Chapter Eight: Demanding Your Life

"Hey, you up there! Listen to me. Close your eyes and don’t look down!" At that awkward moment when Lyric Grace was stuck in the tree, unable to move, a sudden idea came to me, and I shouted up at him, "Aim your bow downward and don’t look at anything—just follow my commands!"

Lyric Grace obeyed. With his eyes shut, the acrophobic elf’s expression improved considerably; he no longer clung to the trunk like a sloth. He nocked an arrow skillfully, listening to my instructions as he shifted left and right to adjust his aim.

"A little to the left, Ranger..." Through the gaps in the branches, I watched the elven ranger’s movements, gradually guiding his bow to the direction I wanted. The evening sunlight occasionally pierced the leaves, stinging my eyes.

"Too far, back a bit to the right—just a little. Good. Now, listen for my signal. When I say ‘release,’ you shoot immediately—fast as you can. When I say ‘stop,’ cease firing but hold your position, understand?" I commanded loudly.

"I... I got it..." Atop the tree, Lyric Grace cocked his ear, looking for all the world like a blind man trying to locate a sound.

Seeing he was ready, I said to Ox Million, "Looks like I’ll have to take the risk. Give me a few more potions. You… stay here and wait."

Ox Million must have understood my intent. Upon hearing my plan, he flushed scarlet, as if deeply insulted, and objected loudly:

"No way! I’m coming with you!"

"What did you say?" I honestly thought I’d misheard. This odd, timid minotaur actually wanted to venture into danger with me? Judging by his usual performance in battle, I always thought that, if not for our repeated insistence, he’d have spent his life slaying chickens at the foot of the city walls. He might even have become the first legendary figure to reach level ninety-nine by killing chickens—a feat, since ninety-nine is the upper limit for ordinary beings in this world. Only a rare few at the pinnacle of power ever surpass that, and their names are all legends on the continent of Farvi.

"You’re better off staying here," I said.

"Why!" he protested, unconvinced.

"It’s just a theory—it might not even work. If these wild dogs come after us and we can’t shake them, I might still have a chance to escape alone. But with you along..." I glanced him over skeptically, making no effort to hide my doubts about his combat prowess.

"Hey, you really underestimate me. I’m not that useless," he muttered, cheeks reddening, but stubborn as ever.

I answered with a skeptical look.

"I do help out, sometimes. Like just now—a lot of those monsters were drawn by me..."

I reminded him of certain overlooked details with a glance.

He shook his head, pouted, and grudgingly added, "...Maybe I attracted a few too many, but Lyric Grace didn’t die—he still had fifteen hit points left..."

"And I can tank, draw aggro..."

I prompted him with my eyes to finish the story.

"…I know I didn’t hold the line, but you can’t blame me entirely. My armor’s defense is low, and my pain index setting is too high… In the end, you managed to hold them off yourself…"

"And my damage isn’t that bad! I can take a quarter of a wild dog’s health with a single hit… My accuracy’s just a bit off—out of ten swings, I land one or two..."

I had nothing to say, and could only look at him with deep sympathy.

"Alright, alright..." Under my gaze, his pitiful pride finally collapsed. "I admit it—I play terribly, I’m a coward, my skills are poor, my accuracy is low, my damage is small—basically, I’m just leeching experience off you..."

No one knows who first coined it, but all the Transcenders call the soul power they gain "experience." It’s a fitting term. Fighting alongside them, I grew used to these odd but convenient names.

"But..." he continued, a bit aggrieved, "since we’re a team, I want to help you both. It’s awful to be just a parasite! Watching you risk your lives while I stand by and gain experience—do you think I feel good about that? What do you take me for?"

"Now you’re going to lure the monsters. I’m a level higher than you, and I have ‘War Stomp’ to save myself. Maybe I can actually help. If things go really wrong, I’ll draw their fire and at least save your life. That’s my contribution..."

Though he spoke with a cheeky grin, as if not entirely serious, his words genuinely moved me. When you’re about to take a risk, to do something dangerous, and someone says they’re willing to risk their life for you—anyone would be touched.

Even if their help is negligible.

Even if they’re a complete stranger...

All at once, a warm, unfamiliar, and fierce feeling filled my heart, as if a ray of light had pierced in and banished the shadow called "loneliness"—a feeling I’d never known during my days as a city gate guard.

"What are you two doing? You’ve been ages without a signal—I’m falling asleep up here! Hey, you didn’t run off, did you?" From the treetop, Lyric Grace, eyes closed and bow drawn, shouted impatiently.

Ox Million and I exchanged a smile.

"Don’t worry, we’re coming!" Ox Million bellowed up at him, then turned to me, trying to sound bold. "Let’s go rescue that acrophobic coward!"

"If you’re going to call someone a coward, maybe try not to let your own legs shake so much," I said as we walked.

"I’m not scared—it’s just a dozen wild dogs..."

"Oh?"

"I’m just loosening my muscles, getting ready to run..."

Without another word, we slowly approached the pack besieging Lyric Grace. The wild dogs saw us but showed little interest. From experience, we knew this calm wouldn’t last. Once we crossed a certain threshold and posed a threat, they’d pursue us relentlessly.

Sure enough, when we were about ten steps away, the nearest wild dog perked up, barked, and startled the others. In a flash, all the wild dogs abandoned the hollow and charged us at full speed.

Ox Million and I were ready. At the first sign of movement, we spun and ran. After about twenty steps, I turned to check the distance and angle. Seeing the wild dogs were in Lyric Grace’s shooting range, I shouted, "Release!"

A sharp arrow flashed from above like a bolt of lightning, striking a wild dog dead on. It yelped in pain, losing nearly half its life in a single shot.

Lyric Grace likely didn’t realize his first arrow had struck true. Without pause, he nocked and loosed more arrows in a steady stream. Some grazed their targets, leaving surface wounds; others missed, embedding themselves in the earth; but two more struck home, wounding two more wild dogs as gravely as the first.

From my observations, when these beasts hunt prey, if attacked, they immediately abandon the hunt to retaliate against their assailant. If attacked from multiple directions, they always focus on the enemy who inflicted the greatest harm.

As it turned out, my guess was right. Under the sudden rain of arrows, the pack immediately changed direction, running toward the base of Lyric Grace’s tree and barking furiously at the unseen attacker above, desperate to tear the culprit to pieces. As for us, these "irrelevant bystanders," they didn’t spare us a glance.

Things went more smoothly than Ox Million and I could have hoped.

Now deprived of his sight, Lyric Grace could momentarily suppress his fear of heights. Under my guidance, he transformed from a nimble ranger into a stationary arrow tower, unleashing formidable firepower.

For anyone else, this strategy would be pointless—with enough patience, any ranger could perch in a tree and shoot the wild dogs one by one. But this tactic was especially, perhaps exclusively, effective for our elf companion. For a ranger who treated his eyes as mere decoration, the wild dogs below were too scattered to target reliably. Expecting precision shooting from him was less realistic than hoping the dogs would starve to death. Our real role was to draw the wild dogs together into a dense target, luring them into Lyric Grace’s firing range. While others aim at a target, we were dragging a massive target right to our ranger’s crosshair, greatly improving his accuracy.

Freed from the need to aim, Lyric Grace could focus solely on the basic rhythm: draw, nock, shoot. Since the wild dogs only passed through his range for a limited time on each lap, he needed to fire as many arrows as possible in the shortest span to inflict maximum damage.

At first, our elven companion clearly wasn’t used to such a high rate of fire. His accuracy was poor, but his technique was solid. Yet, watching him shoot arrow after arrow, his movements seemed oddly stiff, not quite coordinated. No matter how he tried to speed up, he could manage only seven or eight arrows in a burst.

But gradually, something began to change. I can’t say exactly what, but I was certain something was different. Each time, his movements grew smoother and more fluid; the muscles in his arms ran vibrant and free, like lively mountain streams. There was a strange feeling to his motion, almost as if...

As if a breeze was blowing.

Yes, the wind—that most curious of things. When it brushes your cheek, you feel its cool comfort but not its speed. Yet, if you try to catch or block it, you find it’s slipped away before you even noticed. No matter how fast you move, you always miss, for the gentle breeze is always just a little faster.

That was how Lyric Grace moved. Not especially quick—almost like a slowed dance, each detail visible. Yet undeniably, his rate of fire was increasing. The bowstring between his fingers thrummed with a rapid, pleasant cadence, as if plucking the evening wind among the trees.

Much later, recalling this moment, I realized what was different about Lyric Grace’s shooting. Whenever we do anything, we make countless tiny, unnecessary movements—so subtle we never notice them, yet they slow us down more than we think. In the course of relentless shooting, Lyric Grace began to sense this, and, instinctively striving for speed, he eliminated those excess motions, making his actions cleaner, more direct, and more efficient. That’s why, though his movements didn’t seem faster, his actual speed increased dramatically.

When he finally loosed fifteen arrows in a row without pause, we suddenly heard him cry out in joy. A rare, pale green halo rose briefly at his feet and vanished—I remembered seeing that same light when Ox Million first cast "Mighty Whirlwind."

"Some people have all the luck—another new skill!" Ox Million called from a distance, half envious. "Check what it is!"

"Rapid Fire! Shoot fifteen arrows in a short burst, costs fifty stamina, five-minute cooldown!" Lyric Grace shouted back. Giddy with his new skill, he forgot where he was and opened his eyes to check, only to clutch the tree trunk again, his face pale and flushed, uncertain whether to be glad or terrified.

With his new Rapid Fire skill, Lyric Grace grew even more heroic, felling over half the wild dogs in the next few rounds. Thanks to him, I reached level five. However, as the number of dogs dwindled, his chances to hit them dropped—from a third of his shots, to a quarter, then a fifth, until he could barely land a single arrow, and the area he was targeting was bristling with arrows like a patch of wild grass.

No ranger could sustain such a barrage forever. When the wild dog chief, Mad Dog Caplan, was down to less than a third of his health, and three other dogs were still alive but wounded, Lyric Grace finally ran out of arrows.

"What do we do now?" Ox Million asked, though the excitement in his eyes betrayed his true feelings.

"What else?" I grinned, sword in hand. Together, we looked at the last injured dogs and shouted as one:

"Let’s hack these mangy mutts to pieces!"