Ten Years of Archery Practice, and You Awakened Ones Call Me Useless?

The Age of Giant Beasts.

I stand in the corner of Eden Fortress's training ground.

A bow in my hands.

It's made of composite materials, covered in rust—deep and shallow patches like worn spots on an old map. The bowstring snapped three years ago, leaving only bare limbs. The grip's leather has been worn smooth and glossy, with a warm, burnished feel to the touch.

I raise the bow.

Arm extended straight, bow perpendicular to the ground, aiming at empty air.

Then I make the motion of drawing the string.

Three fingers of my right hand come together as if gripping an invisible arrow. My arm pulls back slowly until I reach full draw. Though there's no string resistance, my form remains precise, as if there really were an invisible string at my fingertips.

I hold for one second.

Then release my fingers.

No string sound, no arrow, but I can feel something being cut through. The air, or something else.

I raise the bow again.

Repeat the same motion.

This is the nine hundred seventy-third time today. Also the twenty-nine million four hundred seventy thousandth time in these ten years.

Several new recruits pass by from the other end of the training ground. They wear standard tactical uniforms, their Awakener badges gleaming in the sunlight. One of the tall ones glances my way and nudges his companion with his elbow.

"There's that useless guy practicing with the broken bow again."

"Ten years now, right? They say he draws it eight thousand times a day."

"Guy's mental. What era are we living in, still playing with that stuff?"

"Could spend that time getting a genetic test instead. Might even awaken—even F-rank would be better than this."

They laugh.

The sound isn't loud, but it's clear, carrying across half the training ground.

I hear them.

But it doesn't matter.

In my world, there's only this bow, only one motion—archery. Everything else is noise.

"Blade."

Instructor Sara walks over from the equipment area. She's a stern woman who once trained me. She stops three steps away, irritation in her eyes.

"What are you doing?" she asks.

I continue drawing the bow. "Finding structure," I say.

Sara lets out a soft laugh. "Structure?"

She doesn't pursue the question, just waves her hand dismissively. "Leave this area. The new recruits need to use this training ground."

With that, she turns and walks away, apparently not wanting to look at this former student she once had high hopes for.

Just then, Duke enters from the training ground entrance, followed by a group of new students. As the son of the fortress's ruling plutocrat, this young S-rank Awakener always easily becomes the center of any crowd.

"Instructor Sara." Duke nods with a smile, then his gaze falls on me. "Student Blade is still here."

His tone is gentle, even carrying a hint of concern, as if he genuinely cares about my situation.

"I heard you've been researching some kind of 'structure'?" Duke tilts his head with a serious expression. "Could you demonstrate it for us?"

The surrounding new students all look at me, curiosity in their eyes. And that kind of interest one shows when viewing exotic animals.

I nod and raise the bow again.

"Look, this is Student Blade's 'structural studies.'" Duke says to those beside him, his voice carrying a teaching tone. "He believes that through constantly repeating the same action, he can comprehend some deeper truth."

The new students let out soft chuckles.

Duke continues: "Such dedication is certainly admirable. But we live in the age of genetic awakening—spirit alone isn't enough. Without abilities, you should at least know how to be human, right? Don't engage in pretentious mysticism."

He raises his right hand.

A gravity field instantly expands.

I can see it—not gravity itself, but the "connected" state of all matter under gravity's influence. Air compressed, dust particles bound, even light's path slightly bending.

The abandoned armored transport at the edge of the training ground begins to tremble. The fifteen-ton steel behemoth slowly rises under the invisible force field's embrace, its hull groaning under the strain.

"This is true power." Duke's voice remains gentle, but his words carry unquestionable authority. "S-rank gravity manipulation. It needs no mystical theories, no mysterious insights—only genes, only talent."

The armored vehicle rotates slowly in midair, its steel plates beginning to warp and deform.

Duke looks at me, his tone instructional: "Student Blade, that's reality. Some things can't be obtained through effort alone."

He gently closes his five fingers.

The armored vehicle is instantly compressed into a neat iron sphere, falling from twenty meters and smashing a deep crater in the ground. The entire process is quiet and elegant—no explosion, no flames, only absolute control.

The new students burst into exclamations.

"Amazing!"

"Is this S-rank ability?"

"Senior Duke is incredible!"

Duke basks in this praise, then looks at me again. But now I'm not looking at him—I'm looking at his gravity field. The field now appears tangible in my eyes, manifesting as an extremely complex energy network. Layer upon layer, densely packed, every node operating at high speed.

It looks impregnable.

But every network has its core. Every force has its weak point.

I find the least important core node, then release the empty string.

No sound, no arrow, but something passes through space. An extremely faint tremor, ghostlike, sweeps past Duke's gravity field, precisely touching a hidden weak point.

Duke's smile freezes for an instant.

His eyes widen as if seeing something impossible, instinctively stepping back half a pace.

"Senior Duke?" a new student asks with concern. "What's wrong?"

Duke stares for several seconds, then takes a deep breath. As the plutocrat heir, he's received various training since childhood and knows how to control his emotions.

"Nothing." He slowly shakes his head, forcing himself to smile again. But the smile is much stiffer than before, a trace of uncertainty still lingering in his eyes. "Maybe using my ability just now was a bit draining."

He continues looking at me.

"By the way, Student Blade." Duke clears his throat, his voice sounding hoarser than before. "There's field training outside the city tomorrow. I think you should participate."

Instructor Sara frowns: "Duke, field training is only for Awakeners..."

"I know." Duke nods. "But these are orders from above. As combat personnel, we'd better not disobey superior orders."

He looks at me, sincerity in his eyes: "Of course, considering safety factors, I won't have you participate in combat. You'll handle supply transport—this way you get training without too much risk. How about it?"

Supply transport.

Sounds like safe work. But in the wasteland, transport teams are often the first to encounter danger. Mutant creatures prioritize attacking targets that appear weakest.

The surrounding new students all look at me with sympathy and pity. As if watching a sacrifice about to be offered on an altar.

"Student Blade?" Duke prompts. "You won't refuse this opportunity, will you?"

I look at him and nod.

"Alright."

Duke smiles with satisfaction: "Then it's settled. Tomorrow morning at six, gather at the fortress's east gate."

He turns to leave, takes two steps, then looks back: "Oh, Student Blade, remember to bring your bow. You might need it."

Snort! A girl nearby can't help but laugh, looking at Duke with pure adoration.

Duke leads the new students away. Instructor Sara gives me a long look, then follows.

The training ground falls quiet again, leaving only me.

I continue practicing with the bow.

Raise, draw, aim, release.

The sun sets, and the fortress's searchlights begin to flicker.

I'm about to pack up and return to the dormitory when I suddenly detect a faint but pure malice. Without hesitation, I immediately turn and draw the string, shooting out.

Whoosh!

An air arrow shoots out, exploding an extremely tiny spore in midair.

I furrow my brow.

"Something from the underground tunnels?"

"Seems... different from other mutant monsters?"