Chapter Five: Elegant Melodies and Refined Sentiments

Have you ever seen an angel? I hadn’t, not until now. But at this moment, I think I have. That angel descended to our world bearing the soul mark “Song of Strings and Noble Intent,” appearing in the form of a male elf, cloaked in a warm and sacred radiance. He plucked his bowstring with the gentleness of a harpist, sending arrows of salvation flying toward the violence that hounded our backs.

Yes, perhaps he was just an ordinary elf. But when you’re at the brink of death, trapped with no hope of escape, and someone reaches out to help you—how could you see him as anything but an angel?

This elf named Song of Strings and Noble Intent was a ranger. Even if you know nothing about what a “ranger” is, the poetic and romantic sound of the title alone conveys a sense of chivalry and warmth—a hero who saves the desperate. Rangers are the sons of the earth, friends of nature and harmony, foes of cruelty. Most are masters of the bow, able to determine your fate from beyond the reach of your gaze with a single string. A rare few prefer sword and blade for close combat—but clearly, this elf was not among them.

Drawing an arrow, nocking, pulling the string... This elegant pureblood elf turned every detail of archery into an art. His movements were gentle and unhurried, imbued with a kind of reverence. When he leveled his longbow, aiming at his target, his expression changed—not sharper, but more veiled. There was something mysterious in his gaze, a tinge of sorrow, perhaps a touch of helplessness, as if he already foresaw the tragic fate awaiting his prey and felt a pang of reluctance.

The bowstring thrummed, ringing with a clear, crisp note. Who would believe such a graceful sound—like a song, like a lament—could be so closely entwined with death and slaughter?

In the hands of this elf, even the most ordinary arrow became elegant and refined, seemingly untouched by bloodshed. But once released, the arrow showed its ferocity—tearing through the air with a savage screech, time and distance collapsing before it, leaving only a fleeting, shadowy blur across the sky.

“Clang...”

In the blink of an eye, the arrow had crossed dozens of paces, striking unerringly...

My... thigh?!

A dazzling flare erupted from my body, a great red cloud blossoming above my head. In an instant, nearly a third of my freshly restored life was gone.

All the gratitude and praise I’d felt for him vanished in a heartbeat.

Damn it all, this was murder!

“Hey, what are you doing?” I gritted my teeth, yanked out the arrow, and waved it angrily at the elf ranger, Song of Strings and Noble Intent, not daring to stop my desperate flight.

“I’m terribly sorry...” the elf ranger called out apologetically from afar, bowing in remorse. “I... missed.”

If I could chalk the first arrow up to friendly fire, when his second found my shoulder, I was left utterly speechless.

And this was only the beginning. Soon, this well-meaning elf ranger put on a display of archery so astonishing it defied belief.

He fired no fewer than fifteen arrows. Half vanished into some unknown corner of the forest; a few seemed aimed straight at us with murderous intent. One arrow, sharp as a razor, pierced through Bull Million’s horn and stuck there, while two others flopped to the ground a mere five paces from the bow. In short, nowhere in the forest was safe—except wherever he actually aimed.

Thus, our predicament went from merely being chased by wild beasts to a miserable state of being hunted from behind and rained upon by errant arrows from the front.

It’s said the elves are born archers, that even their children can use bows to rid their forests of pests. If I ever find out who made up that nonsense, I’ll rip out his tongue and pin it to a tree with an arrow.

As we drew closer, the elf’s aim grew even wilder. He flailed, loosing arrows in every direction, as if scattering petals in a storm, vanishing without a trace. When we finally braved the hail of arrows and reached his side, he made what we considered the only sensible decision:

With a startled “Awooo!” he slung his bow and arrows onto his back and fled alongside us.

Freed from the threat of Song of Strings and Noble Intent’s wild arrows, we suddenly felt much less pressure in our escape. After so many brushes with death, Bull Million had adapted to the rhythm of running for his life. His movements were still clumsy and awkward, but his steps no longer wobbled, and his speed had improved dramatically. He even had enough breath left to engage our new companion in a “warm and friendly” exchange:

“And you call yourself an archer?!” Bull Million enunciated each word, veins bulging on his neck as he glared at the elf. The once-respected title “archer” dripped with biting sarcasm.

“Look what you did!” Bull Million jabbed at the arrow stuck in his brow. “You almost killed me!”

If the red in the minotaur’s furious eyes were flames, the elf ranger would have been reduced to ash.

“And what about mine...” I hadn’t had a chance to pull out the arrow in my shoulder as we ran, and it now bobbed in and out of my vision with every step, making me feel like a scarecrow stuffed with sticks.

“I truly am sorry...” Even in the midst of our flight, the elf ranger maintained his courteous manners, sincerely apologizing to us. He looked at us with bright emerald eyes, beautiful and clear—yet for some reason, I sensed something strange, as if his gaze was shrouded in morning mist, never quite focusing on us, carrying an aloof, mysterious beauty unique to his kind.

The agility of the elves was enviable. His steps were light and nimble, as if he were dancing in the moonlit forest rather than running for his life.

“I...” Song of Strings and Noble Intent barely uttered a word before failing to notice a low-hanging branch ahead. With his elven swiftness, he ran straight into it, blood blossoming on his forehead. He cried out in pain, clutching his face with tears in his eyes, and said,

“I’m... nearsighted...”

At his words, Bull Million nearly stumbled to the ground.

“Nearsighted?” His eyeballs almost popped out.

“Twelve hundred degrees...” the elf added sheepishly.

“Then why would you ever pick up a bow?” the minotaur bellowed in frustration.

“I’ve always used bows, whatever I played before. But recently, my neural wave sensor’s visual system malfunctioned—I can’t adjust the focus anymore. The thing’s too expensive, and I could only afford a used one, long out of warranty, and I can’t afford repairs. Also...” Song of Strings and Noble Intent glanced at us, embarrassed, and mumbled, “...could you... return the arrows stuck in you? I’ve lost so many, and I don’t have money to buy more. Please, every arrow I can save helps...”

I didn’t quite catch every detail of this exchange between the two “Traversers,” but from their expressions and gestures, I gathered that this elf’s eyesight was as bad as a mole’s. From one angle, our would-be rescuer turned out to be utterly useless, a total liability. From another, it was nothing short of miraculous that we hadn’t been shot dead by this half-blind marksman.

“What’s the point of these things now?” Bull Million grumbled as he yanked the arrow from his horn and begrudgingly handed it back.

“You never know,” Song of Strings and Noble Intent replied, quickly snatching back the arrow, a sly grin flickering across his face. “Whatever you say, I’m level six now, and it’s not all luck that got me here.”

With that, he suddenly quickened his pace, running three steps ahead and shouted, “You two, cover me!”

Bull Million and I exchanged a baffled glance, trying to make sense of his command—

He stopped abruptly, turned, drew his bow, and nocked an arrow—all in a single fluid motion. Before I realized what he meant to do, we were already at his side.

His bow arched like a full moon, drawing a streak of light taut but not yet released, as if capturing the soul of the night.

Rushing straight for him, jaws gleaming, was a wildcat.

In that instant, time seemed to slow. Bull Million and I halted, turning to watch as the wildcat sprang for the ranger’s face.

Three inches, two inches, one inch—the distance between beast and ranger closed at a speed too fast for the eye to follow. Just watching was nerve-racking enough. They were so close that had I been in his place, I’d have dodged long ago. To face a wild beast so near was perilous; if he failed to strike a fatal blow, the counterattack would be deadly. And behind the first wildcat were three more savage beasts.

But Song of Strings and Noble Intent stood his ground, like a rock, like a statue. His arm was steady, his gaze still vacant. The wildcat, closing in, seemed invisible to him—or perhaps, with his eyesight, it literally was. His action gave the impression that this shot wasn’t aimed at any target at all, but simply fired for its own sake. The elf archer waited—waited for a sign, a subtle cue, a perfect moment. And when it arrived, this would be an arrow for the ages.

In the final instant, the wildcat’s teeth nearly sank into the hand gripping the bow; its claws were about to rake his arm. Who was the hunter, who the prey? The answer would be revealed in the blink of an eye.

At that precise moment, the elf’s gaze changed.

The eyes that had been unfocused and misty suddenly sharpened, pupils contracting, eyelids narrowing to a fine line. Even so, a glint of piercing light shot through the slit.

In that instant, I couldn’t tell which was sharper—his gaze or the arrow’s gleam.

With a wet, splattering sound, the arrow shot through the wildcat’s mouth and out the back of its head, sending the beast flying. Three milky orbs of light rose from its corpse and drifted into each of us.

It was a fatal, flawless shot. The wildcat, so ferocious a moment before, now lay dead where it fell, a ghastly bloom of torn flesh marking the back of its skull, a silent testament to the power of that arrow.

But Song of Strings and Noble Intent was instantly knocked down by the two wildcats and a dog that followed. Even though he was level six with far superior stats, his health plummeted at an alarming rate.

“Bull, stomp!” he shouted, dodging desperately. Bull Million didn’t hesitate, using “War Stomp” to drag him out of the beasts’ jaws and shoving a few bottles of homemade healing potion into his hands.

“That move was incredible!” Bull Million exclaimed while the elf guzzled potions, “You even got a crit, and it was a ‘****’!”

“Cough cough cough...” The minotaur’s exclamation sent the elf into a fit of choking. Apparently, Bull Million’s description didn’t quite do justice to his handiwork.

“‘****’?! Don’t use your crude language to describe my signature archery skill,” he retorted indignantly. “That move’s called ‘Point-Blank Power Shot’—attack power doubled, thirty percent crit chance.”

“‘Point-Blank Power Shot’?” Bull Million repeated, savoring the name, then with a sudden realization, gave the move a most fitting nickname: “Oh, so it’s a ‘****’!”

The elf ranger was left speechless.

From Song of Strings and Noble Intent, we learned: his “****”—well, “Point-Blank Power Shot”—was devastating, but only effective within a single step in front of him. In other words, that’s the only distance at which his eyesight allows him to see the target clearly.

With one success, our confidence soared. On that clearing, we ran rings around the beasts, waiting for their skills to cool down. The second time, we repeated the strategy—taking out the half-dead wild dog with one shot, then, after two rounds, killing the second “angry wildcat.” When only one wildcat remained, we seized the chance for revenge—taking turns to batter the long-haired fiend that had chased us to exhaustion, pinning it to the ground despite its frantic scratching, and letting Song of Strings and Noble Intent finish it off point-blank, sending its brains splattering, giving it a true taste of “****.”

The elf, clearly having been frustrated by his earlier misses, wasn’t content. He emptied a whole quiver into the wildcat’s corpse, turning its hide into a net, cackling maniacally as he did so. His wild expression sent a chill down my spine—it was obvious that if he hadn’t had this chance to vent, he might have gone mad.

For killing a wild dog, we got a hide as well. The animals, considerate in death, left their pelts and bones neatly piled for us to collect.

“Where are you two headed?” Song of Strings and Noble Intent asked, unceremoniously gathering the beast hides for himself—he planned to sell them in town for arrow money.

“We’re on a wild dog hunting quest...” I replied, “...but right now, I need to repair my armor.”

“I need to buy some clothes too,” Bull Million snorted, mumbling, “...Fighting monsters shirtless hurts too much.”

“Well then, let’s go together,” Song of Strings and Noble Intent said cheerfully. “I’ve finished the wild dog quest, and I’ll take you along next time. I know some good spots—not too crowded, perfect for leveling up...”

And so, our little band of adventurers grew by one more member.