The morning after the first stage, the Adventurer's Guild posted a notice detailing the schedule ahead.

To give the fighters time to rest and recover, the second stage of the Decennial Tournament was set for one week later.

That next stage would further whittle down the competitors to the top ten.

Another week after that, those ten would compete for their final placements.

In short, I suddenly had several days of precious free time before the next battle. I planned to use it wisely; which is to say, I mostly slept through it.

From an outside perspective, it might have looked like I wasted the week napping. In truth, that's exactly what I did.

I slept in every single day, sometimes for hours on end.

Other than a few brief wakings, usually because Rinvara or Mira stopped by to check on me, I stayed curled up in my residence, snoring softly. Rinvara would drop in with Mira pushing her wheelchair, both of them bringing small comforts: a warm meal and a stack of slim philosophy books to keep my mind occupied. They never stayed long, though.

Mira fussed that I wasn't training enough. I assured them I was fine. Once they left, I promptly drifted back to sleep.

Beneath the surface of all that lazing about, I was hard at work in my own way. Appearances can be deceiving. While I lay there seemingly idle, I focused inward and circulated my Qi with as much intensity as I could muster.

My breaths fell into a slow, deep rhythm. With each inhale and exhale, I guided the flow of Qi through my body. By now, I could feel a dense pool of Qi in my center, brimming and ready to surge… if only I could push it further.

There was a barrier there—a subtle wall inside me that I kept pressing against, day after day. No matter what I tried, that wall wouldn't budge. I adjusted my breathing technique, altered my posture, even tried staying awake (briefly) to meditate properly. Nothing worked.

The next level of power teased at me from just out of reach.

It was frustrating, to say the least. I had the sense that if I could only break through that bottleneck, I would become significantly stronger.

But for now, Phase 2 (or whatever one might call the next step for my Qi cultivation) remained elusive. I eventually resigned myself to patience. If sleeping a bit more was what my body wanted, I would oblige. When in doubt, nap it out.

Aside from Rinvara and Mira's occasional visits, the days passed quietly. I scarcely left my guild-provided quarters at all.

After the spectacle I'd made of myself in the arena, the city outside was buzzing with rumors about the "Sixth Heir" from Sunmire. I could imagine the newspapers and gossip rags churning out story after story, but I paid them no mind.

I was content to let the world make their own assumptions and conclusion. Since the Guild ensured we were well taken care of in the interim, Sali and I had food, shelter, and privacy, everything we needed.

Mid-week, though, I received an unexpected visitor. In the early afternoon of the fourth day, a soft knock sounded at my door. Sali was out strolling around the city, so I dragged myself up to answer it.

I recognized him immediately; standing in the doorway was Brother Maevin. I could vaguely recall that he was one of Sunmire's clerical delegates who came with Rinvara.

In the light of the hallway, I was struck by how much he'd aged. He was only in his mid-thirties, but strands of white streaked through his dark hair at the temples. There were tired shadows under his eyes, and new creases lined his forehead. His robes were a bit finer now: the mark of someone who had climbed a few rungs up the hierarchy, but his gentle and strict demeanor hadn't changed.

"Brother Maevin," I greeted him, a bit surprised. I stepped aside and nodded, motioning for him to enter.

He offered a polite smile but shook his head, remaining at the threshold of the door. "I won't take up your time. I came to deliver some news."

My stomach did a small flip at those words. News from Sunmire could mean many things.

I grunted.

Maevin took a breath. "It's about Sister Amara." He didn't wait for me to respond. "Amara passed away, just a few weeks ago."

For a moment, I didn't respond. The words hung in the air, heavy and unreal.

Amara was dead. I felt a subtle ache in my chest. Sister Amara, formerly the Holy Saintess of Sunmire, had been a kind-hearted woman who dedicated her latter years to running an orphanage. I didn't really know her quite well, but from my interactions with her, she was a kind woman deserving of such a title.

I blinked, then lowered my gaze. "I'm… sorry to hear that," I managed. It felt insufficient, but I couldn't find better words.

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Brother Maevin nodded solemnly. "Her burial rites was held at the orphanage. I thought you would want to know." He hesitated, then added, "She always cared about you. Even after you left, she prayed for you every day. If you have time after the tournament, perhaps you could visit the orphanage. The new children would be happy to see you, and it was one of her last wishes."

A pang went through me.

I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. "I'll try," I said quietly. "Thank you for telling me."

He offered a thin, understanding smile. "Take care of yourself, Your Reverence Pophet." With that, Brother Maevin gave a respectful half-bow and took his leave as quietly as he had come. I closed the door gently behind him.

I sat there for a long minute on the floor, leaning against the wall.

In the end, I simply pressed my paws together and murmured a short prayer for her soul. May you find peace, Amara. There was nothing more I could do.

Death was a familiar part of life. After a few more moments of quiet reflection, I returned to my floor-bed. I closed my eyes, letting out a long breath.

The rest of the week slipped by uneventfully. I resumed my routine of dozing, stretching, and gentle cultivation. On occasion, I cracked open one of the philosophy books Rinvara had left. They were dense texts, mostly about ethics and the ideology of faith. I'll admit, I didn't get through much of them: more often than not, I'd nod off after a few pages, but what little I read was oddly calming.

One of the authors wrote that true wisdom lies in patience and contemplation.

That line made me snort in amusement, if only they knew how literally true that was for me. Still, it felt fitting. More quiet days of rest and thought were exactly what I needed. Even if I wasn't making a breakthrough in power, I could feel my mind settling and my body recharging.

On the sixth morning, I was jolted awake by a sharp thunk from somewhere outside.

My ears perked up. It sounded like something solid hitting wood, a dull, heavy impact from the back courtyard. I yawned, sliding off my floor-bed and padding over to the small window. Another thunk sounded out before I reached it.

Curious, I decided to investigate.

I found Sali behind our quarters, bathed in the pale light of early dawn. The air was crisp and cool, dew still wet on the grass. Sali had set up a makeshift target against the far wall, a few old crates stacked and topped with a straw-filled sack for a bullseye. She was standing at the opposite end of the yard, perhaps sixty or seventy meters back. In her hands was her bow, already drawn taut. I watched as she released the string. An arrow whistled through the air and struck dead-center into the sack with a thunk, quivering from the force of impact.

Sali lowered her bow and jogged over to retrieve her arrows from the target. That's when she spotted me hovering by the doorway. She wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow and gave a small, apologetic smile.

"Ah… did I wake you?" she asked softly.

I let out a short huff, shaking my head. I stepped outside, the cool flagstones pressing against my paw pads. The sun was just cresting the rooftops, painting the sky in pastel pinks and oranges.

I padded closer as she returned to her firing position, and sat down nearby, watching her.

Sali nocked an arrow and drew back again. The bow bent and the string strained. I could see the muscles in her arms and shoulders flexing under the effort. With a soft exhale, she released. The arrow hissed through the morning air and thudded into the target, landing just an inch from her previous shot.

She readied another arrow. "I have to improve," she murmured, more to herself than to me. "After seeing how Sarah and the others lost..."

I tilted my head. This was the most resolve I'd ever heard in her voice. I didn't really pay much attention to them, but it seems that Sali watched them closely.

She drew and fired again. This arrow struck the target near the edge. Sali frowned, clearly unsatisfied. She lowered her bow and took a breath, calming herself.

She was still a novice at channeling Qi, but her natural talent with the bow was clear. Each day of practice built on the last. Even now, after just a week of sporadic meditation and internal training, she was drawing slightly stronger and shooting slightly farther than before.

She inhaled deeply, an arrow nocked, then exhaled and let it fly. The arrow punched into the sack target with a satisfying thunk, almost exactly in the center. Sali allowed herself a tiny grin.

I watched quietly as she continued to practice. My mind wandered to what her future might hold if she continued down this path. In this world, archery, true long-distance sniping, was a difficult art. Modern adventurers often relied on steam-powered rifles or rune-inscribed crossbows for range and firepower. Traditional bowmen imbued mana into their arrows to make them strike harder and fly farther, or they used special pressurized mechanisms to assist their shots.

But all those methods carried telltale signs. Mana left an energy signature in the air that any decent mage could sense coming. And those new rune-bullets and air rifles made a loud crack or hiss when fired, a noise that might as well be a warning bell to anyone with experience. In a battlefield of experts, even a split-second warning was more than enough time for a target to raise their guard or dodge aside.

Sali, however, was on her way to sidestepping those limitations. Qi was different. It was silent and internal, hard to detect unless you were actively looking. If she continued strengthening her body and honing her skills, Sali could eventually launch arrows using sheer physical force augmented by Qi.

Just a swift, deadly projectile that arrived without announcement. A silent arrow from the shadows.

I imagined what that would be like: an enemy on a distant rooftop suddenly dropping, an arrow through the heart, and no clue where it came from.

Sali was already talented with the bow; with Qi, she could become something truly fearsome.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, I was witnessing the early steps of a future legend. One day, the title "Silent Whistle" would spread in whispers among mercenaries and knights, an archer whose shots struck without warning, whose presence on a battlefield was more rumor than sight, yet no less terrifying.

People would come to dread even the possibility that she was hunting them from afar. But all that was still to come. Right now, she was just a determined young woman firing arrow after arrow in a quiet courtyard, trying to better herself.

And I was a proud teacher, proud and a little amused, watching her pour sweat and effort while I sat there like a lazy housepug.

After a while, I saw Sali's arms starting to tremble from fatigue. The sun had risen now, and the day was growing warm. I called out to her gently. "Don't overdo it."

Sali lowered her bow, breathing hard. She nodded, wiping her forehead. "Mhm."

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