As they advanced to this stage, magical barriers materialized directly in front of the target. Fierce winds also began to whip across the archery range, elevating the difficulty of hitting the mark significantly.
“Begin.”
The proprietor smiled, waving his hand to signal the male elf that all was prepared and he could commence his shot.
Taking a deep breath, the elf drew his bowstring taut. Then, amidst the crowd’s eager anticipation, he let the string fly.
Whoosh—!
The arrow sliced through the air with a piercing whistle. Then, to everyone’s dismay, it struck the magical shield with a resounding *clang*, spun several times, and plummeted to the ground.
Challenge failed!
The elf’s eyes dropped in clear frustration, his hands clenching ever so slightly. He yearned for another try, yet every challenger was granted only a single attempt, and the proprietor would never make an exception.
With a helpless sigh, he exhaled slowly and departed, keenly aware of the proprietor’s triumphant gaze following him.
“What a shame,” one bystander murmured. “Even an elf only made it to the sixth stage? Can anyone truly win the grand prize at the eighth stage?”
“That grand prize is merely bait the boss uses to draw people in,” another scoffed. “If it were so easy to win, wouldn’t he be running his business at a loss?”
The onlookers now fully grasped the immense difficulty of the challenge. In their estimation, claiming the grand prize seemed an utterly impossible feat for anyone.
Beacai gazed at the cat doll for a long moment, idly tracing her lips with a finger. She then started towards the registration booth, only for Isis to swiftly grasp her arm, stopping her.
“Beacai? You’re going to participate in the challenge too?”
“Mm, I want that cat doll,” Beacai declared, pointing to the coveted grand prize.
At times, her heart was much like a little girl’s, drawn to all things soft and plush. The cat doll, with its fluffy charm, was precisely one such item.
Yet, from Isis’s perspective, Beacai had no need to go to such lengths merely to acquire it.
“If you truly desire it, you don’t need to participate in this challenge, do you?”
“But this is our time to enjoy the festival, Mom, and I don’t want to leverage my status,” Beacai explained. “Besides, even if I don’t win the cat doll, this experience will become one of my most precious memories!”
In this moment, Beacai wished to experience the festival with Isis as an ordinary person. Therefore, claiming the cat doll by invoking her true identity would completely miss the point of their shared experience.
Her true desire was not the cat doll itself, but rather the precious feeling of simply being with her mother.
After a few moments of thoughtful silence, Isis released Beacai’s arm. Simultaneously, a curious question escaped her lips: ‘Can you shoot a bow?’
“Hmm, not really,” Beacai admitted, “but I can certainly try.”
Beacai’s words caused Isis to raise an eyebrow in surprise. Moments later, she watched as Beacai completed her registration and was directed to the challenger’s designated spot.
Drawing the bow and nocking an arrow, Beacai moved with surprising fluidity. Despite never having learned archery, merely observing the previous challengers allowed her to adopt a remarkably graceful posture as she raised her arm.
Whoosh—!
The arrow struck the bullseye!
“Congratulations, young lady, on successfully clearing the first stage,” the proprietor announced. “You’ve earned the right to choose a prize. Would you prefer to select your reward now, or continue with the challenge?”
“Continue.”
Without a moment’s hesitation, Beacai opted to continue the challenge. Yet, to everyone’s utter surprise, her arrow veered wildly off course in the second stage, completely missing the target.
Beacai bit her lip, her small face clouded with intense frustration. Still, there was nothing to be done; a failure was a failure, and no second chance would be granted.
“What a pity, young lady,” the proprietor said soothingly. “It’s quite alright to fail this time. Go home, practice your archery, and there will be plenty of opportunities in the future.”
As the proprietor offered his consolations, Beacai pouted, making her way back to Isis. She cast one last longing look at the cat doll, then, with a sigh, composed herself, reasoning that she possessed even cuter plush toys at home.
Unable to resist, Isis gently ruffled Beacai’s hair. With a soft chuckle, she declared, ‘I’ll give it a try.’
“Eh?”
A flicker of astonishment crossed Beacai’s eyes. By the time she fully registered the scene, Isis had already stepped forward to the challenger’s position, gracefully accepting the longbow and arrows from the proprietor.
“A new challenger,” the proprietor commented, his face still unperturbed. “I wonder how many stages you’ll manage to clear?” He seemed to hold little expectation for Isis, despite her being a long-eared elf herself.
The previous long-eared elf had already demonstrated that the seventh stage marked the absolute limit for their kind. To even dream of the grand prize, one had to conquer the eighth.
As Isis drew the longbow, an innate sense of familiarity coursed through her entire being. In that very moment, her aura underwent a dramatic, almost cataclysmic transformation.
Elves possessed an inherent talent for archery because it was one of the specialties of Yggdrasil, the World Tree that birthed them. Even after decades without drawing a bow, such a skill would never truly fade from her memory.
Aiming precisely at the bullseye, Isis released the string. The arrow shot forth with a soft *whoosh*, striking dead center.
The first stage was cleared effortlessly, and the subsequent two presented no challenge whatsoever. Nocking, releasing—each arrow consistently found its mark precisely at the bullseye.
“Will you continue or give up?” the proprietor inquired, a slight frown creasing his brow. “If you forfeit now, you can claim three prizes.” A faint sense of foreboding flickered within him, yet he dismissed it, confident that no one could possibly overcome the formidable eighth stage.
“Continue.”
Isis’s sights were set firmly on the cat doll. Other rewards held no appeal whatsoever for her.
Whoosh—!
Amidst the rhythmic *whoosh* of arrows, she swiftly advanced to the sixth stage—the very point where the previous elf had been halted.
Nocking an arrow, then releasing the string, the shaft once again found the bullseye. She cleared this stage with effortless grace.
“Oh! Amazing!” one spectator exclaimed. “Elves are elves indeed; their archery talent truly far surpasses ours…”
“Only two more stages left,” another cautioned. “She can’t afford to relax now.”
“Tsk, this has nothing to do with relaxing,” a third interjected. “Those last two stages are deliberately designed to be impossible to pass.”
Witnessing the challenger arrive at the seventh stage once more, the crowd erupted in a flurry of excitement. Most of them had personally failed at stages beyond the fourth, a group that even included several Gold-tier mercenaries.
Amidst their excitement, some spectators also began to appraise Isis’s identity. However, upon noticing her distinct long ears, a slight sense of relief settled over them.
That an elf’s archery prowess surpassed their own seemed only a natural conclusion.
The proprietor, however, discerned a subtle difference between her and the previous elf. While that elf had also cleared the sixth stage, the effort in his shots had been plainly visible to the boss.
Thus, he knew that a slight increase in difficulty would inevitably lead to that elf’s failure.
Yet, this elf before him was markedly different. Even at the sixth stage, he detected no hint of strain in her movements. Indeed, such a level of difficulty appeared to be utterly trivial in her eyes.
If she were allowed to continue, it was highly probable she would pass the eighth stage and claim the day’s true grand prize…