Chapter 58

Bullets pierced the air, hitting the bullseye dead center from 20 meters away.

“Bang!”

In the Military District training ground, the large lights cast stark shadows on everyone, while the deep blue sky swirled with wispy black clouds.

Horne held his gun and fired off 60 practice rounds, every single one piercing the bullseye without exception.

Simulation shooting prompt: New record!

Stationary shooting held no challenge, so Horne switched to moving targets, practicing again and gradually increasing their speed to test his aim at higher difficulties. During this, people kept coming over to watch and let out gasps of admiration.

Footsteps approached from behind, but Horne didn’t notice until a clear voice spoke up: “Little Horne, have you eaten yet?”

Horne set down his gun and turned his head, seeing Ben Yian standing there with a smile. He raised his hand, gesturing to the insulated box he held: “I made some nutritious meals at home today, thinking that if you hadn’t eaten, I could bring some over for you.”

Ben Yian often brought little things like this. When Horne was around, he gave them to Horne; when Han Ya and Wen Yu were there, he shared with everyone.

Horne nodded, ejecting the magazine from his gun and swapping in a fresh one: “Mm, I’m not hungry. Hels is in the Command Room; you can ask him.”

Ben Yian lowered his raised hand and stood still without heading to the Command Room. Instead, he watched Horne intently as he held the gun in his right hand, half-squinting his eyes to shoot again. His pupils locked onto the rapidly moving target, and two seconds later, his fingertip squeezed slightly, exploding the air in the shooting range.

“Major!” An urgent voice came rushing over.

Horne holstered his gun once more, sighed, and turned to ask: “What is it?”

A soldier who had been training stopped in front of the two men, panting for breath.

Horne immediately spotted the item in the soldier’s hands. It was an alien model they sometimes used for training, but now it was no longer intact—just torn-apart remnants. All six wings were shredded, the double faces had become truly double, and the body was riddled with holes.

Though Horne was delighted to see an alien truly reduced to such a state, this was just a training prop.

“What happened?” Horne stared at the shattered prop, somewhat dazed.

The soldier explained to him that he had just gone to the Command Room to fetch something and saw a kid inside destroying the prop, so he stopped him in time and brought him over.

As he spoke, another soldier dragged Hels out. Hels struggled wildly and shouted, drawing frequent glances from those training nearby.

The moment the soldier released Hels, he darted straight behind Horne, clutching tightly to the hem of his clothes and gasping for breath.

Horne patted his arm and turned to the soldiers with a serious expression: “I understand. I’ll handle it. You all continue training.”

“Yes, sir.”

The model was tossed onto the ground. Horne racked the slide on his gun and tucked it into his waistband, then bent down slightly and asked softly: “What happened? Why did you destroy the prop?”

Hels clung to him, his gaze filled with unwavering determination. He pointed at the scraps on the ground, opened his mouth, closed it again, and after a long pause, stammered out three words: “Don’t… like… it.”

Horne was stunned for a moment, then all his emotions were swept away by joy: “You can talk now?” He couldn’t control his volume, the corners of his eyes crinkling up as he touched Hels’s hair and laughed, genuinely delighted.

Ben Yian let out a soft sigh beside them: “Wow.”

Hels still pointed at the pile of wreckage, not looking very happy, his mouth turned down stubbornly as he stared at Horne.

Amid his surprise, Horne squatted down, picked up the model, and asked gently: “You really hate this, don’t you?”

Hels shook his head, then nodded.

A sudden thought struck Horne. He felt that Hels was improving bit by bit and might soon blend into their lives, eventually becoming one of them.

Horne looked up, took Hels’s hand, met his eyes, and asked earnestly: “Hels, if you’re willing, you can train here in the Military District from now on.”

To become someone who could protect himself, never to suffer such misfortune again.

Their gazes intertwined, and after a long moment, Hels nodded heavily.

Bullets tore through the air once more, the fierce wind slicing through all obstacles as they plunged into the target’s bullseye.

Horne wasn’t in charge of training new recruits—that was Han Ya’s project—but it was too late now; training had long ended. Horne took Hels on a stroll around the training ground and eventually returned to the shooting range.

Ben Yian had been following silently behind the two the whole time.

“This is a practice gun; it’s very light.” Horne stood behind Hels, wrapping his arms around him from behind and covering his hands with his own to slowly teach him how to hold it. “At first, you need to confirm the gun is safe.”

Horne deftly ejected the magazine, racked the slide to show Hels the empty chamber, then reinserted the magazine and let Hels hold it.

“Right hand on the grip, left hand on the rear of the slide.” Horne guided him hand by hand. Fortunately, Hels was very obedient, doing exactly as Horne instructed.

The scent of wood filled his nostrils, the warm palm pressing over the back of his hand, fingertips guiding fingertips. The right hand quickly ejected, chambered a round, left hand clasped over the right, index finger supporting the right side, thumb the left.

“Mm,” Horne checked Hels’s grip, “Good. Here, grip firmly with the web of your hand to counter the recoil.”

It was getting late. Ben Yian had stood by watching the whole time until the insulated box was no longer very warm. Finally, the two finished the simple introductory lesson.

Horne yawned and said it was time to head back. Only then did he realize he had completely forgotten about Ben Yian’s presence earlier.

“Why haven’t you gone home yet?” Horne packed up his things and glanced at Ben Yian.

Ben Yian shrugged and picked up the model from the ground: “Ben Mu was asleep when I left today, so it doesn’t matter. Besides…” He pointed at Hels and asked Horne, “He’s doing better now. You’re so busy every day; can I keep taking care of him?”

“No need.” Horne refused outright and led Hels toward the exit.

Ben Yian scratched his head: “Don’t push yourself. I want to help share the load anyway.” To prove he was useful too.

Horne smiled at him: “It’s fine; this isn’t any trouble.”

“But I can—”

“Click!”

Before Ben Yian could finish, Horne’s expression changed. He stopped in his tracks and immediately called out: “Hels!”

Hels stood in place, using the practice gun he had just held, swiftly chambering a round and aiming it straight at Ben Yian’s forehead, his face expressionless.

Even though it was just a practice round, at two meters, it could still cause injury.

Ben Yian froze and couldn’t figure out what was happening.

With the training ground’s large lights behind him, Hels’s expression was shrouded in darkness.

Horne marveled at Hels’s terrifying learning ability on one hand, while growing tense on the other. He said softly: “Put it down. Don’t point the gun at him.”

Hels’s arm was rigid. After a long moment with no movement, he kept his index finger on the trigger and said slowly: “Don’t… like… it.”

“What?” Horne was a bit stunned. “Don’t like what? Ben Yian?”

Ben Yian was sure he hadn’t offended anyone and could only stay perfectly still helplessly. He wasn’t too surprised, after all, this kid had attacked him countless times.

Hels said word by word: “Don’t… like… any… of… it.”

Horne had no choice. With a gentle flick of his hand, he swiftly unloaded the practice gun from Hels before he could react and tucked it into his own waistband. He sighed in relief—good thing he had only taught him the basics of handling a gun.

This kid’s aggression was also a problem; he couldn’t just train his abilities blindly.

After bringing Hels home, Horne spoke to him very seriously about the incident. Hels kept his head down the whole time and said nothing until the end, when he slowly uttered a few words: “Sorry.”

Horne couldn’t muster any anger. He just patted his head and said gently: “It’s okay. You can’t do that next time. How about you apologize to him in person tomorrow?”

“No.”

“What do you mean no?” Horne was a bit confused.

Hels pointed at Horne and repeated: “Sorry.”

It turned out he was apologizing to Horne. Horne smiled, feeling no offense taken. Just as he was about to speak, Hels continued: “That… time.”

“Hm? Which time?”

Hels pursed his lips, his gaze flicking to the aromatherapy diffuser on the coffee table, where water vapor slowly mingled with the soft lighting.

He said: “That time… got you punished.”

Water vapor enveloped the floor lamp, adding a layer of delicate moisture to the already warm room.

Hels had begun basic training with Han Ya, while Horne continued planning how to venture out of the city with minimal resources. Without sufficient supplies, their operations would be too risky, so if they could only defend passively, Horne planned to head north alone—to kill as many as he could until he found Mao Mao.

This plan met unanimous opposition from the bandit squad.

But on this matter alone, opposition was useless. Horne ignored everyone. Whenever he wasn’t training, he took the snowmobile north alone, returning after a few trips—sometimes early, sometimes with injuries.

Horne: [Request for additional military supplies.]

Leon: [Higher-ups demand more caution.]

Leon: [You went out again?]

Horne: [Mm.]

Leon: [Hopeless.]

In the Command Room, after checking the Terminal’s reply, Horne fell silent and skillfully bandaged his wounds.

He was used to rejections but persisted anyway.

Today, luck hadn’t been great; he encountered a cluster of aliens. Fortunately, Wen Yu was there too, helping him escape danger several times. Even so, she still disapproved of Horne’s actions.

She disapproved, but she followed him out anyway.

As Horne left the Command Room, he spotted Han Ya training the new recruits. Hels always refused to stand with the others, earning a scolding from Han Ya before slowly moving back into line, only to get scolded again.

It was already dark. Horne signaled that he wanted to take Hels, and Han Ya barked at him a couple more times before letting him go.

Ben Yian’s home was far away, at the opposite diagonal of the Military District in a slum area of dilapidated brick-and-wood houses from ancient times—freezing in winter, sweltering in summer, with terrible insulation.

Horne wanted to check on his sister and, because of the previous incident, have Hels apologize to Ben Yian—if he really didn’t want to, that was fine; it wasn’t the main purpose.

The southern slums were full of such areas. Besides visiting Ben Yian, Horne rarely came here. Noisy chatter from the residential district flashed by behind him—mocking banter laced with thuggish tones, after-dinner gossip or greetings blending good and ill—all rushed past, while Horne’s figure stood out sharply, unable to blend in.

The iron door was rusted, which was common in these slums.

His hand was nearly at the door when a stranger’s voice came from inside. The instant he heard it, Horne halted his knock.