Rebirth of a Mercenary: The Ace Mercenary Forced to Be the Beloved of the Group

Monday morning, training ground.

Zhao Xiaohu stood on tiptoe, craning his neck, his round face trembling slightly with excitement.

"A gun! It really is a gun! Duoduo, did you see that? A Type 95!"

Qian Duoduo was pulled by his sleeve and squeezed forward as well.

"I see it, I see it! Don't pull my sleeve, it's going to tear it off—"

The two of them, like sparrows given stimulants, chirped loudly, making their voices stand out in the queue.

Bai Ye stood in the row in front of them, his hands behind his back, his posture as perfect as a statue.

At the front of the formation, Company Commander Zhou took the roster handed to him by Zhao Lei and turned to the first page.

"white night."

"arrive."

"Xuanxiao".

"arrive."

The names were read out one by one. For each name read out, a gun was handed to the corresponding recruit.

When Bai Ye took the gun, his fingers gripped the handguard, and the buttstock naturally rested against his shoulder.

He hadn't touched a gun in a long time. A whole week had passed since he transmigrated.

In his past life, his hands were practically attached to guns. He never let his gun out of his sight when on missions, kept it within easy reach when resting, and always had a loaded gun under his pillow when he slept. His fingers had developed calluses layer upon layer, and the base of his thumb had been cracked countless times by the recoil, only to become harder with each repeated healing.

These hands are clean now. There are no calluses on the base of the thumb, and only a thin layer of callus on the fingertips from the training over the past few days.

"Attention, all hands—prone, ready to fire!"

Zhao Lei's whistle pierced the air above the training field.

The recruits lay prone with their guns in their arms, the gravel on the ground digging into their elbows and knees.

Zhao Lei walked past the queue, his brows furrowing deeper and deeper.

"The butt of the rifle should be against your shoulder socket! Not your collarbone! If you press it against your collarbone, do you want to break your own bones?!"

"Hold the handguard with your left hand! Hold it! Don't grab it!"

"Legged naturally apart! Is that a split or a gun stance?!"

He kept correcting himself as he walked, but stopped when he reached Zhao Xiaohu.

Zhao Xiaohu lay on the ground, his round body resembling a stranded dolphin.

"Zhao Xiaohu".

"arrive!"

"Are you here to hold a gun or to sunbathe your belly?"

Several new recruits nearby were trying to suppress their laughter, their shoulders shaking. Zhao Xiaohu's round face turned bright red, and he frantically adjusted his posture, only to find that his feet had tucked in, causing the rifle butt to slip from his shoulder to his collarbone.

Zhao Lei took a deep breath, squatted down and put the butt of his gun back in the correct position, and then pried his left hand off the handguard and put it back in place.

"Hold on. Don't move."

Zhao Xiaohu gritted his teeth, sweat already beading on his forehead.

Zhao Lei stood up and continued walking. Today, Zhao Lei was in charge of correcting the new recruits' gun-holding posture. He had a sharp eye; he could spot at a glance who had a slightly off wrist angle or whose cheek was positioned a finger off.

Then he walked over to Bai Ye.

My steps stopped.

Bai Ye lay prone on the ground, his body pressed against the earth like a stone washed by water. The butt of his rifle rested firmly against the hollow of his shoulder, his cheek resting precisely, and his left hand supporting the handguard in a posture so perfect it could be used in a textbook. His legs were naturally apart, his toes turned out at just the right angle, and his weight was evenly distributed between his limbs and torso.

Zhao Lei squatted down next to him.

He reached out and grasped the barrel of Bai Ye's gun, pulling it up slightly.

The gun remained completely still.

Zhao Lei raised an eyebrow. Although he hadn't used his full strength just now, lifting something weighing ten or so pounds was more than enough. Bai Ye's body was as if nailed to the ground, the triangular support formed by his shoulders and arms was incredibly stable.

He intensified his efforts.

The barrel was pulled upwards, Bai Ye's fingers tightened, his shoulder pressed down more firmly, and the butt of the gun was embedded deeper into the hollow of his shoulder.

Zhao Lei could feel the opposing force—not too strong, not too weak, just enough to offset his pulling force; any more and it would be stiff, any less and it would be loose.

Zhao Lei put in even more effort. This time he practically pulled with all his might.

Bai Ye frowned.

He merely frowned. No other part of his body changed. His shoulders didn't shrug, his elbows didn't bend, and his cheeks didn't shift. He remained a stone, as if washed by water.

Zhao Lei released his grip.

He stood up, looked down at Bai Ye's posture, and then looked at his own hands.

"Have you practiced before?"

"I've practiced a little."

Zhao Lei didn't press the matter. It wasn't unusual for new recruits to have handled a gun before enlisting.

He dusted off his hands and continued walking.

Xuanxiao lay prone to Baiye's right, his posture impeccable. The butt of the rifle was against his shoulder, his cheek was in the correct position, his left hand supported the handguard with even pressure, and his legs were spread at just the right angle.

Zhao Lei crouched down beside him, gripped the barrel, and lifted it. Xuan Xiao's arm muscles tensed instantly, and the gun steadied itself.

When Zhao Lei increased the power to the second level, his shoulder shrugged slightly, but the muzzle of the gun only deviated by less than two centimeters before he pushed it back down.

Zhao Lei released his grip and stood up.

"good."

Zhao Lei continued walking, but the recruits behind him weren't so lucky. Qian Duoduo's gun veered off course with a slight lift, and he tilted upwards along with the barrel, like a fish on a hook. Zhao Xiaohu fared even worse; Zhao Lei hadn't even exerted any force, just a slight shake of the barrel, and he swayed from side to side.

"Zhao Xiaohu! Are you going to hold a gun or dance?!"

"Report, squad leader! I didn't dance!"

"Then why are you shaking it!"

"I...I don't know either—"

Zhao Xiaohu's voice was trembling with tears. His arms were already shaking, his elbows were digging painfully into the ground, his shoulder was numb from the gun butt, and his back was starting to ache.

Less than five minutes had passed.

The sunlight on the training field grew brighter and brighter. The new recruits, lying on the ground, looked like a row of wilted radishes, sweat dripping from their foreheads onto their rifles and then sliding down to the ground.

Sweat beaded on Bai Ye's forehead. The sweat slid down his brow bone and clung to his eyelashes. He blinked, and the sweat dripped down, leaving a small dark dot on the butt of his gun.

His arms were starting to ache slightly. The core strength of this body was far inferior to that of his previous life. By the seventh minute of the shooting practice, his deltoids and trapezius muscles began to send signals of soreness and swelling. His lumbar spine was also protesting, with the gravel on the ground digging into his iliac crest through his training uniform.

But his posture remained unchanged. His shoulders were still pressed firmly, his cheeks were still pressed against his chest, and his left hand was still held at a steady angle to the handguard. He adjusted his breathing rhythm, using deeper and slower abdominal breathing to distract himself from muscle fatigue.

Xuanxiao lay prone beside him, in a similar state. His physical reserves were better than Baiye's, but his precision in holding a gun was inferior. At the eighth minute, his left wrist began to droop, but he forcefully snapped it back up. His jaw was clenched tightly, and the veins on his temples bulged slightly.

"Beep—"

Zhao Lei's whistle finally blew.

"Take a five-minute break!"