There stood a mire-covered ground, stretching nearly a thousand square meters.
With a clang, two blunted swords collided mid-air, sparking upon impact.
In the training grounds of Helensburgh, two men wielded their swords amidst the surrounding crowd's cheers, battling fiercely.
In an instant, with a cry of pain, the young man in the Demon Hunter's reserve leather armor dropped his sword to the ground. His grip loosened as his hand, which gripped the sword, split open from the intense back-and-forth combat.
Opposite him, a big man wearing a hemp vest, his left arm covered in linear bruises and gasping for breath, couldn't help but roar triumphantly, "I've won."
At the same time, Stanley Ford, who was watching with the rest, nodded in approval, "Not bad, next."
Baron Dorne, who had brought the twenty-nine men with him, noticed Ford's nod. One of his strongest men had just won Ford's approval, brightening the otherwise gloomy situation. After all, seven of his men had already been rejected, which would only earn Baron Dorne two gold coins each, akin to the price of odd jobs taken by the Demon Hunters.
To think, this was comparable to selling them into a lifetime of slavery at the black market, without the sinister implications that could arise from being associated with the Demon Hunters.
However, with Ford's approval, the Demon Hunters would recruit each odd jobber for ten gold coins, five times the market rate.
Otherwise, if not for extraordinary strength, the black market would price them all at two gold coins alike.
After all, those illegal male slaves taken by the black market usually end up as laborers in mines, where no one cares if a slave, unlikely to live past six months, has any combat talent.
Baron Dorne, thinking about how much food and weapons this sum could buy in Leon City, didn't dwell on this thought long.
The testing on the training grounds continued even after the two men were taken away to heal.
After screening another twenty-one, only two managed to earn Stanley Ford's approval. The captain of the Helensburgh Demon Hunter's third squadron maintained a stern expression throughout.
In the end, of the twenty-nine men brought by Baron Dorne, only Kane, who was caught halfway and added to the numbers, remained.
"What can you do, Khamitite?"
Though Kane wanted to say that he was captured en route by the middle-aged man, he didn't place his fate in the hands of another's morality; instead, he pointed toward the range where, unlike the spectators in black robes, five archers in leather armor identical to those worn by others on the training field continued their practice undisturbed by the newcomers' arrival.
But, unbeknownst to Kane, among the human tribes of the land of Korlos, Khamitites have always been renowned across the Western Continent for their excellent archery skills. And here he was, a "Khamitite," adept with the bow—a tempting prospect for a commander constantly at war with dark creatures.
Thus, Stanley Ford's eyes lit up, and he said to a still-dumbfounded Kane, "Come with me."
As a sizeable group headed to the archery range, although Kane's skill with a bow had yet to be witnessed, Baron Dorne—who had heard of the Khamitites' renowned prowess—couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret.
After all, no one would think they have too many talented individuals under their command, especially with winter on the horizon and particularly in matters of battle.
But could Kane, who in times past had only dabbled in archery with a compound bow purely as a hobby, satisfy this eagerly expectant crowd?
The answer, it seemed, was a resolute affirmative.
With novice-like movements, Kane strapped on a finger guard—not practicing mere meters away from a straw man like the other trainees but aiming for a target twenty meters distant at the bullseye. Yet, his series of unpracticed motions couldn't help but disappoint the majority of those filled with anticipation.
Particularly when his first arrow failed to hit the ten-plus-centimeter-diameter red heart of the target, only to hit somewhere within the sixty-centimeter diameter bullseye.
This drew a scornful hiss from a middle-aged man in the crowd of onlookers, to which a usually thin-skinned Kane couldn't help but blush.
Knowing, however, that the outcome of this trial would decide his future treatment within the Demon Hunters, Kane steeled himself.
Drawing another feathered arrow from his quiver, he nocked, breathed deeply, and pulled the longbow taut into a full crescent. With his slight myopia, he squinted instinctively during the aiming process, hoping to bring into focus the blurry target in the distance.
"Whizz—thud~"
A young lad, initially practicing on a straw man but now relegated to being a spectator due to Kane's arrival, couldn't help but shout excitedly, "Bullseye!"
Four seconds later, he shouted again, "Bullseye!"
Another five seconds passed, and as the young boy watched Kane's subsequent shots hitting near the center, he murmured in slight disappointment, knowing the difference would be a mere few centimeters up close, "Such a pity, just missed by that little..."
Just as Kane was preparing to nock another arrow, with his right arm already feeling a bit sore, Stanley Ford, who had noticed Kane's squinting habit during the aim, cut in with a plan in mind, "That's enough, not bad..."
Turning to a somewhat beaming Baron Dorne, Stanley Ford made his offer: "I'll give 20 gold coins for this Khamitite."
"No, no, no, my friend, haven't you noticed this kid has a bit of weak sight? Just a trip to the Alchemist's Guild in Leon City to fit him with a proper pair of alchemical glasses, and even if his power hasn't entered the realm of the extraordinary, he'll surely outshine any archer in the Leon City Guard!"
Ford, having not anticipated Dorne catching on to this as well, muttered a curse under his breath before adding, "This lad may have weak eyes and a frail physique, wouldn't you agree?"
Gesturing towards the bewildered Kane, Dorne took the longbow and examined it, giving it a pull to confirm it was indeed a low-poundage training bow.
Reflecting on where his men had found the lad, and seeing Kane's somewhat pale face (mainly due to not having fully recovered from two consecutive blows to the head), he remarked, "A weak physique can be conditioned, right?"
"Damn it, you didn't let this kid starve for three days on the road, did you?"
Faced with Stanley Ford's pointed question, Baron Dorne, realizing the misunderstanding, decided to play along but said, "Of course not, Stanley, my friend. You know me, I'm not that kind of person."
"Because I know you so well—that's precisely why I wouldn't put it past you to be that stingy."
Out of respect for his friend's reputation, Stanley Ford kept his true thoughts to himself and simply asked, "How much are you offering?"
"50 gold coins, not one less."
"Just so you know, by taking this young marksman into the Demon Hunters, you're gaining a twenty-something Khamitite known for his sharpshooting. Setting aside how much he'll improve with your training, just two years of nurturing and experience, and he'll be able to lead a battalion of elite archers himself. Khamitite archery prowess isn't a mere wives' tale; it's a fact, proven through bloodlines across the continent."
"Their veins carry a talent for archery that rivals even that of the elven sharpshooters—a talent that destines them to be amongst the finest in Korlos."
Alright then, coming from a world with no shortage of the necessities and already marching toward his 'thirties', Kane could indeed seem youthful compared to most commoners of his race who face uncertain dawns and wear their years heavily.
Meanwhile, knowing that everything his friend had said could come true given a relatively safe environment for growth, and with the resources from Helensburgh, Stanley Ford, who was unprepared to acquiesce to Baron Dorne's outrageous demand, began to haggle.
"50 gold coins? Have you lost your mind? With that amount, you could hire a black-iron-tier mercenary from the Leon City Mercenaries Guild to work for us for over five years."
.....................
Let's not mention that the two seemed to instantly transform into merchants, busy haggling.
Nor dwell on the shock that rippled through both sides, the Demon Hunters and the warriors accompanying Baron Dorne, when they heard about Kane's nearsightedness.
As for Kane himself, he was all too aware that his success with those three arrows was, to a large extent, sheer luck—despite some help from his compound bow experience in the past.
And he knew all too well the adage about the higher you're held, the harder you fall—especially without any real means of self-defense.
Anticipating the moment they discovered he was not the Khamitite they believed him to be, and likely to be caught out, he could feel the wrath of the red-faced disputant, the estimable Baron, would be directed at him.
Casting a glance at the boy who had called his shots, whose eyes shone with admiration, Kane once again sank into a well of unease.
