Marksman Training Oblivion Novels & Stories

Without taking her eyes off the Council Leaders the first one that took a step toward her reeled from the gunshot to his shoulder she inflicted. ‘Oh caro, ho dimenticato di dire che mi sono allenato secondo gli standard olimpici di tiro? Naturalmente, ho anche preso lezioni da un cecchino Special Obs, solo perché tu capisca. [Oh dear, did I forget to mention I trained to Olympic shooting standards? Of course, I also took lessons from a Special Obs Sniper, just so you understand.] She lowered the gun she had used to shoot the guard without even looking, she swung it around to point at the old Leader,

Each morning, they woke us up with a cold bucket of water until we gradually learned to wake up on time by ourselves. The training was relentless. By 4 AM, we were already drilling: knife work, hand-to-hand combat, firearms, poisons. The instructors didn’t teach—they broke us. The worst part came at the end of each day. After hours of drills, they lined us up and paired us off. "Today’s lesson: efficiency," announced Gregor, the cold-eyed sniper who never spoke above a whisper. "You have one minute to disable your opponent. If you fail, he gets another minute with you."

I’ve called in a mercenary group I’ve done business with in the past to provide security for highly sensitive meetings with Obsidian top brass. Gunner, appropriately named, is their leader. Of course, he’s ex-marine to the core, still wearing the crew cut and exhibiting military mannerisms drilled into him over the decades. I actually spent a few days at one of his training boot camps to beef up my skills with firearms and self-defense techniques. It was time well spent, especially now. We’re walking back to the house as he reports on the status. Two of his men follow us. He’s brought ten with him all together. A small number, perhaps, but I know they’re all highly skilled, lethal weapons wh

I went down the stairs into the basement that served as our training ground and muster station, the echo of my shoes resounding throughout the hall, where thirty of my men stood, their faces stone hard and devoid of emotion. They saluted in greeting as I stood before them. My eyes scanned through all of them. Carlos, my underboss, had summoned thirty of my men who have worked hard to earn a bit of my trust and their lives. They have been trained rigourously to endure the hardest of pain without a word, to be split-second smart and to aim and fire without missing a target. They did life without emotions and handled most of the dirty work. They were every ready to lodge a bullet between the ey

Mack says getting up from the table. Mason and Tanner both take a deep breath before Mason says. “Let’s start by listing off who we have and their position in the pack.” Tanner nods before adding. “You should know all, but 2 of the men I brought with me have all been trained as either a Navy Seal, Marine Sniper, Special Forces, each one are equally trained and will not hesitate to kill Shaba, or Josiah. The only worries I have with pairing them off is personality clashes.” “I understand, let me tell you about my men and we can go from there.” Mason replies.

She left an hour before midnight, saying that she's sleepy. I spent an hour training alone, thinking about how will this mission goes. I mean, in a mission, you don't know if it's going to succeed or not, you don't know if you're going to be killed or not, you don't know what obstacles will we have to face. I ended up ruining 2 good punch bags. I sighed, I think it's enough for the night. I pick up my towel and water bottle and turned off the light. Just as I was about to leave the training room, my phone buzzed in my pocket. Unknown Number: Be careful of the mission.

Ragnar’s gaze hardened slightly, not at Lance, but at the thought itself. “He wants a personal assistant eventually. Someone competent enough to survive him and useful enough to justify keeping alive.” Lance let out a low whistle. “Warm family tradition.” Ragnar ignored that. “The training is designed to create obedience under pressure. Loyalty through fear. Efficiency through exhaustion.” He paused. “And entertainment.” Lance’s expression changed. “What does that mean?” “It means Marcus enjoys watching people fail.” For once, Ragnar’s voice carried something colder than indifference. Lance had heard enough stories about Marcus to know he was dangerous. But hearing Ragnar say it like that ma

I forced myself to move naturally, practicing genuine training exercises rather than simply performing an obvious deception, understanding that Maren's careful scrutiny would likely notice anything that felt staged or artificial rather than authentic. I sensed her presence roughly twenty minutes into my training session, a faint prickling awareness at the edge of my perception that had grown considerably more refined since those early days when Marla first began teaching me to recognize threats through instinct rather than simple physical observation. I continued my training deliberately, careful not to reveal that I'd noticed her hidden observation, allowing my Alpha command ability to flar

When I attempt to continue my training again, Marius also tries to interrupt me again, forcing me to point my gun at him out of irritation. My gaze is clenched, my face serious. “You’re gonna shoot me, really?” he asks, as if daring me to do so. I pull the gun away from him, and murmur, “Not yet.” I proceed with my shooting, and Marius stays to train with me and the marksman. He’s probably sensing that something is off with me, so he wanna prepare himself too. After the gun shooting, we have a little break, before we move on to mixed martial art training.

I fired without hesitation, the recoil jolting up my arm as he collapsed in the doorway. “Stay sharp!” I called to Marissa, who was already taking out another target through the back window. They kept coming—men in dark tactical gear, their movements precise. These weren’t amateurs. Gideon had sent his best. I ducked as a spray of bullets ripped through the wall, missing me by inches. The sound of splintering wood and shattering glass filled the air, each shot a reminder of how high the stakes were. “Fallback plan?” Marissa asked, her tone grim.