The Primitive Bow and a Peculiar Secret

The castle offered few suitable training grounds.

Consequently, they had to venture beyond the protective walls of the castle, even past the wooden palisades of the manor itself, to train outdoors.

As dusk began to settle, the sun had already dipped beneath the horizon, leaving only a fiery, chili oil-like glow to erupt from the distant edge of the world.

Sovenia, clad in her hardened leather breastplate and veil, carrying the longbow she had purchased, left the safety of the walls with Wawalde, heading towards an abandoned field outside.

Wawalde crouched, surveying the neglected farmland. “Either the tenant farmers fled, or they perished,” he mused.

Sovenia paid him no mind. Instead, she walked over and stood beside Wawalde, not out of any particular fondness for his proximity, but simply because in such a perilous and unfamiliar environment, it was a natural instinct.

To stay close to a companion—especially one who was far more capable in a fight than their master—was merely pragmatic.

Sovenia slipped a wooden thumb ring onto her thumb, a small item she had crafted during her breaks over the past two days. Then, she drew an arrow from the quiver at her waist.

The arrow felt slightly warped, its fletching poorly attached. She hooked the bowstring with her thumb ring, adopting a peculiar stance—chest caved in, lower back slumped, and buttocks protruding—as she drew the string back to her ear.

The longbow, fully drawn and taut with kinetic energy, emitted an unsettling groan. With a release of her hand, the arrow, seemingly at a leisurely pace, buried itself deep into the trunk of a tree over thirty meters away.

From nearby, Wawalde’s voice carried, “That was an incredibly precise shot.”

Sovenia glanced at the arrow embedded in the tree trunk, though she had actually aimed for a branch, not the trunk itself.

“It seems every elf is skilled in archery,” Wawalde remarked, “but this particular stance of yours is new to me.”

‘Was her archery form making him suspicious?’ she wondered.

Sovenia straightened her back, no longer jutting out her rear. “What about it?” she asked.

“It’s rather unusual,” Wawalde replied. “Quite different from what my teammates used.”

“This is an armored archery style,” Sovenia explained. “It allows for better power generation, and the bowstring won’t snag on armor. Though for me, it’s not about avoiding the breastplate, but rather… to prevent hitting my chest.”

“Not every elf adopts the same archery posture,” Sovenia stated.

“No wonder. It’s unlike human archery,” Wawalde observed. “I’ve seen them use a three-finger draw, pulling the string only to their chin.”

“Drawing the string just a tenth further can often increase the arrow’s power by half,” Sovenia countered, gazing at the longbow in her hands as she spoke.

More than a longbow, it resembled a sharpened carrying pole with a string attached.

In Sovenia’s estimation, this 36-copper longbow was utterly crude and primitive. What vexed her further was that this was the finest bow she could procure; anything better required magical enchantment.

Such bows demanded appointments and came at a steep price. Scheduling wasn’t an issue, of course, as Sovenia wouldn’t hesitate to find ways to acquire more funds for superior weaponry.

However, upon learning that even these so-called magic bows were merely carved from a single piece of wood—essentially just magically infused versions of her 36-copper longbow—she abandoned the idea entirely.

Wawalde noticed her disdainful gaze. She had been looking at the longbow with such contempt for days. “Do you find this bow unsatisfactory?” he asked.

“Yes,” Sovenia replied. “I’ve been pondering something. The demon armies have been invading the human realm for quite some years now, haven’t they?”

“A century,” Wawalde confirmed.

“And demon archers have clashed with human armies countless times.”

“So why,” Sovenia continued, “are humans still using such primitive bows? This one is just a yew stick carved into shape. The shopkeeper even boasted it was the best bow in this small town, claiming it wouldn’t disappoint an elf like me.”

“And your assessment?” Wawalde inquired.

“I told him it was good for nothing but being cheap.”

“Was he angry?” Wawalde asked.

“Initially, yes. Then his gaze became peculiar, how should I describe it?” Sovenia pondered. “It was like the gleeful expression some males display when a succubus whips them.”

“Ahem,” Wawalde cleared his throat. “That… that must have been the shopkeeper’s strange goodwill towards elves, I suppose.”

Sovenia observed Wawalde’s expression, which mirrored that of an elder brother desperately trying to shield his younger, underage sister from certain realities.

‘What a ridiculous, virgin dog,’ she thought.

“If only I had a good bow,” Sovenia sighed. “I wonder if there are better ones sold elsewhere. This bow is hard to draw, very stiff, yet its power is underwhelming. It’s also not long enough, making it quite inflexible.”

Wawalde replied, “I’ve seen exquisite shortbows, like the one my teammate used. Sadly, he sacrificed himself. Was the kind of bow you’re describing a shorter one? He often scoffed at human bows for being too primitive.”

Sovenia walked towards her arrow, speaking as she went. “Even if they just learned from demon bows?”

“I don’t know,” Wawalde admitted, “but demon weapons seem to carry a corrosive effect, so they usually require purification.”

He watched as the long-legged Sovenia stopped after five or six steps, her gaze fixed on him.

“What is it?” he asked.

Sovenia raised a finger and beckoned him closer. A gust of wind rustled her veil, and the small grove behind her whispered with the sound of leaves.

“Hm?” Wawalde hummed.

“Aren’t you coming with me?”

“Huh?”

Sovenia suddenly felt the warmth of her Veil of Desire. She quickly turned her head, realizing the small grove behind her seemed perfect for a private, intimate activity. The suggestive nature of her gesture struck her then, and with her ears slightly warm, she quickly amended, “Protect me.”

Wawalde chuckled, picking up his shield—a secondhand piece that now bore an additional dent compared to when he’d first bought it—and followed Sovenia into the small grove.

“Are you worried about a tall, slender figure suddenly attacking?” he inquired.

“More like anticipating it,” Sovenia corrected. “If this castle doesn’t pan out as a reward, then three gold coins appearing on their own would be the ideal outcome.”

Sovenia trod on fallen leaves, reaching the tree trunk. She gripped the arrow, pulling it out with a strong tug, retrieving her shot.

“That would be good,” Wawalde acknowledged. “Though entering this small grove still carries some danger.”

“With you here,” Sovenia countered, “the worst-case scenario is simply your human disguise failing, forcing you to fight in your true demon form.”

“I don’t wear human skin,” he corrected.

“It was a metaphor.”

“But that is the worst situation,” Wawalde said, his voice tinged with unease. “It constantly whispers in my ear. In my dreams, it makes me believe I haven’t lost my power, and when I wake, it tells me that if I just relax a little, I can wield a power even greater than before.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Sovenia retorted.

“It’s not as if you’d end up like a certain First Heavenly King, tormented by the whims of fate, reduced to a frail elf.”

“Stripped of her card deck and unrivaled power, now she wears a brown leather breastplate, wields a primitive longbow, and finds her chest an increasingly cumbersome burden.”

Wawalde then asked, “Can you still teach me how to suppress this power?”

“I can’t teach you that, nor can it be done,” Sovenia stated. “I can only teach you how to stabilize your human form, which is ultimately a disguise—much like the Demon Queen’s.”

“Even holy water or secret arts would struggle to unmask such a deception.”

Wawalde offered a wry smile but remained silent.

Seeing his spirits dip, Sovenia activated her ‘Vagaries of Existence’ card deck, then murmured, “I have a secret.”

“What secret?”

“Watch,” Sovenia said, activating a [Defense] card. In the air, an ice shield shimmered into existence.

Wawalde stared intently at it. After hovering for nearly ten seconds, it dropped to the ground, shattering into countless shards of ice.

“Did you notice anything?” Sovenia asked.

Meeting the anticipation in the elven girl’s golden eyes, Wawalde widened his own, striving to discern some marvel.

“No,” he confessed.

“You didn’t notice it was a little thicker?”

Wawalde looked at the ice shards on the ground. It *seemed* a tiny bit thicker, yet also not. “It… it certainly was thicker,” he finally conceded.

“You’re just comforting me,” Sovenia stated.

Wawalde met her golden gaze, nodding with a slight smile. “You’re right…”

He then added, “But it really was a bit thicker.”

“I’ll tell you a secret,” Sovenia said. “Guess what my ice shield’s thickness is related to?”

“Magic power?”

“And my own defense,” Sovenia revealed. “When I wear leather armor, it becomes thicker. Isn’t that amazing?”

“Elven magic has always been mysterious,” Wawalde commented.

Sovenia’s long ears twitched. Wawalde watched her snow-white, budding ears, like those of an alert fawn, suddenly point in another direction.

“Are they here?” he asked softly.

“Perhaps,” Sovenia replied. “And I feel a lingering gaze upon us.”