Chapter 74: Chapter 73: Complete Firearm Analysis: The Terrifying Use of the Spiritual Vision Talent

"Technician Han, did you go on a supply run or a demolition job?"

Zhou Ping’s round figure came jogging over.

He looked at the empty ammunition boxes, the pain written all over his face.

"A thousand rounds of 30mm armor-piercing incendiary shells!"

"That’s fifty thousand Contribution Points!"

"How long were you even gone? Two hours?"

"And you used them all up already?"

Zhou Ping was heartbroken, as if it wasn’t shells being fired, but his own money.

Han Feng jumped down from the aircraft and tossed his helmet to the ground crew nearby.

He grinned.

"Director Zhou, don’t just look at the cost. Look at the revenue."

Following the direction Han Feng was pointing, three fully loaded transport trucks were slowly driving into the acquisition area.

The truck beds were piled high with the corpses of various Demon Beasts, most of them killed with a single, head-splitting shot.

The Tier Two Early Stage Rock Lizard on top had a clean hole right through its back armor, a sight that made one’s skin crawl.

Zhou Ping gave it a quick glance, his calculator clacking away furiously.

"Rock Lizard, excellent condition, twelve thousand..."

"Wind Blade Wolf, fur is damaged, but still valuable..."

"Is that a Pangolin? Damn, a direct headshot..."

As he continued to calculate, Zhou Ping’s expression changed.

The pain over the cost turned to shock, and finally, to the sycophantic look of someone seeing the God of Wealth.

"Ahem, this run wasn’t a loss."

"After subtracting the cost of ammunition and fuel, this trip netted a profit of at least thirty thousand."

Zhou Ping adjusted his glasses, grinning so wide his eyes disappeared.

"Younger Brother Han, you’re not flying an aircraft, you’re flying a money-printing machine."

The team members watching from the sidelines gasped.

Thirty thousand.

In the time it took to go for a joyride, he had earned their entire monthly subsidy.

That was faster than robbing a bank.

The cafeteria at lunchtime was even livelier than the training grounds at dawn.

Han Feng was holding a stainless steel basin larger than his face.

It was piled high with a mountain of braised pork and violet crystal rice.

He was shoveling it into his mouth at a speed incomprehensible to others.

After a morning of high-intensity "Krypton Gold Cultivation," his body was like a high-speed furnace, in desperate need of a massive amount of fuel.

"Slow down, slow down, no one’s going to steal it from you!"

Wang Meng sat across from him, so amused by the sight of Han Feng eating like a starved ghost that he couldn’t stop grinning.

"You really made quite a stir this morning."

"I was on patrol in the south and could hear what sounded like a demolition site over in the north."

"So, how was it? Fun to fly that ’Gray Donkey’?"

"It’s alright. Just too clumsy. Can’t pull off a lot of the fancier maneuvers,"

Han Feng swallowed a large piece of meat and mumbled his assessment.

The moment he said that, a few of the new team members who had come in with him nearly spat out their food.

Pulling off low-altitude sideways flights in a fully loaded heavy support craft through a forest of grotesque rock formations—and he called *that* "not being able to pull off any fancy maneuvers"?

If it were anyone else up there, forget pulling off fancy maneuvers; they’d be considered mentally tough just for not flying themselves into a dizzying stupor.

"Hmph. So you finally admit that stupid donkey of yours is no good."

A slightly arrogant voice spoke up nearby.

Gu Yun was slowly and deliberately wiping his metal fork with a snow-white napkin.

His movements were as elegant as if he were attending a noble’s banquet.

"Combat is an art, an elegant aerial ballet."

"What you were doing this morning wasn’t flying. It was a brutish rampage. You completely destroyed the harmonious beauty of the airspace and even scared off several Wind Blade Wolves I was preparing to hunt!"

Han Feng ignored him, focusing on the food in his basin.

He was pondering a serious question.

The sensation of breaking through to Mastery Level Sword Qi Release in the air just now had been incredible.

Before, his Sword Qi was just a simple spray of energy.

Now, his Sword Qi had been imbued with a specific "structure."

Spiraling, compressed.

In that instant, he had forcibly twisted his loose Qi Blood energy into a sharp cord, barely visible to the naked eye, and attached it to the cannon shells.

Although it had been exhilarating to fight in the sky, he hadn’t had a chance to observe many of the details of its true power, aside from its great Destructive Power.

He needed a cheaper, more controllable testing environment.

Han Feng stuffed the last piece of braised pork into his mouth, chugged a large gulp of water, and let out a satisfied burp.

He wiped his greasy hands and turned to his captain, Zhang Hao, who was leisurely sipping his soup.

"By the way, Captain, does our farm have a shooting range?"

"A shooting range?"

Zhang Hao was taken aback.

"We have one, sure. It’s in the open area behind Hangar 3."

"But everyone’s usually fighting for real out there, so who goes and wastes bullets at the range?"

"You want to practice shooting?"

"Something like that."

Han Feng wiped his mouth.

"Flying up there just now, my aim felt a little off. I want to get the feel for it on the ground."

In reality, it wasn’t that his aim felt off; he wanted to test the true power of his Mastery Level Sword Qi Release.

Testing it in the aircraft was too expensive.

A single 30mm shell cost fifty Contribution Points. Firing them wasn’t firing shells; it was like tearing out a piece of his own flesh.

Besides, moving at high speeds in the sky made it impossible to see the details clearly.

Using a gun would be different.

The bullets were cheap, the environment was stable—perfect for an experiment.

"Sure. I’m too full to move anyway."

Wang Meng’s interest was piqued, and he pushed his tray aside.

"Let’s go, let’s go! I’ll come watch the fun and give you some pointers."

"It’s been a while since I’ve handled a small-caliber piece. My hands are getting itchy."

Hearing that Han Feng was going to the shooting range, a few other team members in the cafeteria who had finished eating and had nothing to do also tagged along.

Even Gu Yun, who had looked so disdainful just moments ago, picked up his water glass and slowly sauntered over, pretending to be on an after-meal stroll.

He was still muttering under his breath.

’Ground shooting?’

’Such a primitive and boorish form of entertainment.’

’But I suppose it’s fine to go have a look. I’ll just consider it... observing the hunting techniques of a primitive man.’

The shooting range at Golden Ears Farm was very crude.

It was just an open field with a few randomly piled-up barricades made from discarded Battle Armor plates and sandbags.

At the far end of the shooting area stood several alloy targets, already pockmarked and battered from use.

The man in charge of the range was a veteran with a lame leg whom everyone called Old Cripple.

Rumor had it he used to be an ace sniper from Jiangbei Fortress City, but he retired here to live out his days after his leg was crippled.

"What kind of gun do you want?"

Old Cripple was lying in a creaky rocking chair and didn’t even lift an eyelid, completely uninterested in the arrival of this group of hotshots.

"Any rifle will do. A sturdy one."

Han Feng glanced at the weapon rack.

Old Cripple jutted his chin toward a corner.

"That ’Thunder Fire-3’ model assault rifle. Just been calibrated."

"Ammo’s in the box. Grab it yourself. Scan the code to pay when you’re done."

"Two points for a standard round, ten for armor-piercing."

Han Feng walked over and picked up the heavy, black rifle.

The frame was cool to the touch, its heavy, solid steel presence filling his hands.

He expertly pulled back the bolt and inspected the rifling.

The moment he activated "Spiritual Vision," the rifle’s internal mechanisms became completely exposed to his eyes.

The wear on the firing pin.

The tension distribution of the recoil spring.

The tiny bit of gunpowder residue that hadn’t been cleaned from the barrel.

All of it was perfectly clear.