The footsteps stopped less than five meters away from Rod.
The shadow did not move again, nor did it speak.
It was like a statue that had suddenly appeared there.
Rod did not turn around.
That guy was as thin as a bamboo pole.
He probably could not even carry a suppression lasgun.
If it really came to a fight, Rod was confident he could break that skeletal hand before the man could raise that ridiculously heavy-looking rifle.
After all, he had already had an Ork Boss’s face pressed right in front of him.
This freak who had appeared out of nowhere was nothing.
Click.
Rod directly ignored the presence behind him.
His fingers skillfully inserted the heavy high-energy power cell into the slot of the standard lasrifle.
The gun trembled slightly, and the indicator light filled with bright green.
Fifty meters ahead stood a target welded together from several pieces of scrap iron, with a few red circles casually painted on it.
Target locked.
Time to grind.
Zzt!
Zzt!
Zzt!
Sustained fire.
Crimson las-beams poured out like rain.
Although it was only a standard rifle and lacked the ferocious power of the suppression pattern, it had a faster rate of fire and longer range.
And more importantly…
It really saved power.
If the suppression lasgun was a fuel-drinking tiger, this gun was a grass-eating mule.
One standard power cell could fire more than a hundred shots.
Trajectory correction.
Shooting skill activated.
Even during what looked like casual spraying, Rod’s movements still maintained an almost unreasonable precision.
Every shift of the muzzle was adjusted by muscle memory.
Every beam landed precisely within the red bullseye.
The red-painted circle on the target began to smoke.
The iron plate turned red-hot from the heat, softened, then melted.
Red molten metal flowed down like tears.
Zzt…
Only after the last bit of energy was exhausted and a wisp of smoke rose from the muzzle did Rod release the trigger.
He pressed the release button, yanked out the red-hot power cell, and casually threw it into the empty crate by his feet.
Clang.
Looking at the target again, the original center of the bullseye had completely disappeared.
In its place was a fist-sized hole with irregular molten edges.
“Tsk.
Tsk.”
Two soft clicks of the tongue came from behind him.
The sound was strange, unlike a human exclamation.
“Good…
marksmanship.”
Only then did Rod slowly turn around.
Standing there was a man wrapped in a worn cloak.
The cloak was gray and dusty, like a rag picked up from a garbage heap, stained with oil and dirt.
His hat was pulled very low.
The lower half of his face, exposed beneath the shadow, was so thin it looked almost gaunt.
His skin had an unhealthy dead-gray color.
There was not much expression on his face.
It could even be called somewhat dull.
The most eye-catching thing was the rifle slung over his shoulder.
It was an absurdly long sniper rifle.
The barrel was taller than Rod by more than a head, and it was wrapped in bandages and camouflage netting.
What kind of freak from which company is this?
Is there a wasteland-style regiment in the Astra Militarum background?
Rod’s gaze swept over the man’s fingers, which were as thin as dead branches, then glanced at the huge rifle.
“Not bad.”
He replied calmly and casually opened the system panel in the corner of his vision.
[Skill: Lasrifle Shooting LV6]
[Current Experience: 486/600]
Looking at the slowly climbing number, Rod sighed inwardly.
Shooting dead targets really is slow.
AFK grinding might be safe, but the efficiency is low.
He would still have to waste a few more power cells to level up.
Somewhat uninterested, he withdrew his gaze and bent down to pick up the next power cell.
Perhaps sensing Rod’s “don’t bother me, I’m grinding” attitude, the “skeleton” did not leave.
“I’m from Sixth Recon Company.
You can call me Silas.”
He spat out two short sentences, which counted as a self-introduction.
Then he extended one finger and pointed at the target that had already been shot through.
“Want to make a bet?”
As he spoke, he did not wait for Rod to answer.
That hand slowly reached toward his waist.
Hanging there was a small silver-gray rectangular metal box.
The box looked completely ordinary, even smaller than a standard medkit.
It bore no Imperial markings, only some complex geometric patterns that seemed to have been etched into it.
He pinched the box between two fingers and waved it in front of Rod.
Then that finger changed direction and pointed at the eye-catching holster at Rod’s waist, which held the bolt pistol.
His meaning was obvious.
Use this thing to bet against the bolt pistol.
Rod frowned.
He glanced at the broken metal box, which was about the size of a cigarette case, then subconsciously covered his bolt pistol.
Is he sick?
He wants to trade that busted little metal box for my bolt pistol?
Does he think I’m some savage-world bumpkin?
“Not interested.”
Rod refused directly.
He turned and was about to grab a new power cell.
Silas was not annoyed by the rejection.
On the contrary, the corner of that dull face actually twitched stiffly upward.
“Heh…”
He let out a soft chuckle.
Then, just as Rod turned away…
Silas gently brushed his hand across the surface of the small box.
There was no sound of a mechanism opening.
But he reached his hand directly into the box’s smooth opening.
The next second.
From the corner of his eye, Rod saw something that nearly made him drop the power cell in his hand.
Silas slowly pulled something out of that palm-sized box.
It was a cane.
A cane more than a meter long, its whole body giving off a cold metallic sheen.
The length of that cane was absolutely several times longer than the diagonal length of the box.
The visual sense of spatial mismatch made the scene look like a cheap clipping bug.
Holy…
shit?
Rod abruptly turned around, his eyes wide.
Seeing Rod’s ghost-seeing expression, Silas seemed quite satisfied.
He slowly stuffed the long cane back into the box, flipped his wrist, and like a magician, pulled out a book as thick as a brick.
The book’s thickness alone was greater than the thickness of the box.
“Interested now?”
Silas weighed the book in his hand, then put it back inside.
“I found this after the Harakon II moon campaign…
in an alien tomb that had already been purified.”
When he said this, he deliberately emphasized the words “found.”
“Of course, don’t worry.
The great lords of the Inquisition don’t care about such a ‘little trinket.’ Nor will they pursue an old soldier’s small…
private collection.”
Rod said nothing.
If he were a devout common soldier, he would immediately report this guy to the Commissar for hiding alien technology.
But he was not…
What stood before his eyes was a spatial storage device!
As a “player” in this world who could not log out, Rod knew exactly how valuable this thing was.
Look at what he was carrying now.
A lasgun on his back, a bolt pistol at his waist, a dagger strapped to his leg, power cells stuffed into his chest rig, with space still needed for rations and water.
If he had this thing…
Even if it could only hold a little more ammunition and supplies, that would still be a strategic-level improvement!
It was equivalent to getting several extra inventory slots out of thin air!
He had to get it!
As for betting on marksmanship?
Rod had the system.
Even this strange sniper would not beat a cheater at shooting.
He took a deep breath, raised his head, and nodded to Silas.
“A little interesting.”
He did not show too much eagerness.
Instead, he acted as if he were still hesitating.
Those black eyes rolled slightly in their sockets, finally landing on the system panel’s [486/600].
Rod chuckled softly, his fingers lightly tapping the stock of the lasgun.
“But…”
He raised the gun in his hands and made an aiming motion.
“I just drew this rifle.
It’s new, and I haven’t broken it in yet.
The feel is still a bit unfamiliar.”
He looked at Silas, his eyes unbelievably “clear.”
“Since we’re betting something as big as a bolt pistol, I need to get used to the feel first.
Let me fire a few more magazines and warm up.
No problem, right?”
This reason was perfectly reasonable.
No veteran would take an unfamiliar gun into a life-and-death wager.
Silas obviously could not find fault with it either.
He smiled and nodded.
Then he stretched out one hand and made an extremely elegant gesture, almost like court etiquette.
“Please.”
Once he had permission, Rod no longer held back.
Click!
He grabbed a fresh power cell and slapped it hard into the rifle.
Zzt!
Zzt!
Zzt!
Crimson las-beams roared out once more, and the experience bar began jumping upward bit by bit.