an officer who’s spent years in the military. Go back and apologize to Captain Bryant now—maybe there’s still a chance…”

“Don’t worry. After this wager, no one here will look down on us again.” Kyle answered placidly, betraying not a hint of anxiety.

Because he had already drawn the card that would let him win this contest!

At the training base shooting range.

The stands were packed to the brim with soldiers in their green uniforms and steel helmets, and more than a few officers in dress uniform had come to watch the commotion.

Captain Bryant had already arrived and was testing his rifle. The female agent still clung to her file folder nearby. When Steve entered with Kyle, Captain Bryant gestured toward the table loaded with military firearms. “All the rifles used by the US Army are here. Pick whichever you like.”

Kyle nodded but didn’t move toward the table. Instead, he approached the female agent with a smile. “Agent Carter, may I ask what firearm you use? Could I borrow it for the contest?”

Agent Carter looked up. In the sunlight, her refined and striking features and red lips radiated undeniable allure. Kyle only learned her name—Carter—after leaving the captain’s office and hearing it from Steve. In person, she was even more beautiful than she appeared on film.

“Of course. But are you sure you want to use it for the competition?” Carter replied coolly as she handed over her firearm—a sleek, elegant pistol.

“Kyle, are you kidding? Competing with my rifle using a pistol?” Captain Bryant’s face darkened.

Even at a range of fifty meters, the accuracy of a pistol can’t compare with a rifle.

“Just let me borrow it.” Kyle confirmed, taking the pistol from Carter. It was clearly tailored for a woman’s hand, yet under the sunlight, its cold gleam left no doubt it was a deadly weapon.

“Fine firearm,” Kyle complimented, weighing it in his palm.

“Three shots will decide it,” Captain Bryant said, disengaging the safety on his rifle and stepping up to the firing line. “No need to waste army ammunition on you.”

“Three shots it is. Captain, please go first.” Kyle replied with a gentlemanly gesture.

“You pampered youth—let me show you what marksmanship truly is.”

Captain Bryant moved quickly, shouldering his rifle, taking only a few seconds to aim. He fired three rounds at the fifty-meter target.

Finishing, he straightened, satisfied. Hitting fifty meters with a rifle was basic, and with over two decades of experience, it was effortless.

Soon, the trainer reported the results: “Captain Bryant, fifty-meter target: two bullseyes, one inner ring, total twenty-nine points!”

Twenty-nine out of thirty—nearly perfect!

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Captain Bryant remained stern-faced, shaking his head. “Not my best. Thirty would have been easy otherwise.”

“A true rifle expert.” Kyle shrugged and moved to the firing line.

In his previous life, he had never even touched a pistol, let alone practiced with one. But now, with a card granting him mastery, the weapon felt uncannily familiar in his grip.

He eyed the distant target. His movements weren’t exactly fluid, but he raised his arm, aimed, and in less than half a second fired three rapid shots.

“He certainly puts on a show,” Captain Bryant muttered, shaking his head. For a pistol, fifty meters was already a considerable distance, and hitting the target was far more challenging than with a rifle. Unless all three shots hit dead center, the odds of victory for a rookie were virtually zero.

As expected, the trainer spent quite some time inspecting the fifty-meter target before finally reporting in a loud voice: “Soldier Kyle, fifty-meter target—three misses, zero points!”

The range fell silent, then erupted with laughter from the stands.

Captain Bryant was stunned. He had expected Kyle to at least hit the target, even if he couldn’t win—never to miss all three shots.

“What a farce. Kyle, pack your things and get out,” Captain Bryant jeered. But Kyle, still standing at the firing line, suddenly called out, “Trainer, please check the one-hundred-meter target.”

“One hundred meters? What are you playing at? Is this not enough of a joke?!” Captain Bryant finally lost his temper, advancing with his rifle, his face dark with rage, the muzzle pressed to Kyle’s head. “You want me to shoot you for real?!”

Kyle remained calm. “Before you do, could you wait for the trainer to report the one-hundred-meter target?”

“You’re crazy! Do you really want me to pull the trigger?!” Captain Bryant’s finger hovered on the trigger, when suddenly the trainer’s voice rang out from a hundred meters away:

“Reporting—Soldier Kyle, one-hundred-meter target, three bullseyes, thirty points!”

One hundred meters—three bullseyes!

The once-roaring range fell silent again. Both soldiers and officers stared in amazement.

Captain Bryant’s incredulous expression was almost comical. He asked the trainer to confirm, and only after hearing the answer repeated did he lower his rifle in a daze.

“That means I win the wager. Captain, I’ll continue my training here.” Kyle let out a silent sigh of relief. Having a gun pressed to your head was no joke.

But he had won. It was a narrow victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Without waiting for Captain Bryant to reply, Kyle left the firing line and walked over to Agent Carter to return her pistol.

Carter gazed at him in surprise, then said with admiration, “I never imagined you could do that with a pistol.”

“You could do it too, I’m sure,” Kyle replied with a smile.

“How do you know?” Carter couldn’t help but ask.

“Just a hunch. But today, you were my goddess of victory. Next time, I must thank you properly.” With that, Kyle turned and left the range, leaving Carter bewildered and Bryant in a daze.

Outside the range, Steve ran over when he saw Kyle and gave him a hug. “Kyle, you scared me half to death!”

“Come on, don’t be so melodramatic—I’m straight,” Kyle joked, but he kept his arm around Steve’s thin shoulders.

“I never knew you were such a good shot. You’ll have to teach me some time,” Steve said, grinning.

“Of course! We’re friends, aren’t we? Let’s go eat.”

The two walked shoulder to shoulder to the mess hall. As they left, someone in the stands started clapping, and soon a thunder of applause rolled across the range.

Even the recruits from their barracks who had mocked them before now hung their heads in shame.

A hundred-meter pistol target versus a fifty-meter rifle—an overwhelming victory! Such marksmanship deserved the applause and respect of everyone in the camp.

“Army food is nutritious, but it sure doesn’t taste great,” Kyle mused as he returned to the barracks after dinner. After this stunning victory, the attitude of his fellow recruits had completely transformed.

As Steve put it, those who had once ignored them now couldn’t wait to cozy up and become friends, while those who had bullied them before now kept their heads down.

Such was the deterrent power of strength and skill.

Having experienced the benefits of drawing ability cards, Kyle was more enamored than ever with the feeling of constantly growing and improving himself.

There were nearly twenty men in the barracks, and he was like a dry sponge soaking up all sorts of ability cards from those around him, taking whatever came his way.

But as they were all new recruits, the cards he gained were mostly white, with only a few green ones. And among the green cards, very few were actually useful.

Agent Carter, though—she had over twenty green cards. When could he collect them all?

Having finished his collection, Kyle lay back on his bunk, deep in thought, when Steve climbed up and asked curiously, “Kyle, what are you thinking about?”

Still lost in reverie, Kyle blurted out, “Thinking about Agent Carter.”

“Ah, Agent Carter…” Steve’s face froze at the mention of her name.

“You like her, don’t you?” Kyle teased, then reassured him, “Relax—I won’t compete with you for her.”

“You really mean it?” Steve was touched, but quickly grew despondent. “Forget it. A woman like her is out of my league.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Steve. You have to believe in your own talent and future,” Kyle said, patting him on the shoulder with the enthusiasm of a motivational speaker. “If you want to pursue her, keep your willpower and drive, dig deep into your potential. I don’t want to be on the battlefield without you at my side.”

After all, you’re Captain America! In this Marvel version of World War II, you’re practically the main character.

“Thank you, Kyle,” Steve said, nodding earnestly before climbing off the bunk.

You go strive to grow stronger. Though with my ability to draw cards, I’ll always be one step ahead.

Kyle watched Steve’s retreating figure and turned his attention back to the ability cards he had collected.

Leaving aside the hundred or so white cards covering every field, he had only five green cards so far.

[Rifle Mastery]
[English Mastery]
[Military Boxing Mastery]
[Psychology Mastery]
[True Pistol Mastery]

Among these, [True Pistol Mastery] shone far brighter than the others.

[True Pistol Mastery]: Near-perfect mastery of pistol technique. Rare green ability card.

This was the highest-value card he had drawn from Carter, and with it, he had easily defeated the captain’s rifle mastery.

Otherwise, with both having rifle mastery, his odds would have been no better than fifty-fifty.

“Rare green cards > green cards > white cards.”

“Green cards are much harder to come by than white, and their requirements for proximity and timing are stricter.”

“There’s no need for the others on the battlefield yet. What I need most now is a green ability card that can enhance my physical fitness!”

Kyle reflected. His original body was weak—otherwise, he wouldn’t have collapsed from heatstroke on day one. If he wanted to handle the intense training of the camp, he had to change his constitution.

Directly drawing talent-related abilities from others, like [Military Boxing Mastery] (green), [Running Specialty] (white), [Swimming Specialty] (white), could help boost his fitness.

But the boost from white cards was minimal; only green cards made a noticeable difference.

“Tomorrow, I’ll keep hunting for ability cards—especially green ones that enhance physical fitness.”

Kyle’s eyes gleamed. The talents of everyone in this military training base were his hunting ground!