Raising my rifle was nothing more than a reflex.

Since coming to this world, how many bullets had I fired? Ever since I was a child and first started using a revolver, I had carried a gun with me at all times. And whenever I had a chance, I practiced.

Swinging a sword wasn’t an option for me—not when I had the power to rewind time. If I trained, my muscles would develop, but the moment I rewound time, all my progress would reset. No matter how hard I worked, it would all be undone in an instant.

That was why I chose firearms.@@novelbin@@

Pulling a trigger always produced the same force. The bullet’s speed was instantaneous, faster than the average person’s eye could track or react to.

Of course, that didn’t mean guns required no physical ability. In this era, most firearms were heavy metal constructs, and handling them skillfully—quickly aiming and maintaining control—still required some level of strength. But in the end, what mattered most was sensation.

There were plenty of calculations that could determine bullet trajectory—wind resistance, gravity, even my own pulse. This world had long-range rifles for snipers, after all.

But at the end of the day, the most important factor was the shooter’s instinct.

No need for meticulous calculations—just an innate sense of this is the right distance, this much wind means the bullet will curve just so, my arms are positioned like this, so the muzzle will sway like that—

—I needed to be able to fire with that kind of unconscious, instinctive precision.

I had no talent other than rewinding time. That was why I had done the only thing I could to keep from losing my edge—I fired as many shots as possible.

If I still had the ability to rewind time, I wouldn’t even be thinking about any of this. I would just fire, and if I missed, I’d turn back time and adjust accordingly.

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