Leo stared at the fallen charger, still breathless, a cold sweat clinging to his back.
That thing was massive—far bigger than he'd imagined from afar. And the way it had reacted to the first arrow, dodging mid-step with almost unnatural reflexes… It made his skin crawl to think about what would've happened if he'd missed the second shot.
'That beast... it was watching me. It knew I was the threat.'
He wasn't just being paranoid. The moment he'd nocked his arrow and raised it, the charger had locked eyes with him. It had sensed the danger. If his Basic Archery hadn't reached Level 4 the night before, with Mounted Aim at Level 2, that second shot wouldn't have landed.
'If it were only 30% accuracy, I would've missed for sure.'
The third arrow had just been insurance—but clearly unnecessary.
----------------------
+9 Experience points
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Leo's pupils dilated slightly at the message. Nine? That was nearly ten times what he earned from killing a rat.
'So larger beasts give more EXP… Makes sense.'
That meant low-tier beasts probably gave between 1 to 9 EXP depending on size and threat level. It wasn't an exact science, but the pattern was forming.
He glanced at his Status Panel again, and what he saw next truly shocked him.
----------------------
Skill: Basic Archery – Lv.4 (30%)
— Trait: Reinforce Body Lv.4
— Trait: Iron Arm Lv.4
— Trait: Slowfire Lv.4
— Trait: Mounted Aim Lv.2
----------------------
'Fifteen percent? Off just that fight?!'
Real combat really was the fastest way to level up. Training on stationary targets couldn't even compare.
The others were just starting to recover from their collective disbelief.
"Did—did I see that right? That thing actually dropped?!"
"It did. That second arrow hit right in the neck. Dropped like a sack of bricks."
"You're telling me Leo nailed it before it even started running? That's insane!"
"That kind of aim… not even the Wells brothers could pull that off."
Every pair of eyes was now turned to Leo. Some wide with awe, others gleaming with something closer to reverence.
Even Grant looked shaken. He had expected Leo to be good—but this?
He stepped forward, brows slightly furrowed. "You holding back on us last night?"
Leo scratched the back of his head, looking sheepish. "What? Nah, just lucky. Blind squirrel finds a nut, right?"
The group collectively narrowed their eyes.
Briggs clapped him on the back. "Nice try. You already used that excuse after the rabbit, remember?"
"Yeah, Leo," someone else chimed in. "You can drop the modest act. You're not lucky—you're a damn sharpshooter."
Another man laughed. "With you around, the whole hold's gonna eat like kings!"
"Hell, we oughta just rename the hunting team to 'Leo's Escort Squad'!"
Laughter exploded again, this time louder, more joyous. Yesterday had been disappointment and stolen prey. Today? They were hauling back the biggest catch in months.
Leo smiled, letting their words wash over him. He hadn't just proven himself—he'd given these men hope. And in a world where ordinary people were barely more than prey, hope was rare and precious.
Still, he knew better than to get complacent.
'I've gotta keep leveling up. Get stronger. Not just archery—body techniques too. If I want to survive long-term, I can't just rely on ranged combat.'
As he drifted into thought, a firm hand landed on his shoulder. He turned to see Grant watching him with a small, quiet smile.
Back at the village, all was calm.
Warren and the others were still practicing spearwork in the open courtyard near the warehouse. Zach Mercer, the old limping veteran, stood nearby—but it was clear his mind was elsewhere.
"Uncle Zach, you're worried about Leo, aren't you?" Warren asked, pausing to wipe the sweat from his brow.
Zach shot him a glance. "Too many questions. Guess that means you don't need your break later, huh?"
"W-wait! I didn't mean—!"
Warren groaned inwardly, realizing he'd walked right into that one.
Zhao piped up. "Uncle Zach, with Leo's archery, do you think he can actually bring something back?"
"Unlikely," Zach said flatly.
"What? No way!" Warren protested. "You saw him last night! Every shot hit! He has to be able to hunt!"
"Exactly!" another trainee agreed.
Zach stared him down, voice low and firm.
"Kid, do you know why, back before the world went to hell, our so-called traditional martial arts kept losing to foreign ones?"
Warren blinked. "Uh… no, sir."
Zach crossed his arms, tone turning colder.
"Because they lacked the one thing that actually matters—real battle experience."
"Celestial Willow Palm, Dancing Shadow Steps, Iron Dragon Punch, Starburst Kick... All fancy names, beautiful forms, zero bite. Sure, they're great for impressing your grandma, but unless you can fold them into a real fight, they're about as useful as a fan dance in a knife fight."
His eyes swept across the group like a blade.
"Same goes for Leo's archery. I don't care how clean it looks on the training field. When you're face to face with something that wants to rip your throat out, the only thing that matters is this—can you draw and shoot before your knees give out?"
Everyone fell quiet. The lesson hit harder than expected.
"And you, you think you're ready? You grip your spears like pros, but let's see what happens when something snarling and fast comes flying at your face. Let's see if you're still standing when your body forgets how to breathe."
"..."
No one argued. Even Warren lowered his gaze.
"But—"
Just as Zach was about to soften the blow with a few words of encouragement, the air shifted. A rising buzz echoed from the village entrance, louder than anything they'd heard before.
Everyone looked up.
"What's going on?" Warren muttered.
"Did… did the hunting team come back already?" someone asked.
"No way. They only left this morning."
"Maybe something happened?"
Zach's brow furrowed. He limped toward the gate, his instincts kicking in. A return this early was never a good sign. Unless...
Unless they succeeded.
They hadn't even reached the entrance before word spread like wildfire—massive success, multiple rabbits, and a horned charger.
The moment Zach pushed through the gathered crowd and caught sight of the game laid out on the ground, his eyes widened.
Two black rats. Two prairie hares. And a charger the size of a small cart.
But what truly made his jaw clench—every single kill had one thing in common.
Clean kills.
Arrows, all perfectly placed. Straight through vital points. No wasted shots. No bloodied messes.
Zach's eyes went wide. A chill crawled up his spine.
"No way... it couldn't be… him?"
His voice was low, almost inaudible. But in his mind, one image burned bright—a boy with calm eyes and steady hands.
Leo.