CHAPTER 388: CHAPTER 371 SHOOTING COMPETITION

Seeing the gleeful look on Scorpion’s face, Mountain Eagle helplessly avoided his breath and then pointed to Eddie, saying, "Are you still going to compete?

I have a clay pigeon thrower right here. It should be exciting to duel with pistols."

Mountain Eagle’s words instantly shifted Scorpion’s attention. With his concerns settled, Scorpion became very enthusiastic. He glared at Eddie, the troublemaker, and shouted, "Bring it on, Gun God, this time I’m going to make you lose your pants."

The guys nearby began to join in the fun...

Ham drew his pistol and slammed it on the table, yelling, "Right, this old geezer has won too much money from us. We’ve got to make him cough it up this time."

Seeing the smug look on Eddie’s face, Mountain Eagle knew these people’s fate was not going to be good...

So he raised his hand and said, "Can I join in?

Ten thousand dollars each, winner takes all..."

The people from Arctic Fox looked at each other, then began to loudly make a ruckus...

"Come on, the loser has to not only pay up but also carry Shark’s socks on their body for three days. Anyone who reneges is a bastard!"

Shark, who had sprayed himself with two cans of deodorant, picked out a booger and wiped it on his pants, then flipped everyone off and yelled, "Come on, have the guts to bet your underpants...

The loser has to wear my underwear for a week, don’t worry, my syphilis is cured!"

Mountain Eagle was stunned by the increasingly disgusting stakes these guys were setting. He quickly waved his hands and said, "I bet Brother Shark doesn’t have that many underpants. I propose that the last one put on Shark’s underwear and run laps around Sunset Mountain..."

Not everyone could accept such revolting stakes. As soon as Mountain Eagle finished speaking, a Swede nicknamed Chickpea, who was short in stature, raised his hand and said, "That’s right, the last one should receive the most terrible punishment.

FUCK, Shark’s underwear is a virus petri dish, just touching it with your hands might infect you with a virus...

I’m definitely not the last one, no one is making me come last!"

The last one, a Mongolian known as Bull Head, curled his lip and said, "Shark, who never loves to wash, is the most disgusting thing I’ve ever seen...

This bastard infected me with athlete’s foot and herpes in my first year."

Shark was a Canadian Inuit native. Facing the crowd’s criticisms, he acted like a dead pig not afraid of boiling water.

He grabbed a piece of toast with his booger-picked hand, smeared a big dollop of ketchup on it, and while eating, wiped the ketchup from his fingers onto his newly changed green quick-dry shirt...

"You idiots just don’t understand what life is. Go to India and see, I actually love cleanliness..."

Facing the jeers from the crowd, Shark ate the toast in two or three bites, then drew his pistol and said, "Then bring it on. If I win, I’ll boil my underwear into a soup and make each of you take a sip."

Watching the stakes getting higher and higher, Mountain Eagle began to get a little nervous...

He looked at Eddie, who was utterly relaxed, and asked in a low voice, "How do you usually compete?"

Eddie replied with a smile, "Target shooting, what else?

20-meter targets, 40-meter targets, 80-meter targets, 200-meter targets, 400-meter targets...

You don’t have 200-meter or 400-meter targets here, so let’s switch to clay pigeons...

One round each for pistols and rifles. One magazine each, and if you don’t hit all targets, you’re out. The one who hits all targets with the same number of bullets and in the shortest time wins."

Hearing this, Mountain Eagle curiously said, "Is it that simple and crude?"

Eddie replied with a smile, "Of course it’s not that simple...

Kid, ten thousand dollars isn’t a lot, consider it tuition.

But don’t fail in the first round. Wearing Shark’s underwear can really make you sick."

Getting a bit nervous, Mountain Eagle glanced at the untidy Inuit Shark and sighed, "FUCK, I was thinking of going easy on you guys, but it looks like that’s not possible this time.

You guys won’t be angry if you lose, right?"

Eddie pulled out his flashy revolver, spun it in his hand, causing Mountain Eagle to involuntarily step sideways, worried that the thing might misfire...

Seeing Mountain Eagle’s concern, Eddie said with a smile, "Don’t worry, Eddie will leave you with some dignity."

Eddie then nodded at Camel who had made a choice and said, "Hey, Camel, ask that idiot next to you if he dares to join in?

I’ll give him two extra bullets!"

...

The shooting competition on the mountaintop attracted the attention of everyone on Sunset Mountain...

Tessa had brought a bus and took those unlucky tourists to a secluded upscale hotel.

Getting the news, she decided to stay too; she was curious about these foreigners and especially wanted to know what kind of people Mountain Eagle usually hung out with.

Marta, who had been marking body locations for Supa and the others at the foot of the mountain, also stopped work. She ran back to the mountaintop with Black Back and tried everything to join the competition.

However, the ten thousand-dollar entry ticket stopped her, and she could only serve as the timekeeper.

Supa, eager to show off as an expert from New 191 Training Camp, handed over the grim task of dealing with bodies to Chief and his police buddies, and then sneaked back with a few pals who were eager to join Kamui’s New 191 Training Camp.

Clearly out of their league to participate, Supa volunteered to help weld a special target rig.

Mr. Poincaré, well acquainted with the people from Arctic Fox, called Jon and Zorn back. He had a pencil clipped to his ear and a notebook in hand, ready to play the role of referee.

The target stand is simple: a square frame, 3 meters high and 3 meters wide, with three layers inside. The bottom layer holds 5 beer bottles, the middle layer has 5 tomatoes, and the top layer has 5 bottle caps suspended by fishing line.

Each person has three magazines with 45 pistol rounds and two magazines with 60 rifle rounds.

During shooting, whether you use a pistol or a rifle is up to you, but when it’s time to hit the clay pigeons, if you’ve used too many rifle rounds before that, you’re definitely at a significant disadvantage.

This competition’s difficulty was beyond Mountain Eagle’s imagination...

At the top of Sunset Mountain, it was barely possible to set up targets at a distance of 80 meters, but there weren’t many who could see bottle caps at that distance, let alone hit them.

That is to say, the key to victory is who can hit more targets with the pistol to save enough rifle rounds for the clay pigeon shooting.

But this is not the hardest part. The hardest is that before each person shoots, they must roll a die...

The number you roll corresponds to the number of 30 cm wide and 2 m tall wooden planks that are placed 10 cm in front of several targets...

Then the shooter needs to move laterally, increasing the distance to find the angle to complete the shot, or gamble on their memory to shoot through the wooden plank and hit the target behind it.

This design significantly increases the difficulty and fun of the competition.

Butcher and Pigeon also had great shooting skills, but after they saw the setup of the competition and the arrangement of targets, they decisively rejected the boss’s idea of paying them to join, and earnestly took on the role of assist from outside the field, specifically responsible for challenging the shooters.

Once everything was ready, Mr. Poincaré took out a deck of cards, selected Aces to Nines, shuffled them, and then placed the cards face down in his hand, inviting the shooters to draw lots.

It was unclear whether Mr. Poincaré helped cheat or if it was just good luck, but Mountain Eagle fortuitously drew the number 9.

The short Swede, Chickpea, spewed curses and went behind the shooting line. He adjusted his obviously custom Ruger AR-556...

Then he drew his Springfield XDM-10 Pistol and, amid the audience’s jeers, craftily attached a small red dot sight to the back of the slide...

Facing the jeers from the crowd, Chickpea thick-skinnedly picked a wooden target and emptied a magazine to verify the accuracy of the sight, then gestured to Mr. Poincaré that he was ready to start.

Mr. Poincaré rolled his eyes and tossed him a die, saying, "I’ve seen Eddie gamble with others many times, and I have a premonition that your ten thousand dollars is going down the drain."

Chickpea wasn’t distracted; he kissed the die and then tossed it onto the ground...

"1, yes..."

Chickpea saw that he had rolled the best number. He crossed himself over the chest and then turned to Butcher, who was holding the wooden planks, "Buddy, put that thing furthest to the side. If I win, I’ll treat you to the most expensive Brandy..."

Butcher didn’t seem particularly convinced about Chickpea’s chances, and he expressionlessly planted the wooden plank on the ground at the far left of the target, the two-meter-high plank just blocking the bottom layer of beer bottles and the middle tomatoes.

Marta also seemed unimpressed by Chickpea’s tactics. She walked behind Chickpea, raised the stopwatch, and shouted, "Ready..."

Chickpea turned back to wink at Marta, then reholstered his pistol and raised his hands to make a ready gesture...

After taking a deep breath, Chickpea rapidly drew his pistol...

"Pop pop pop pop pop..."

"Pop pop pop pop pop..."

"Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop..."

The beer bottles and tomatoes at a distance of 20 meters shattered swiftly, and the 5 fluttering bottle caps were sequentially hit, totaling only 16.5 seconds...

Because Butcher went easy, Chickpea didn’t choose to find angles to target, but rather relied on his sense of distance to fire directly, hitting the targets successfully.

16.5 seconds; he spent the most time on the bottle caps, almost 8 seconds, which meant that he spent less than a second on average hitting each of the ten targets below.

Marta, somewhat in disbelief, confirmed the time on the stopwatch, then her gaze towards the baby-faced Chickpea completely changed...

Even the normally impassive Butcher started a round of applause...

Truly impressive!

Chickpea seemed to have already known this would be the outcome. He proudly bowed with his hand on his chest in a curtain-call gesture, then made a throat-slashing gesture to Shark, and provocatively shouted at Eddie, "Who’s the top shooter now?"

Camel, who was second to go, rolled his eyes, shoved Chickpea’s head aside with his hand, picked up the die, and tossed it carelessly. Then, watching Marta’s eyes follow Chickpea, he said with a smile, "Lady, watch me. Be patient, and soon you’ll find out who the real Sharpshooter worthy of admiration is."

Camel rolled a 3, and Butcher, not wanting to create too much difficulty, aligned the three wooden planks centrally and positioned them into the ground in front of the targets...

After Butcher finished the task, Camel took out three speed-loaders for the revolver, removed one bullet, loaded 5 rounds into the revolver, and placed the other two speed-loaders on his belt...

Like an old man warming up, Camel rotated his shoulders and neck, then took his place on the shooting line...

Marta raised the stopwatch, shouting, "Ready..."

Bowing his head and raising a hand, Camel drew his revolver as swiftly as a cowboy, pulling the trigger while his left hand rapidly slapped the cylinder to counter the revolver’s comparatively long firing cycle to increase speed...

"Pop pop pop pop pop..."

The first round finished at an incredible speed, the beer bottles bursting as expected.

Immediately afterward, Camel flipped open the cylinder and, as he ejected the spent shells, he quickly loaded new bullets with the speed-loader in his left hand...

"Pop pop pop pop pop..."

Tomatoes burst, then he repeated the process once more...

"Pop pop pop pop pop..."

Once Camel finished shooting, Marta looked at the numbers on the stopwatch...

"Shit, how is this possible?"