The final alley fight simulation.
Han Feng's performance plunged the entire firing range into a dead silence.
He weaved through the complex steel jungle, his figure a fleeting blur.
None of his shots were aimed directly at the enemies.
Instead, he shot at walls, the floor, and even a pipe on the ceiling.
The bullets carved bizarre, ricocheting trajectories through the air.
It was as if they were being guided by an invisible hand.
They always found their way into an enemy's blind spot, striking them precisely between the eyes.
Gun Fighting Technique?
No, this was more like the Flying Swords of myth and legend.
His final score was locked in.
Hit Rate: 100%.
Lethal Hit Rate: 98%.
The firing range was utterly silent.
Fan Jian stared at the report, silent for a full thirty seconds.
"Third test, cold weapons."
He turned stiffly and walked toward the weapon rack, as if wanting to turn the page on this absurd result as quickly as possible.
