Two guns, two shots, aimed for the joints of his arm and leg. At least the novice knew that much about combat, something that many novices don't grasp immediately. The bullets flew from the chamber of the gun, chased by the explosion of pressure and heat. The round spun through the air, a trail of vibrating wind chasing behind. Solomon twisted his body only slightly, turning his form 90 degrees to the right, moving both his knee and elbow out of the line of fire. Tilting his body backwards just a little bit to avoid the bullets accidentally clipping his gut or the back of his legs. 

The bullets whipped past him, Solomon's eyes traced the rounds as they flew past. When they had safely whiffed him he turned his attention back to the boy, withdrawing his gladius calmly. "I'm not as quiet as you'd think, punk." Across his elderly face a smile grew, revealing his numerous missing teeth. "I'm Solomon Ross, known as the Extreme of Training. Honestly received the dumbest title of the Extremes." 

The older man looked down at his feet for a moment, lowering the gladius. A sigh passing his lips as a realization washes across him. "Ugh, I'm realizing you're going to be a nightmare to fight. Hey, can you come over here closer to me so this is easier? Walking down the hill after I just walked up it isn't good for my back."