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If you were to ask who the strongest magician in this world is, the magicians would fight and squabble until the sun rises the next day. And if you were to ask who the most devout priest is, priests from different sects would duel rather than concede their claims.

Such debates about the superiority of magicians, warriors, or priests are quite fierce.

Honor, symbols, values, propaganda, historical conflicts, legitimacy, pride.

That simple question entangles countless complex interests among various groups, and no matter how much time passes, a conclusion that everyone would agree upon will never emerge. It’s like the endless bickering that occurs when ordering sweet and sour pork.

Of course, those magicians or warriors or priests commonly invoked in such debates are mostly legends that have either died or become legends after death. But people’s gossip doesn’t care about that.

However, among those many legends, there are still ‘active’ individuals.

A magician from the empire known for his mysterious blue flames and silver hair, descended from the royal family with the blood of dragons.

Once a high priest feared by all inquisitors, knights, and exorcist priests, he is now missing, yet he once slayed demons and heretics.

On the opposite side stands the goddess, known as the mother of all shamans and astrologers, who has protected faith against the cult for the past hundred years, reading the mystical laws of the universe with her own eyes.

The plains chief, who bathed in blood after battling a dragon atop the eternally snow-covered Mount Para’anga, roaring triumphantly.

These are figures who reached a state of transcendence while still alive and remain living legends. And Camila is someone who belongs to that ranks just by her very existence.

With endless affinity for magic, overwhelming growth rates, explosive outputs, etc. The Government of Abas believes that if she learns a bit more magic and enough time passes, she might reach the caliber of legendary magicians who have won wars against the cult. This means she’s a person whose worth can’t even be estimated.

She’s like a Bitcoin that might suddenly be delisted or shoot straight up to Mars. That’s Camila.

So what’s Camila doing right now?

“Hold your breath a bit. The strap isn’t tightening yet.”

“This is way too tight…!”

“Alright, now I’m pulling. Hold your breath.”

“Ugh…!”

“…Ah, this isn’t working either.”

She can’t even put on a bulletproof vest properly.

***

Episode 9 – Old-Fashioned

A bulletproof vest is an important piece of protective gear.

While armor protects against blades like spears and swords, a bulletproof vest shields the wearer from bullets and shrapnel. Thus, for soldiers or police officers who often find themselves in situations where they might get shot, a bulletproof vest is akin to a lifeline.

With the advent of thermal weapons, bulletproof vests emerged and have evolved through two World Wars, the Cold War, and the war on terror.

Primarily enhancing bulletproof performance while reducing weight, it has developed to reduce fatigue and allow for customizable adjustments according to the wearer’s preference.

However, I haven’t really worn a bulletproof vest much. This is because I was an information officer belonging to the Information Agency.

The first rule for an information officer is to remain as inconspicuous as possible. But how can someone wearing a bulletproof vest not stand out?

It doesn’t matter if it’s a plate carrier or whatever; even if you wear clothes underneath, it shows right away. And if you wear an overcoat to hide it in the desert, aside from heat exhaustion, as soon as you step outside, locals will give you suspicious looks and whisper.

So I didn’t wear a bulletproof vest much during my time in Military Intelligence or even during my time at the Information Agency.

And that was my downfall.

“Ah… this doesn’t seem to fit either.”

Since I’ve hardly worn a bulletproof vest in my life, and most of my experiences are from so long ago, I barely have any knowledge about them.

The problem arose at that point.

For safety purposes, both Camila and I had to wear bulletproof vests before firing. Luckily, I succeeded in borrowing a few vests from the nearby unit.

But I forgot that Camila was a woman.

“Um, Camila… I’m really sorry, but maybe you should lose some weight…”

“How do you reduce your chest size?!”

The thing with a bulletproof vest is that it fundamentally contains ballistic plates, making it hard and uncomfortable whether a man or woman wears it. However, generally speaking, it’s even harder for women to wear a bulletproof vest due to their physical characteristics like developed chests and pelvises.

Unfortunately, Camila wasn’t a man; she was a woman.

She managed to get her head into the vest, but whenever she tried to tighten the straps around her waist, the plates kept getting stuck on her chest, making it impossible for her to wear it.

“No way. It doesn’t tighten at all.”

“Just… just one more try….”

“Do we really have to do it? Wouldn’t it be simpler to just not wear the vest…?”

“Even so…! Ah, we need to wear it for safety….”

*Sigh…*

I approached Camila from the back.

Camila, with her face flushed red, raised her head to the sky and held her breath. I pressed closely behind her, straining to tighten the vest’s straps.

I was pushing so hard that the vest and straps trembled. We made every effort to wear the vest.

Of course, simply pulling hard wouldn’t stretch a bulletproof vest. When the strap, which had been pulled taut little by little, finally released as Camila couldn’t hold her breath anymore and gasped, the vest flung forward.

“Aah…!”

“…….”

The tight straps drooped down, and the bulletproof vest, blocked by a great wall, started swinging helplessly in the air. It was almost pitiful.

In the end, after wrestling with the vest for over 30 minutes, we had no choice but to declare defeat.

“Let’s either bring in a new model of the vest or get one custom-made.”

“…Let’s just get on with the shooting.”

***

The second day of shooting training finally got underway. I started the training by teaching Camila about pistols and rifles.

“The firearms here might seem unfamiliar, but if you have experience using ARs or AKs, you should be able to adapt quickly. For today, let’s first get familiar with the military rifles of Abas and Kien.”

Today, the firearm Camila would handle was a rifle. I lined up the rifles she would use and explained each one.

“You can see the differences in design and appearance right away, but the most significant difference lies in the controls. Kien army rifles operate by using the thumb or forefinger to raise or lower the lever, which inevitably leaves the index finger off the trigger, often putting unskilled soldiers at risk.”

“On the other hand, Abas army rifles can be operated using just the thumb. Because these two rifles are fundamentally different in grip and shooting methods, we won’t be focusing strictly on one side. This means you need to learn both sets of skills.”

Camila gathered the rifles and went into the range. I opened a box of live cartridges, pouring them out before loading brass rounds into the magazines while explaining the training.

“Today’s training will start with zeroing the sight, covering grip and shooting techniques. We’ll be doing precision shooting with the rifles just like yesterday. And we’ll be moving on to the next stage for the pistols.”

“Next stage?”

“That’s moving target shooting. You’ll be shooting while moving or shooting at moving targets while stationary, and you’ll also be shooting at moving targets while moving.”

I handed a chest rig from the box to Camila, personally fitting her magazine, and then picked up my own rifle. Thus, the training began.

As planned, the rifle training started with zeroing the sights. After Camila fired three shots, I checked the impact area on the target and adjusted the sights. Surprisingly, Camila’s shooting was quite decent, forming a group around the center of the target right from her first shot.

“You’re doing well.”

“Really?”

“Of course, this level is impressive.”

Abas easily adapted to the rifle of the Abas army. I heard he had an AR, so that probably helped him a lot.

However, problems arose with Kien’s rifle. Camila, facing an imperial rifle she had never seen before, didn’t know how to handle it. After several attempts to load it, she looked at me with pleading eyes, asking for help.

“Have you ever used an AK? Soviet, Russian, Eastern European? Or even a Chinese one or a cheap knock-off?”

“Why would I use that…? Have you ever used one?”

“Is there an Information Officer who hasn’t handled an AK while serving in Africa or the Middle East?”

Of course, I had used one, too.

Camila was examining the Kien rifle from various angles and asked me, “But where do you get those kinds of guns?”

“In Africa or the Middle East, you can just go to the market and buy a gun. Well, sometimes you might bring them from your home country, depending on the region. Especially with sniper rifles, because they need proper handling, it’s often better to prepare them beforehand rather than getting them locally.”

“But the guns you get locally must be low quality; is it really okay to use them? What if they explode while shooting?”

“These days, AKs in Africa or the Middle East are often pretty reliable. Even if they’re DIY, the technology has advanced… If you really doubt them, you can always just buy decent parts separately and assemble one yourself.”

“Really? That’s a method?”

“Many places import bullet casings and projectiles to assemble ammunition. There are even tribes that produce and sell ammo. They even make money off of it.”

Ending the talk about Africa and the Middle East, I returned to the main topic, recalling my old memories and the specialized weapon training I received at the Military Intelligence Agency, I began explaining the rifle to Camila step by step.

“The AK has a groove, so you need to align the magazine with that part when attaching it. Also, the loading handle is on the right, so untrained users instinctively try to use their right hand to load it, which is a very bad habit.”

“Then what should I do?”

“You should use your left hand.”

I taught her how to swing her left hand over the body of the rifle and push it in from below to load it.

As soon as I finished the explanation, I handed the rifle to Camila. She fumbled with it a few times, and just as she started to get used to Kien’s rifle, we moved to live firing.

We shot live ammunition inside the warehouse.

According to Abas army regulations, strict safety protocols would require targets to be set at least 100 to 300 meters away at an outdoor shooting range, but we went ahead and shot indoors.

Because… we’re not regular troops.

“Let’s start with the rifle. Change your positions and shoot at the target.”

When I gave the signal, Camila changed positions as she shot at the target, going from standing to kneeling, or slowly moving side to side.

Unlike the rifle, we conducted pistol training in a slightly more challenging manner. Following my signals, Camila moved around inside the warehouse shooting at the targets with her pistol.

“Move behind the left cover and shoot.”

“Advance while shooting.”

“This time, move backward. Of course, don’t stop shooting.”

Camila showed a pretty good stance. She extended her arm holding the pistol, slightly bent her upper body, and steadily moved while shooting at the target.

Not stopping there, we practiced using the cover to adjust her shooting stance and reloading mid-fire, but unfortunately, Camila repeatedly dropped the magazine on the floor or forgot where she put it, hesitating and making mistakes.

Of course, I had made similar mistakes before, so instead of scolding her, I advised her not to think too rushly and to stay as calm as possible.

Nobody can be perfect every time.

As she began to get used to pistol shooting, I changed the position of the targets and increased their number or complicated the orders to challenge her. Just when it seemed she was getting the hang of it, I tossed her a new order.

“Camila, do you know how to do jump push-ups?”

“Jumping while doing push-ups? Yeah, I’ve tried it.”

“From now on, do that before shooting. Then after the jump push-ups, run over there, lift that sandbag over your head a few times, and come back here to shoot.”

“What are you talking about…?”

“This is training for shooting under physical stress. It’s done in special forces and regular armies….”

“Why on earth would you do such a thing…!?”

“Battles always arise in unpredictable situations. If bullets start flying and you’re feeling unwell, you can’t just say, ‘Let’s fight tomorrow!’ to the enemy, right?”

“…….”

I trained Camila in a way that was thoroughly logical, systematic, scientific, and verified. It was never my intention to torment her unconditionally or teach her haphazardly.

Perhaps acknowledging my effort and sincerity, Camila continued her pistol shooting while trembling from doing push-ups and carrying the sandbag. It’s definitely not because I’m holding an assault rifle and forcing her to do it. Probably.

Watching Camila follow the training earnestly, I smiled. The warehouse was filled with the mixed smells of gunpowder, sweat, and humidity, which wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t bad either.

“So, what do you think? It’s not as hard as you thought, right?”

“…….”

“I’ll be looking for a proper training range soon, so just hang in there. We’ll be able to practice properly with vehicles and heavy weapons.”

“Uwaaaaah…!”

How much time had passed?

After finishing push-ups, as Camila, trembling like a leaf, threw the sandbag down in a “whatever” manner and collapsed on the floor, I handed her cold water and a towel.

“Let’s take a short break.”

“How about some food instead…?”

“It’s probably not time yet. We have about two hours until lunch.”

“Ah.”

Camila’s eyes went vacant. I guess she was done.

Leaving behind Camila, who sat there in a daze, I opened the tightly shut door wide to let in some fresh air. Or at least, that was my intention.

– Creak.

As soon as I lifted the doorknob, the warehouse door swung open on its own. And bright sunlight poured in along with the fresh forest air, revealing an unexpected guest peeking inside.

It was Lucia.

“…….”

“…….”

“…Saint Lucia, what brings you here?”

“I thought you should receive treatment before your injury worsens, so I came to fetch you. But, um….”

Lucia glanced at Camila, then at me, and looked back at Camila once more.

Then, with a somewhat displeased expression, she narrowed her eyes at me.

“Did I perhaps interrupt something?”

“That’s a clear misunderstanding.”

 

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