Draven found himself standing in a wide, bright, rectangular hall that featured a holographic panel mimicking the Elite Panel, positioned at the standing region.
On a shelf close to the panel were neatly arranged bows and arrows.
He had found this place through a quick search on his phone, though the cost had made him hesitate—3,000 credit units for a single hour. His stomach twisted as his balance plummeted to a meager 500 credits.
'This had better be worth it.'
Suppressing the sting of expenditure, he approached the panel and scanned the options:
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[Target]: Static | Moving
[Target Size]: Small | Medium | Large | Super Large
[Target Speed]: Slow | Normal | Fast | Super Fast
[Room Light]: Dark | Dim | Bright
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It was easy to understand.
Draven nodded after selecting his choice.
He muttered while summoning his bow and arrow, "A medium-sized, fast-moving target in a dim room."
A snarling, wolf-like figurine descended from above, appearing to float in mid-air. Only when Draven squinted did the nearly invisible string reveal itself. Its jaws were frozen in a mid-snarl, and its lifeless eyes gleamed under the light.
A countdown appeared on the holographic screen after the figurine descended and the room grew darker:
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READY?
BEGIN IN 3… 2… 1…
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Then it halted for a moment.
Quickly summoning his bow, arrow, and Desolate Might, he readied and pulled the bow taut. He didn't enhance it with soul vitalis. This wasn't about power—it was precision.
Draven pushed every distraction aside and locked onto the figurine, bringing his focus to the limit.
A sharp 'ding' shattered the silence.
The figurine jerked to life, darting in unpredictable arcs—alternating between smooth glides and sudden, erratic jerks. Draven's eyes strained to track it.
Holding his breath, he calculated and fired his first shot. The arrow missed by a whisker.
The figurine never stopped moving.
Exhaling, he recalled the arrow, focused, and recalculated the path.
'Breathe in. Hold. Release.'
He released another shot.
This time—a glancing hit. The figurine halted for a split second before resuming its chaotic path.
A dry chuckle escaped him. 'Again.'
Draven repeated the cycle—shoot, miss, adjust, hit. His muscles burned, sweat soaking his clothes, but he refused to stop. Shot after shot, Draven immersed himself in the training. He missed many times, but he noticed steady improvement; his misses weren't glaring.
He finally paused after thirty minutes, drenched in sweat and gasping for breath.
A sourness emanated deep in his muscles, but he didn't take a break—his money was wasting if he stayed idle. He decided to practice complex aerial maneuvers with his bow to get comfortable.
Draven hurled it into the air, halting it mid-flight with Psyche Weave.
It stood like a vertical pole held by an invisible hand.
Summoning Iron Plate armor over his body, he prepared, as his clothes might tear—though it felt uncomfortable wearing clothes beneath the armor.
Then he sprinted sharply at the levitating arrow, vaulting into the air. Grabbing the bow, he spun and swung himself mid-air, stepping on the wall before leaping sideways.
The bow flew horizontally into his path, and he caught it, flinging his body upwards with a powerful motion.
He played with his bow—including using it for short flights—only stopping when his soul vitalis dropped to 15.
Draven sprawled on the floor, panting heavily with his mouth wide open to draw more oxygen. His arm muscles felt painfully sore, making it difficult to raise them.
He couldn't tell how long he had been lying there when an alarm rang.
A mechanical voice echoed:
"Time's up."
Draven groaned and slowly sat up.
"I still wasted my time," he muttered, forcing himself to his feet. "I didn't even test the super fast. I'll do it next time."
Unsummoning his gear, he dragged himself out of the room.
Stumbling out, he barely registered the receptionist's voice until she called again:
"There's a shower to your left."
He waved her off weakly. "No spare clothes."
He was about to continue leaving when her voice echoed behind him, "You might want to bring some next time. Here's a tracksuit."
Draven turned slowly and dragged his feet toward her, stretching his hand to receive it while muttering, "Thanks."
But she retracted her hand and said with a smile, "It costs 300 credit units."
Draven's hand hung in the air as he stared at her in disbelief.
"...Sure."
He was too dead tired for any drama or haggling.
After paying, he headed to the bathroom. After a quick rinse, he emerged in the black tracksuit, damp hair clinging to his face.
"Have a nice day!" she chimed, far too cheerfully. "Make sure to come for archery training next time; it takes a lot of practice to master the bow."
"Scammer," he mumbled as he walked away.
He bumped into someone at the door and recognized one of them—Vera, accompanied by another tall girl.
"Oh, Draven?!" Vera exclaimed in surprise. "You're using a bow and arrows now?"
"Yes. See you around," he replied half-heartedly, walking past them, feeling utterly exhausted.
"Still grumpy as ever," Vera muttered before turning to the girl.
"How is his archery?" the girl asked Vera.
"I don't know. I only saw him with a sword," Vera shrugged.
"He switched recently?"
"To be honest, I have no idea. Our interaction was short to begin with."
Nodding, both of them strolled into the building.
The girl approached the receptionist.
"Miss Selene," the receptionist said, standing up.
"Show me his training logs," she replied aloofly.
"We have a policy of no cameras, but we track hit rates and target settings," the receptionist explained.
"Just give it to me," she commanded calmly.
The receptionist got to work.
"You're interested in him?" Vera asked with a knowing smile and a wink.
She merely glanced at her before replying flatly, "I need him for tomorrow."
Vera became solemn. "You're adding him to the team?"
"Depending on his results," she answered calmly.
Soon, the receptionist pulled up the results, displaying Draven's target setup alongside another row showing the number of hits and total shots taken. The data illuminated the screen, providing a clear overview of his performance.