"Miss, the event is over here!" The little maid seed to have discovered sothing exciting and, weaving through the crowd, they finally found the venue for the shooting competition.
In fact, competitions during these kinds of festivals are more for entertainnt purposes and mainly serve as product promotions for rchants.
For instance, this shooting competition is jointly organized by the rcenary Guild and so musket-related rchants, with sponsors that even include rchants from Totnes.
Although muskets are cumberso to operate, they have low learning costs, and at close range, you don't even need to aim. Moreover, they have a direct effect, especially their armor-piercing capability which far exceeds that of bows and arrows. Even an ordinary person could kill a Knight with a single shot if they hit the target.
Furthermore, considering the fierce customs of Bastia and the abundance of rcenaries, as a large city, it has a thriving business scene, so there definitely is a market for muskets.
The venue was located on the open ground in front of the rcenary Guild, extending into the square, creating a substantial space.
Around the periter of the field were set up booths of sponsors, displaying various types of muskets, along with parts and shells and gunpowder for sale.
The muskets locked in the display cabinets looked more like works of art than weapons, given their exquisite and ornate appearances.
Off to the side, a person was energetically extolling the virtues of the muskets. They described which Master Gunsmith had handcrafted them, what precious materials were used, and what advanced technology was employed.
Of course, the prices were not very people-friendly. Most folks gathered around just to join in the excitent, as these weren't within reach for the average person.
However, the exhibit had attracted quite a crowd, with even Margaret pausing to have a look, a hint of longing in her eyes.
For a Musketeer, a good musket is very appealing, and although the price was steep, she, as a mber of the nobility, could still afford it.
However, Margaret, who had always been very independent, didn't want to ask her father for money, mainly because of reasons related to her engagent…
She originally had a rather good musket that her father gave her for her coming-of-age birthday.
After the incident that beca a laughing stock, her father took it away, insisting she learn how to be a lady.
But with her temperant, how could she sit still? Taking advantage of Baron Lawrence's absence, she still went out hunting.
Only now, the musket she carried on her back was a very ordinary standard-issue one.
Though those exquisite muskets were tempting, Margaret had reasons to convince herself that those fancy-looking firearms were impractical at a glance, and that her own well-used one was better.
Not until she discovered that the prize for the Champion of the competition was a rather nice pistol did her interest intensify.
She had to win it!
"Miss, Miss, I've finished registering," the little maid brought over a badge with the competition number on it and couldn't help but complain, "There are so many people, we even have to go through a preliminary round."
Queuing up to register was the kind of task servants did. Margaret took the badge and went straight to the preliminary round.
The field was only so big, making it impossible to cram so many people in at once to compete. Thus, a qualifying round was needed to eliminate those with insufficient skills. Only those who passed could truly take part in the competition.
Margaret was confident she could pass this test even with her eyes closed.
However, as soon as she appeared on the field, she imdiately caused quite a stir.
Among the many Gunners participating in the competition, she was the only woman.
While Bastia is a big city and muskets had not completely beco mainstream, there were still quite a few people involved in this hobby. Even the Barbarian Tribes were playing with guns; the only rarity was won.
Margaret usually didn't mingle with the noble youths and seldom ca to town. Moreover, with many outsiders arriving for the festival, they were unaware of her identity.
A loud whistle, like flicking a switch, started a cascade of jeers filled with judgnt and scorn directed at Margaret.
"Little sister, this isn't a place for you to play."
"Can you even hold a gun steady?"
"This is no place for a woman. The guns you're supposed to use aren't found here," said a rcenary dressed as a Ranger. He eyed Margaret as he strutted forward in a pose he deed quite handso.
The seasoned rcenaries got the hint and burst out laughing.
In response to their malice ca the sound of a gunshot.
BANG!
Margaret snapped off a shot, and the Lead Bullet instantly bridged the gap between them, precisely knocking the rcenary's hat off his head.
This unexpected shot stunned the onlookers, and the targeted rcenary was so frightened he froze on the spot.
By a hair's breadth! He was only a hair's breadth away from death!
No words could describe his sensation. The feeling of the bullet grazing his scalp was only just registering, while his trembling body reflected his despair.
Yet, Margaret was leisurely reloading, and just watching her skillful movents, it was apparent she was an expert.
The others now realized she was not here to play.
"Is your gun as hard as mine?" Margaret, having finished reloading, didn't even take proper aim. She simply waved the musket over the rcenary, from his forehead to his mouth. Pausing there for a mont, seemingly dissatisfied, she let the muzzle drift downward…
"I forfeit!"
The dark muzzle instantly made the rcenary shiver, and, putting pride aside, he turned and fled.
This was the survival strategy of most rcenaries: to go with the flow when it's favorable and bail out when it's against them.
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