I loaded the Mysticism panel.

After loading the ammunition, Old Big walked to his firing position, his stomach almost touching the edge of the partition.

But from the waist up, the whole person suddenly froze.

His shoulders relaxed, his back straightened, and the way he held the gun was completely at odds with his relaxed appearance.

He didn't look for long.

boom! boom! boom!

Three shots, evenly spaced, the sound waves bouncing repeatedly between the concrete walls.

Smoke billowed from the gun barrels, forming three plumes of white mist that quickly dispersed under the light.

"You can come closer and take a look." Old Big put his gun aside, muzzle facing inward, to avoid any unnecessary misunderstandings.

Richard walked up to the target paper to examine it.

The three bullet holes were clustered together, landing slightly to the left of the center of the human-shaped paper target's chest.

"See that?" Old Big shouted from behind:

"The key is not how accurate you are, but whether you can maintain the same rhythm between each shot."

"Practicing shooting is the same as practicing anything else."

Take it slow at first, aim carefully, clench your fist carefully, and feel how the recoil moves across your wrist with each shot.

Once you've fired 500 rounds, your feel for it will naturally improve. Then you can practice rapid fire and moving shots later.

He tucked the gun back into its holster and patted his round belly:

"However, your breathing technique is much better than mine was back then. I estimate you'll be able to do around 300 repetitions."

Richard did not respond to the topic of "breathing techniques".

But the fact that Old Big could sense his breathing technique foundation indicates that the other party was also a mystic, at least with a certain level of etheric perception.

For the next forty minutes, old Bige taught him the basics of shooting.

Standing posture, gripping the gun, aiming, and the rhythm of pulling the trigger.

"Pulling the trigger isn't pulling, it's pushing."

With your finger resting on the trigger face, use your first knuckle to push it back, keeping your entire arm still except for your index finger.

Richard fired the first shot.

The bullet missed its mark and landed on the right shoulder of the target.

"It's too low, raise it by half an inch. Press down when you're halfway through exhaling, don't press down while inhaling."

The second shot was close to the chest, but still off to the right.

"You're gripping too tightly with your right hand. Leave some room for your fingers on the gun so that it can breathe in your hand."

The third shot hit the chest, but a little too high, just barely hitting the collarbone.

"Much better." Old Big rubbed his hands together.

"Your problem is that you try too hard to control it; you're using your brain to correct the trajectory of every shot."

The correction itself is not wrong, but the time window for your correction is too long.

Between pulling the trigger and firing, your finger will hesitate, and hesitation makes it easier to deviate.

After firing twenty-four shots, Richard's right hand was numb from the recoil.

The bullet impact points on the target paper were scattered across the chest and abdomen, with the furthest bullet hitting the left arm and the closest barely clustered within the chest cavity.

For someone handling a gun for the first time, this result isn't bad.

But compared to the three bullet holes that were so close together in Old Bige's, the difference was obvious.

Old Big told him to put down his gun and then loosened his arm.

He pulled a small tin box out of the canvas bag.

Upon opening the lid, a neat row of bullets was found inside, clearly different from ordinary lead bullets.

"This is an enchanted bullet." Old Big picked one up and let Richard examine it closely.

The surface of the warhead has extremely fine etched symbols.

Each symbol is only the size of a sesame seed, arranged on the surface of the bullet cone to form a complete miniature inscription ring.

"Silver cartridge case, lead-silver alloy bullet, with the most basic exorcism inscriptions engraved on the bullet surface."

Old Bige explained as he demonstrated, his tone shifting from playful laughter to seriousness.

"Ghouls are the lowest level of evil creatures. Ordinary bullets can penetrate their physical shells, but they can't damage their core at the etheric level."

If you riddle a ghoul's body with bullets, it will temporarily collapse, but as long as its core isn't destroyed, it will reform after a few hours.

"The enchanted bullet's inscription solves this problem."

After the warhead hit its target, the inscription released an exorcism effect on the ethereal level, essentially striking the core as well as the body.

He held the bullet closer to the brighter light so Richard could see the arrangement of the inscription rings.

"Etching inscriptions on such a small area as a warhead requires extremely high precision."

Specialized miniature engraving tools and a magnifying glass are required; a skilled engraver can only make about one hundred pieces a day.

"What about intermediate and higher-level evil creatures?" Richard asked.

Old Big shook his head: "One shot isn't enough, ten might not be enough, but it's better than using ordinary lead bullets to tickle an itch."

He carefully closed the lid of the tin box:

"Enchanted bullets are very expensive; even the most ordinary exorcism bullet is worth dozens of ordinary bullets."

This thing is a consumable; once it's used up, it's gone.

There are twelve rounds in this box. I don't usually use them; I only put them in the cylinder when I really need them.

Richard noticed that besides the copper kettle, the toolbox also contained some small items wrapped in cloth.

This is someone who carries all his belongings with him wherever he goes.

Old Big glanced at the watch on his wrist.

That's all for today.

He jumped off the ammunition box and dusted off his pants.

"Your basic shooting skills are still far from perfect, but you'll improve after firing a few hundred more shots."

Don't rush to buy your own gun; first, get a feel for how to use a practice gun.

He packed up his toolbox, hung the tin cup back on the buckle, and swaggered towards the stairwell.

He took two steps and then turned back:

"By the way, just remember about the enchanted bullets, but don't go around telling anyone."

This thing isn't openly available on the market; its origin and destination shouldn't be known to too many people.

"clear."

"Hmm." Old Big nodded in satisfaction.

"I'll come again next week if I'm free. I usually spend half a day here on weekends."

"Just go straight to the basement when you arrive; no need to let me know beforehand."

"Okay, see you next week."

See you next week, little bro.

Richard unloaded the practice gun, cleaned the chamber, wiped it dry, and put it back in the metal cabinet.

I signed the return form, picked up my schoolbag, and went upstairs.

After passing through the lobby on the first floor, the staff on duty had already changed the magazine.

This is a special issue on horse racing, and the cover features a chestnut horse leaping over a barrier with all four hooves off the ground.

Pushing open the gate, Richard walked along the narrow path beside the wall toward Grafton Street, his mind still preoccupied with the enchanted bullet incident.

The application of miniaturized inscriptions is probably related to the fields of secrecy and hearth tradition.

This old beagle may seem carefree, but he actually has a lot of knowledge.

However, the conversation ended when we got to the enchanted bullets. Old Big didn't go any further, and Richard didn't press for details.

There's no need for two people who've only known each other for less than half a day to open up to each other on their first meeting.

What you need to know will come naturally in time; there's no use in rushing what you shouldn't.

He turned up his coat collar and quickened his pace home.