A new target was brought out — larger in size, but placed a daunting two hundred meters away. The wind roared across the meadow like a wild spirit, tugging at robes and snapping at banners. It wasn't just wind — it was a gauntlet.
The elder stepped forward, his voice firm and clear, "From you five braves, three will advance. This is what separates the greats from the good. Same rules — one shot. Nock only on my mark."
The crowd hushed in anticipation.
On the field, the five finalists lined up. Four stood with sharp focus, bows in hand, posture tense and ready.
Then there was Kazel — loose-shouldered, relaxed, almost bored. His fingers drummed the side of his bow. His robe flapped lazily in the wind.
Up at the dais, Juni narrowed her eyes. She wasn't watching the target anymore. Her gaze locked on Kazel, as if he were the target. Every breath he took, every shift in stance — she noted it all.
("Why aren't you tense like the others?") she thought.("Why do you look like you're still waiting to wake up?")
The elder raised his hand. "FIRE!"
Four bows snapped taut in the same heartbeat.
Kazel was a second late.
Ashborn exhaled — smooth, practiced — and let his arrow fly. It curved with the wind, graceful, swift, assured.
But then —Before Ashborn's arrow could even finish its arc, a second arrow carved through the sky beside it. Silent. Smooth. Late, but faster.
Everyone turned. Their heads followed the second arrow. It flew parallel to Ashborn's — a twin shadow at its side.
Kazel's.
Juni's eyes widened.
The two arrows danced midair, not colliding, but twining, as if they were born of the same pull of fate. The wind howled louder — but the arrows never faltered.
And then — thunk. thunk.
Two perfect strikes.
Two arrows, two bullseyes.
The crowd erupted. Not in wild cheer — not yet — but in stunned awe.
Because it wasn't just what happened.
It was how.
It was as if the wind had bent for them.
Juni leaned forward in her seat, her fingers tightening into a fist against her lap.("Who... are you?")
The moment the twin arrows found their mark, a heartbeat of stunned silence swept across the field.
And then—the crowd erupted.
Cheers surged like a tidal wave.
The atmosphere ignited — gasps, shouts, whistles, even stunned laughter from those who couldn't believe what they just witnessed.
"He did it again!"
"Both of them?!"
"Who the hell is that guy?!"
The spectators rose from their seats. Some clutched at their heads in disbelief, others clapped like thunder. The sound of roaring approval drowned out the howling wind.
On the judges' platform, even the usually composed elders exchanged glances, murmuring in disbelief.
Yasha tilted her head and grinned, biting her petal with visible interest.Liora chuckled, brushing a strand of violet hair behind her ear. "Looks like the reincarnated tyrant isn't just bark."
Juni didn't speak.She just stared at Kazel… still relaxed, bow at his side, as if none of this had been worth a bead of sweat.
("He's not here to impress,") she realized. ("He's just… here.")
And that, perhaps, was the most terrifying part of all.
"Bring in the final round!" the elder declared, his voice sharp like a bell.
A pair of disciples rolled out a new target, placing it far into the horizon — tenfold the distance of the first round. The kind of distance that turned a bullseye into myth.Those without trained eyes squinted. Some shaded their faces. Others muttered in disbelief.
The wind blew again — steady, capricious — as if the land itself were testing them.
"Oh, you three great archers," the elder continued with pride swelling in his tone, "let us now determine who among you is truly the best. For the record," he added with a glint in his eye, "the last time someone hit a bullseye from this range… was long ago. And the one who did it—" he gestured toward the audience platform, "was none other than the prodigy herself—Elder Juni!"
The crowd burst into applause.
Liora leaned over and gently nudged Juni's elbow with a smirk.Juni blinked, caught off guard, then sighed with a modest smile. She rose from her seat and gave the crowd a few casual waves, trying not to make a fuss.
"Please remember," she said clearly, her voice carrying across the field, "no matter the outcome of this final shot, you three have already proven yourselves as archers worthy of respect."
The applause swelled again — loud, warm, genuine.
Ashborn smiled, then turned to the archer beside him — a lean, bright-eyed young man who had made it to the final round with quiet precision and remarkable form. His hands still trembled slightly, overwhelmed by the crowd's energy.
"You're amazing," Ashborn said, extending his hand.
The young man blinked, surprised. "T-Thank you, Prince Ashborn."
"No prince. Just Ashborn," he grinned. "Right now, we're all equals on this line."He tilted his head curiously. "What's your name?"
"Rion," the young man replied, standing a little taller.
Ashborn nodded. "That's a solid name. Strong."
Meanwhile, Kazel, who had remained silent, finally turned his gaze to Rion. It was the first time he really looked at him.
Rion appeared close in age to Durandal, perhaps even younger. His posture was neat, his form steady. He carried the polished look of someone from a well-bred household — or, at the very least, someone raised with pride and discipline.
Ashborn glanced between them. "Well, Rion, would you like to take the first shot?" He then looked at Kazel with a curious smile. "Or should Young Master Kazel show us how it's done?"
Rion hesitated, eyes flicking to Kazel — who stood unbothered, hands behind his back, eyes half-lidded with disinterest. As if the outcome didn't matter. As if none of this ever did.
"I…" Rion swallowed. The pressure was real, but something in Kazel's gaze told him to take it.
"I'll go first."
Kazel said nothing. Just closed his eyes — as if already watching the arrow fly.
Rion inhaled.Held it.The meadow quieted — or perhaps it only felt that way to him.His fingers trembled slightly against the string.
He exhaled… and released.
The arrow cut through the wind, fighting the erratic gusts like a leaf braving a storm. It wobbled mid-air — swayed — and finally struck the target…
…but only just.
The arrow barely etched the outermost ring, its tip quivering on the edge. Then, with a soft metallic ping, it drooped, its feathered tail dipping toward the earth, as if embarrassed by its own landing.
There was a heartbeat of silence.
Then—the crowd erupted.
"That's still a hit!""Two hundred meters—he made contact!""Rion!""Amazing!"
The cheers came not from technical perfection, but from heart. From admiration at the sheer attempt. At the fact that he made the arrow fly that far at all.
Ashborn gave a warm, encouraging clap, and even offered Rion a nod of respect.Rion let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. His shoulders sagged, both in relief and in resignation.
Juni didn't cheer. She simply watched with a neutral gaze — a professional eye appraising form, not spirit.
The crowd hadn't fully settled from Rion's shot when the air between Kazel and Ashborn shifted — a quiet ripple of tension that only those nearby could truly feel.
Kazel glanced at Ashborn with a lopsided smile, his robe fluttering slightly from the breeze rolling across the meadow."Ashborn, would you like a wager?"
Ashborn raised an amused brow, lowering his bow just slightly."Oh?" he said, the corner of his lips curving into a devilish grin. "Let me hear your proposal."
Kazel's voice was calm, almost casual."If I hit the bullseye, you owe me a favor."
Gasps whispered among the crowd. Liora leaned forward in her seat. Yasha stopped chewing her petal.
Ashborn tilted his head, as if weighing the wind itself."And if you don't?"
"Then I'll owe you one."
A pause. Then Ashborn laughed softly, brushing a few strands of hair from his face."That's an interesting opposition… but I think I can offer a more fair deal."
Kazel's smile didn't fade. "Oh?"
Ashborn stepped closer, the wind catching his black-and-ashen hair, his crimson cloak flowing like smoke."Whoever hits the bullseye owes the other a favor. No strings of success or failure. Just... the one who prevails."
Kazel's smile turned sharper — not arrogant, not cocky. Just dangerous."Fine."They shook hands, their grips firm. A current passed between them, not of soul energy — but of shared confidence.
And from the stands, Juni narrowed her eyes.