Chapter 13: The Tyranny of Li Family Village
The limping man froze, then stared at him with astonishment. "You mean you want to use that 60-pound bow?"
As he spoke, an odd expression crept across his face.
If his memory served correctly, hadn’t this boy struggled to even nudge the bow yesterday?
Chen Fan nodded solemnly. "Uncle Zhang, after practicing these past two days, I think I might manage it now."
Two days ago, his strength attribute had been below 8 points—barely enough for a 40-pound bow. Now, nearing 12 points, even an 80-pound bow would pose little challenge.
But such a leap would draw suspicion, and using an 80-pound bow would drain him after a few shots. Sixty pounds was ideal.
Skeptical but accommodating, the limping man gestured. "Follow me."
Chen Fan trailed behind with a smile.
"He’s using a 60-pound bow?"
The exchange reached Wang Ping and the others, sparking murmurs.
"Sixty pounds? That’s twice the effort. Can he really do it?"
"Zhao Feng, you’ve tried it. How was it?" They turned to the tall youth.
Zhao Feng grimaced. "The first few pulls were manageable. After that, I needed ten-minute breaks. Later… half an hour." He shook his head. "It’s brutal."
"But Brother Fan sounds confident," Wang Ping insisted.
"He must be," another agreed.
"Let’s hope so. They say a 60-pound bow can take down weaker intermediate beasts."
Their eyes glittered with anticipation.
Inside the storage shed, Chen Fan lifted the 60-pound bow. Its heft and thick string promised a grueling challenge.
"Try it," the limping man said flatly, expecting little. The boy needed humbling, not encouragement.
Chen Fan nocked an arrow, raised the bow, and began drawing the string.
The limping man’s indifference shattered. His body stiffened, jaw slackening.
He… he actually drew it? Am I hallucinating?
"Feels good," Chen Fan remarked, releasing the arrow with a twang.
"Uncle Zhang, I’ll take this one."
The man coughed, masking his embarrassment. "Fine. At fifty meters, this hits like your old bow at thirty. Closer range? Deadlier. Enough for common low-tier beasts."
"Fifty meters…" Chen Fan mused. Still too distant for reliability. His gaze drifted to the 300-pound bow at the back. How long until I master that? But he smiled—soon enough.
"Ambitious brat," the limping man observed silently. But given his progress… maybe?
After rehanging the 40-pound bow, they exited.
"Ready?" The limping man took his usual post.
Chen Fan nodded, anticipation sharpening his focus. Would the heavier bow boost his archery skill?
A target soared. Instinct took over.
Thwip!
The arrow speared the bullseye, hurling the target backward meters before it drifted down.
"Impressive," the limping man muttered. That shot could kill a man instantly—or pierce armored beasts.
Chen Fan checked his system:
Basic Archery: Lv3 (4%)
One shot, 3% gain! Leveling up before tomorrow’s expedition seemed possible. He briefly fantasized about the 80-pound bow but dismissed it—stamina mattered.
The routine resumed. When the limping man tired, Wang Ping took over, then Zhao Feng. Dusk fell, and the camp’s entrance stirred briefly before settling. No prey today.
A grim mood settled over the group. One day was tolerable, but prolonged failure…
"Head home," the limping man ordered, then eyed Chen Fan. "Tonight?"
"Tonight."
Night practice meant harder shots, but Chen Fan had no choice.
Wang Ping’s group exchanged glances.
"We’ll join," Zhao Feng declared. "Practice spears and help you."
Chen Fan swallowed gratitude. "Thank you."
Some among them already pondered joining the hunters.
As Chen Fan neared home, meat aromas mingled with his mother’s ire:
"Li Village bullies! They stole prey from our traps! Left us nothing!"
"Too ruthless! Where’s their decency?"
"They prey on us because we’re small! The Wei brothers would’ve never let this—"
"Enough." Chen Guodong’s weary voice cut through. "It’s done."
