Chapter 13: White Oak

Every region’s night had its own hue.

In the elven capital of Ivelius, the night was an elegant poem played by harps and leaf flutes; in the “Steel Bastion” of Molten Steel City, nights were filled with iron and smoke.

The deep night in the Mist Forest was quiet.

Insect chirps and beast calls existed, but unlike other desolate wildernesses,

their sounds were faint, muffled, as if veiled, barely audible even up close.

As if the sounds themselves melted into the pervasive mist.

Maji sat alone by the campfire.

Gently wiping his longbow.

It was his “old partner” of nearly twenty years.

Though countless memories had faded to gray like his life, he still recalled that morning twenty years ago, when he turned eighteen.

His father, always as silent as the mountains, cut down the white oak tree that had grown with him in their yard and crafted this longbow from its finest wood.

Honestly, it wasn’t anything special.

The bow’s limbs were flexible but lacked hardness, the grip was rough, and the string notches were poorly polished.

From any angle, it couldn’t compare to the “fine” goods on shop shelves.

But like the countless afternoons napping under the white oak as a child, with gentle, cool breezes and the “rustling” of swaying branches, the longbow felt like an extension of his body, perfectly suited and familiar.

Had it not been for that luxurious carriage rolling slowly into the village, he might still be wandering the endless mountains with his “old partner” today…

The orange-red flames cast shadows on Maji’s weathered face, obscuring his expression.

His bandaged right leg still ached faintly, his arms numb from overusing his combat technique.

He looked up at the pitch-black night sky.

Taking a deep breath, his gaze swept over the pine tree by the camp— the mace from the goblin cave lay quietly among the fallen leaves; the double-handed axe from his fallen teammate rested steadily against the trunk.

Speaking of which, the half-beastman named “Gagu,” though rough-tempered, wasn’t so bad once you got to know him…

“Forget it.”

Maji shook his head.

The dead of night always brought melancholy.

Now, it was time for business.

His gaze shifted to the other side of the camp.

Across the blazing campfire, a figure lay motionless, faint, steady breathing audible in the air.

Maji’s eyes held no hesitation; he’d made his decision.

“Don’t blame me, kid.”

Without standing, he remained seated cross-legged.

The wooden longbow rose silently, the string drawn back, the arrow’s fletching quivering slightly in the air.

At such close range, Maji couldn’t possibly miss.

A slight release, and the sharp arrow would end this young life.

“That’s just how adventurers are. You need to learn.”

He murmured to himself.

But at that moment, he saw Xia Nan’s eyelids twitch slightly.

His eyes opened.

Clear and bright, not the groggy look of someone just waking.

“He noticed?”

Surprised, Maji’s fingers still released the arrow.

Swish—

Time seemed to freeze in that instant.

The slender, sharp arrow stirred the mist, cutting faint ripples under the moonlight; crossing the campfire, the rising flames danced like a demon’s tendrils, drawn upward yet bound by the flame’s invisible pull.

Air, blanket, grass, earth.

The arrow pierced the blanket, sinking into the ground, but no sound of flesh being struck.

Did it miss?

No, that was where Xia Nan’s head should’ve been while he slept.

But the “rookie adventurer,” already on guard, had dodged and countered after confirming Maji’s move.

His body, seemingly asleep on its side, was poised for action.

The blanket covering him was flung up, blocking Maji’s view, and when it fell, I was gone.

The sound of movement cut through the air.

“Boom!”

The campfire was kicked over, sparks and flaming logs flying.

Then came two fleeting arcs of silver light.

[Whirlwind Slash]

Firewood was sliced apart, sparks exploding.

The blade cut into flesh and exited the other side.

The broken longbow fell to the ground.

“Gurgle… gurgle…”

I, Xia Nan, stood on the meadow, facing Maji, who clutched his throat with both hands.

His windpipe severed, he couldn’t speak, only blood flowed through his fingers.

The night was deep; I couldn’t make out Maji’s expression.

I only saw his eyes widen, then lose their light, and his convulsing body collapse backward.

Crouching, I confirmed he was truly dead.

Only then did I breathe a sigh of relief, sheathing the two daggers from the dwarf “Erji” at my waist.

It wasn’t luck.

Back in the cave two days ago, when I noticed Maji’s change in demeanor, I’d been on guard.

Though this was my first mission, the Rotten Fish and Shrimp team’s behavior, fitting the stereotype of “low-tier adventurers,” stuck with me.

You can’t let your guard down, even with teammates who’d just fought alongside you.

But I wasn’t about to strike first. Until that moment, Maji hadn’t shown hostility and had even earnestly invited me to join the team.

Thankfully, my timely caution saved me from this sudden crisis.

Compared to the mental strain, the fight itself was simple.

The heavily injured Maji had only one shot, and he had to wait until we were near the Mist Forest’s edge, where his condition allowed him to return to town;

while I, with most of my strength intact, needed only one strike to end him.

The sky began to lighten.

Ignoring the body, I used the battlefield cleanup skills I’d learned from the team, quickly packing the camp’s supplies.

Maji had little useful gear; his wooden bow, broken in the fight, was likely worthless.

So I took only his quiver, extinguished the fire, and left swiftly.

A breeze blew through, the forest rustling with swaying branches.

Maji, eyes closed, leaned against the tree, clutching his broken white oak bow.

In that moment, he seemed back in that sunny, dappled afternoon years ago.

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.