Chapter 11: Taking Aim at Moving Targets
By around 9 a.m., a flash of insight struck Chen Fan’s mind. Not only that, but a warm current surged through his body—less intense than the heat he’d felt during physical enhancement, yet enough to wash away much of his lingering fatigue.
He could sense his physique and strength had improved slightly.
“Finally reached Level 2,” Chen Fan murmured in relief, checking the skill panel in his mind:
Realm: None
Level: 3 (0/4)
Physique: 11.78
Strength: 10.57
[Basic Archery: Lv2 (0%) | Traits: Strong Body Lv2, Exceptional Arm Strength Lv2, Slow Shot Lv2]
At a glance, both attributes had risen slightly. His physique, now nearing 12 points, stood out. The Lv2 Slow Shot trait also boosted his accuracy to 60%.
How much proficiency will a shot give me now? he wondered, eagerly drawing his bow. Pulling the string to full draw felt effortless this time.
Whoosh!
The arrow sliced through the air, striking the bullseye dead center.
Precise.
“Lv2 Basic Archery really is a game-changer,” Chen Fan mused, recalling how effortlessly focus had claimed him the moment he’d drawn the bow.
His smile faltered as he checked his status:
[Basic Archery Lv2 (0.4%)…]
At Lv1, a bullseye granted 1.2% proficiency. Now, it yielded only a third of that.
“So I need 250 bullseyes to reach Lv3,” he calculated. “With my improved stats, I can shoot every two minutes—30 shots an hour. Ten hours should do it.”
Renewed determination warmed his chest as he resumed training.
By noon, he returned for lunch. The woman, pitying his exhaustion, slipped extra meat into his bowl—a quiet gesture he accepted with silent gratitude. His Potential Points had inched to 0.3, still far short of the 4 needed for the next level, but progress nonetheless.
He hurried back to the warehouse clearing after eating, only to find the usual idling youths arriving soon after, their eyes tinged with respect. They’d doubted the limping man’s claims that Chen Fan practiced late into the night, but after a morning—and yesterday—of witnessing his relentless drills, skepticism had faded. With the Wei brothers gone and the village’s future precarious, slacking felt unforgivable.
An hour later, the limping man massaged Chen Fan’s sore arm, tone grudgingly impressed. “You’ve got talent, kid.”
Chen Fan had hit six or seven bullseyes out of ten—unheard of for a beginner.
He grinned. The system deserved credit, but his effort mattered too.
“Keep this up, though, and you’ll hit a wall,” the man added sharply.
Chen Fan stiffened. “What do you mean, Uncle Zhang?”
“Stationary targets are child’s play.” The man gestured dismissively. “Wild beasts won’t stand still. Unless you strike unseen, their speed…”
Chen Fan’s breath caught. He’d been so fixated on grinding proficiency, he’d overlooked the obvious.
“You’re saying I need moving targets.”
“Exactly.” The man nodded. “My archery’s mediocre, but even I know this. You’re improving fast—just not fast enough.”
“Then how do I practice moving targets?”
“…”
The man sighed, then grumbled, “I’ll help.”
Minutes later, the youths gaped as Uncle Zhang lobbed a target into the air. Chen Fan tracked its arc and fired—missing entirely.
“Slow down. Focus,” Zhang chided, tossing another.
Chen Fan narrowed his eyes, adjusted for trajectory, and loosed.
Whoosh!
The arrow clipped the target’s edge, sending it wobbling to the ground.
[Basic Archery Lv2 (25%)]
Chen Fan’s pulse leapt. 2% for a graze? A bullseye might net 4%—five times faster than static training!
“Quit daydreaming! Again!” Zhang barked.
“Yes, Uncle Zhang!”
Two hours later, Zhang’s right arm hung leaden at his side. He opened his mouth to call a break, but Chen Fan’s blazing resolve silenced him.
“Switching to my left. Don’t expect perfect throws.”
Chen Fan snapped from his fervor. “Let’s rest first—”
“Keep. Shooting.”
No way I’m losing to a kid, Zhang seethed inwardly, persisting until his left arm too gave out.
“Let’s stop,” Chen Fan urged guiltily.
Twelve hits in two hours—no bullseyes, but his proficiency had crossed 50%. Fatigue, however, barely touched him.
“Can you keep going?” Zhang eyed him.
“Uh…”
“You!” Zhang jabbed a finger at a lounging youth. “Done gawking? You’re up.”
The youth nearly wept—he’d just sat down!
