Saving The Monster Race Starts With Breeding The Elf Village-Chapter 158: Elf Shooting Range

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

The forest echoed with the thunder of gunfire—not the controlled bursts of a single shooter, but a chorus of shots firing in sequence, one after another after another.

The sound rolled through the trees like waves crashing against a shore, startling birds from their nests and sending small animals scurrying deeper into the woods.

But this time, it wasn’t just Luca pulling the trigger.

Dozens of elves were firing.

Rows of targets had been set up across a cleared field—proper targets with concentric circles and bullseyes, the kind Luca had summoned from his world.

They stood at a respectful distance, not too far for beginners, but far enough to require genuine aim.

In front of them, stretching in a long line, were tables covered with pistols.

And behind those tables, arranged in neat rows with military precision, stood five lines of elves for five targets.

Young ones. Old ones. Nervous ones. Excited ones.

Every single one of them wore ear protection—bulky headphones that muffled the thunderous reports and safety glasses that made them look strangely professional.

In their hands, they held pistols. Not the small semi-automatics Luca had shown earlier, but a variety of handguns suitable for target practice.

And they were shooting.

BANG!

Another shot rang out as a young elf named Cali squeezed the trigger. The pistol jumped in her hand—less than she expected, but still a surprise.

On the target ahead, a hole appeared in the outer white ring.

"I hit it! I actually hit it!" She squealed, bouncing on her feet.

"Focus!"

The overseer behind her, one of the older elves Luca had trained as range safety officers reminded her firmly.

"Keep both hands on the grip. Reset your stance before the next shot."

Cali nodded, face flushing, and immediately corrected her posture.

Further down the line, Luna stood with perfect posture, pistol held in a two-handed grip, her face a mask of intense concentration.

She had fired six shots so far, and all six had hit the target—not the bullseye, but solidly within the black rings.

For a complete beginner, it was impressive.

She raised the pistol again. Breathed in. Breathed out halfway. Squeezed.

BANG!

The shot landed just outside the bullseye—close, so close.

Luna’s eyes narrowed. Again.

BANG!

Closer still and a small smile tugged at her lips.

She was getting it. She was actually getting it.

But while she was improving, Selma beside her was missing every shot.

"Nooo! I missed another one! Why can’t it just go in?!"

But no one really cared if she messed up or not. Not today.

After all, today was about experience. About understanding.

Luca had spent two full hours teaching them—a thorough, professional lesson on pistol safety, operation, and technique.

How to load. How to check for jams. How to aim using the sights. How to breathe. How to gently squeeze the trigger rather than jerk it.

Two hours of instruction before anyone was allowed to touch a loaded weapon.

And even then, he hadn’t simply turned them loose.

He had recruited the more responsible older elves—those with steady nerves and serious dispositions and trained them as range safety officers.

They stood behind the shooters now, watching every move, ready to intervene at the slightest sign of trouble.

The line moved in turns.

Twenty shooters per line, rotating so everyone got a chance.

And despite the wait—despite the fact that each line had over twenty elves eager for their next turn—no one complained.

The excitement was too great.

"Oh my gods, this is so fun!"

Selma was practically bouncing as she stepped back from the firing line, handing her pistol to the next shooter.

"I don’t have to pull anything! I don’t have to strain! I just—"

She mimed pulling a trigger.

"—and it goes BOOM!"

Ivy nodded vigorously.

"I know! I was so scared of guns before, but now that I’m holding one? It’s not scary at all. I feel like..."

She lowered her voice conspiratorially.

"...I feel like I could take on the world."

Alia behind her smacked her lightly on the back of the head as she warned,

"That’s exactly what the hero warned us about! Remember? He said the moment you hold a gun, you feel invincible. And that’s the most dangerous feeling of all"

Ivy rubbed her head sheepishly.

"Right, right. I remember. It’s just...It’s hard not to feel powerful."

Nearby, another elf was rubbing her shoulder with a pained expression.

"The recoil is brutal. I almost dropped mine on the first shot! It kicked way harder than I expected."

Another nodded sympathetically. "Same. My whole arm feels like I got into a fight with a tree and lost."

"And my ears!" A third elf pulled off her headphones briefly, wincing. "Even with these things on, it’s still so loud! How do humans shoot these without going deaf?!"

But despite the complaints, they rubbed sore shoulders, they shook out tingling hands—and then they got back in line to do it again.

"I got three shots in the black!"

"Only three? I got five!"

"Did you see Luna? She’s practically a natural!"

"I know! It’s so unfair!"

Meanwhile, off to the side, a completely different setup existed.

Smaller tables. Smaller targets. And much, much smaller guns.

These weren’t pistols firing real bullets. They were air rifles—BB guns that shot tiny pellets with just enough force to puncture paper and put a smile on a child’s face.

And the children were loving it.

Fefe was there, of course, along with all her little friends.

They had begged Luca—literally begged—to let them shoot too. Some had cried. Some had done the big eyes and trembling lip routine.

Fefe had simply looked at him with those enormous brown eyes and asked,

"Hero, can we please try too? We promise we’ll be good!"

Luca had held out for approximately three seconds before crumbling.

Now the children’s area was just as busy as the adult range, filled with giggles and squeals and the soft pop of air rifles.

Tiny hands held tiny guns, aiming with intense concentration at targets set much closer—only ten meters away.

"Look, Mama! I hit it!" A little girl shouted, pointing at his target where a single hole marred the outer ring.

Her mother, waiting in the adult line, waved proudly.

"Good job, sweetie!"

Among the children’s area, there was also a small cluster of adults.

Very embarrassed adults.

They were the ones who had been too scared to try the real guns. The noise, the power, the recoil—it had all been too much. So they had slunk over to the children’s section, hoping no one would notice.

Of course, everyone noticed.

Their friends in the adult line kept waving and calling out.

"Hey, Tifa! Having fun with the kids?!"

"Don’t worry, Belu, we won’t tell anyone you’re scared of loud noises!"

"Look at you, using the baby guns! So cute!"

The embarrassed adults turned bright red but refused to budge. The air rifles were less intimidating, and honestly? Still fun.

They’d work their way up eventually. Maybe.

Meanwhile, Luca stood at the edge of the clearing.

He simply watched, occasionally stepping in to correct a grip or give some praise, but mostly letting them learn through experience.

It was going well.

Better than well, actually.

But still he needed to make sure they remembered the rules.

So, he waited until the current round of shooters finished, then raised his voice.

"Alright, everyone! Quick refresher! Can anyone tell me the primary safety rules I taught you?"

The response was immediate and synchronized—as if they had been drilled for weeks instead of hours.

"Always keep the safety on when the gun is not in use!"

"Never point the gun at anyone, even if it’s empty!"

"Never point it at yourself!"

"Keep the gun holstered or on the table when not shooting!"

"Finger off the trigger until ready to fire!"

"Treat every gun as if it’s loaded!"

"Know your target and what’s beyond it!"

The rules spilled out in a chorus of voices, overlapping but unified and Luca nodded approvingly.

"Good. Excellent. You all remember. Unlike..."

His gaze then slowly traveled across the crowd as he said,

"...some people who can’t even follow those simple instructions."

Every head turned to follow his gaze.

There, kneeling on the ground away from the shooting line, was Lulu.

She held a sign in front of her—a large piece of cardboard with words written in shaky handwriting:

I AM A BIG DUMMY

Her expression was absolutely pitiful. Her lower lip protruded. Her eyes were wide and wet. She looked like a sad puppy who had been kicked.

The story of her shame was already well-known throughout both ranges.

During her turn, Lulu had been shooting enthusiastically—perhaps too enthusiastically.

In the middle of firing, her head had started itching.

A terrible, unbearable itch.

And without thinking, she had raised the gun to scratch her head.

The entire range had frozen.

Safety officers had descended like hawks. Guns had been cleared. Lulu had been escorted away from the line. And Luca, with a face like thunder, had assigned her punishment.

Now she knelt in disgrace, holding her sign, as her friends walked past her and giggled.

"Awww, poor Lulu."

"She looks so pathetic!"

"I can’t believe she pointed a gun at her own head!"

"How dumb is she?"

Luca also walked over to her, arms crossed.

"And why, Lulu, are you sitting there with that sign?"

Lulu’s lip wobbled harder.

"Because...Because after I finished shooting, I wanted to scratch my head..."

"And?"

"And...I forgot I was holding the gun..."

Luca raised an eyebrow.

"So I...I kinda...pointed it at my head while I scratched..."

Around them, elves who had overheard burst into giggles. Lulu’s face went redder.

"I didn’t pull the trigger!" She protested quickly. "I just—I forgot! The safety was on and everything!"

"I just—it was an accident!"

"You say you forgot and that it was just a ’accident,’ Lulu"

Luca said as he slowly shook his head before looking at her with a disappointed gaze.

"But it was literally the most important rule. The rule I repeated twenty times. The rule that could save your life."

Lulu’s eyes filled with tears.

"I’m sorry..."

"If you had pulled that trigger..." Luca continued gravely. "...you wouldn’t just have forgotten things. Your brain would have exploded into pieces. There would be nothing left to forget, Lulu. Nothing"

Lulu winced at the mental image.

"So no." Luca crossed his arms. "There is absolutely zero chance I’m letting you handle another gun today."

"You’re going to stay right there, holding that sign, until you understand exactly what you did wrong."

Lulu’s face crumpled. "But luca—"

"No buts. You’re lucky I’m not banning you from the range entirely." He turned away, then glanced back. "Two more hours. Then we’ll talk."

Lulu let out a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan, while her friends walked past, grinning.

"Great job, Lulu!"

"Really showing that gun who’s boss!"

"Maybe next time scratch with your other hand!"

Lulu glared at them through her misery, but it was hard to look intimidating while holding an "I AM A BIG DUMMY" sign.

Even her sister, taking a break from shooting, walked by and patted her on the head.

"Dummy." Luna said cheerfully.

"LUNA! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO SUPPORT ME!" Lulu shouted in frustration.

"I do support you." Luna chucked. "I support you learning not to blow your face off."

Lulu groaned and dropped her head onto the ground.

Luca chuckled at the sight of Lulu’s pitiful expression, then turned toward the other side of the clearing.

The side where Nyx was.

She wasn’t alone, of course. She had company.

The company being a...shotgun.