Chapter 20: Chapter 20: Problem With M4 Loadout

I laboriously craft each bullet, my arms straining under the weight of the task. The monotonous motion of gently tapping the bullets into the cartridge takes its toll, my fingers are burning with fatigue.

Despite the overwhelming exhaustion, my focus remains unwavering as I carefully craft each and every bullet. As the mana sickness sweeps through my body, threatening to overtake me, I push on, driven by the prospect of leveling up to level 3. Eventually, I level up after crafting 120 bullets.

However, I notice nothing has changed so much. Still, back in Albert’s house, making small parts for the rifle is exhausting, mainly because it has to be precise and it’s very small. However, I feel less exhausted now.

---

Helen

Race: Angelic Wolf-kin

Level: 3

HP: 100%

MP: 30%

Class: [Materialmancer]

Skill: [Material Manipulation I]

General Health Status: [Mana Exhaustion]

[Quest {1}]

---

Still, I still have 40% magical energy left in my storage. I open my [Material Manipulation I] internal blueprint and search for the 5.56x45 magazine. I open the 30-round steel magazine menu and walk to the chemistry table.

I pick up the container containing the steel powder and put it right next to the now half-filled brass powder tubular container. I put my hand over that steel container and begin to craft the steel magazines. I need four of them, at the very least. My M4 is still lying down on the table right beside me with no one daring to touch it.

Larse comes to this room once or twice, but he didn’t ask about the M4, my father enters this room to check on me, but he doesn’t try to hold the rifle in his hands. He might mistake the rifle for something else, but to be honest, I don’t know.

It fits my intention better, so why should I complain? I shrug while putting the bullets into the freshly-made magazines one by one. The bullet fills the magazine slowly and eventually, I can’t put more bullets into the magazine itself.

I lay down those magazines next to my rifle, and I put all of the primers back into the box that Albert gave to me. I have two magazines, one in the rifle, and one in my pocket. Those six magazines won’t fit inside my long skirt, or the pocket on my shirt, even. Still, perhaps, if I opt to wear pants, there might be space for it.

I can't help but feel frustrated at my lack of proper tactical pants. I may not be poor, but my current wardrobe definitely doesn't measure up to the standards I set for myself. I have heard rumors of a tailor-materialmancer out there who can create any type of clothing with just a wave of their hand, but for now, I will have to make do with what I have. Still, I can't shake the feeling that I need something more sturdy and reliable for my line of work.

I put three magazines on the chemistry table alongside the metallic containers near it for safe storage. I bring one more magazine with me and put it in the second pocket of my shirt. I bring the M4 with me and close the door of the library.

Right before I close the library, a voice appears from my left ear, “Helen, hey.” Rachel is standing right next to the library door. She crosses her hands while looking at my shirt pockets, each of which is filled with a weird metal box containing bullets.

As I turn to face Rachel, I see that she is holding a compact MH rifle with a shortened barrel. I can't help but wonder why she is armed. Is the situation really that dire that a young girl that dislikes firearms like Rachel has to carry a weapon? "What are you doing with that rifle?" I ask, confusion etched on my face.

"It's for you, of course," she replies. "I can't shoot a rifle, and I don't want to."

"Excuse me?" I narrow my eyes, confused. I already have my own rifle, and it's certainly more advanced than the one Rachel is holding. Plus, I don't have a sling for my M4 yet, so I can't carry both guns at the same time. "Why would I need it? You're older than me."

"Our father said that you were mentored by a legendary gunsmith and that you seem comfortable with the MH rifle," Rachel explains. So, I'm supposed to carry two rifles now? That seems uncomfortable.

"Wait, why don't you carry the rifle and I'll use it when I need it? That makes more sense, don't you think?" I suggest to Rachel.

She sighs in response. "Fine. I was just told to bring the rifle to you. Anyway, our father also said that we should keep at least one rifle in our room. Isn't that strange?" Rachel comments. I have to agree with her. It's strange to trust a ten-year-old kid with a rifle.

But I don't want to go against my father's orders. "Not really," I say, trying to align my opinion with his.

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I make my way to our room, which is just as dark and shrouded in secrecy as the other rooms. The curtains are drawn and no light from the outside filters in. This is one way to keep our enemies in the dark about our activities, but it also means we have no idea what they're up to. It's a double-edged sword.

"Oh, and Father told us not to peek out the window," Rachel adds.

I nod in understanding. Looking out the window is like inviting a bullet from a sniper. But how skilled would a marksman have to be to even have a chance of hitting me from my window with a rifle that has no scope and uses black powder, without being spotted in the middle of a grassy field?

I place the rifle on my table and pick up the MH rifle. It's like comparing earth to heaven when I hold the MH rifle and the M4 I created next to each other. The M4 is more ergonomic, shoots faster, carries more bullets than a typical soldier in this world, and is much more accurate. But it also has its downsides, like the fact that the bullets are handcrafted.

"How are we supposed to study with all this going on?" I ask Rachel, gesturing to the lockdown of the mansion. I doubt that Ostwald or Albert can come and go freely under these circumstances.

"Don't worry, this isn't the first time it's happened," Rachel assures me.

"Really?" I ask, surprised. This is the second time the mansion has gone into lockdown. "What happened the last time?"

"Well, it happens every once in a while," Rachel explains. "The last time was when you got hit by that carriage in Landin, whether it was intentional or not. Father became paranoid and even hired more mercenaries to escort us back home."

"Landin?" I ask, trying to jog my memory.

"The capital of Alduria, our kingdom. Don't you remember?" Rachel replies, raising an eyebrow.

I shake my head. "Nope."

Rachel sighs and puts a hand on her head. "Do you need me to remind you of some things you shouldn't forget, like the capital of our kingdom?"

"Maybe," I say with a shrug, not really wanting to answer the question. I can learn about geography later, but right now, I just want to focus on staying alive. My M4 will certainly help, but I still need a convenient way to carry the magazines.

I wonder if my father has a cavalry-style leather bag. A regular musket pouch won't hold many magazines, but a leather bag would give me more room to pack as many as I need. I don't have the skills to craft or tailor a special tactical rig, since I can't sew.

But wait, I can tailor clothes, can't I? I mean, I can make a cartridge with a hollow center, so why not create something similar but with clothes instead of metal? I don't see anything wrong with that. The only problem is finding fabric during this lockdown.

"Helen, hey, what are you daydreaming about?" Rachel's voice interrupts my thoughts as she shakes my body. "Do you have any other crazy ideas in your mind?"

"Believe me, I always have one crazy idea on my mind," I say with a grin.

"Gee, I'm scared when you make that crazy grin," Rachel says, rolling her eyes.

"It's called having inspiration," I say, grinning even wider.

"Alright, alright, I get the point," she says with a sigh.

"Do you even look in the mirror?" I ask my sister. It's true that when she mixes two beakers together, she can't help but let out a huge grin that even shows through her makeshift cloth mask. It looks like the grinning gene runs in the family.

"Wait, I make the same face?" Rachel asks.

"You do," I confirm.

"Anyway, it looks like Mom will be forcing us to have some bonding time again," Rachel says.

"What do you mean by that?" I ask.

"You'll see," she says with a smile.

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