10 - Positioning (2)
As was typical in fantasy tales, elven ears were sharp. The same held true for Selena Windforce, the half-elf.
"Archers are basically fairy kids' territory anyway, right?"
"Eh, hunters or those from renowned bowman families can pull it off even if they're human."
"Archer spots are getting competitive..."
"Is she going for archer support too?"
"A half-elf?"
"So her talent's only half?"
She couldn't help but overhear the chatter about her—whether she wanted to or not. As the war intensified, Clarice Academy had opened its doors to a handful of elvenkind. For Selena, the academy was a sanctuary. It was the first place where she'd ever felt a sense of belonging, after struggling to fit in anywhere. Of course, being a half-elf came with complicated origins, making her prime gossip fodder for the chatty cadets.
Truth be told, archery had long been the fairies' calling. Elves could contract with sylphs thanks to their affinity for wind spirits, granting them access to Wind Archery. This created a chasm of skill far beyond the hobbyist bows of nobles or the practical hunter's craft of commoners.
But...
I'm not there yet...
"Selena, you still haven't contracted...?"
"Ah... sorry. Shouldn't have asked."
"It's fine! I'm sure the blessing will reach you too, Selena!"
Sadly, no spirit's touch had graced her yet. And that very absence had forged her strength. Rumors could be silenced with skill alone. That was Selena's creed.
Her bow had never left her hands since childhood. Doubts about her aptitude? Prove them wrong with results. No need for petty human whining—just show it. That she could be an archer, blessing or no.
Now was the time to start.
That's when she spotted him: another ordinary human—or so he should have been—taking his seat.
Lev Denek...
The most pitiful human she'd seen so far.
"Do you even know what kind of family I come from?!"
"Class level's trash low. Yawn."
Empty carts rattled loudest, and those with nothing boasted the most. The textbook case of what Selena despised.
She'd ignored him entirely.
Yet this fool, who strutted on raw magical talent, suddenly aspired to archery.
And she'd heard it crystal clear.
"I just think I can do well at it."
"......"
Selena clenched her fist tight.
That brazen answer mocked every ounce of her effort.
* * *
He wasn't a reincarnated hero, but there'd once been a player like that in some old game. Inspired by a famous novel, apparently. The guy armed his mercenary NPCs—party fodder—with guns only.
Guns were just guns, after all. Mechanical tools that fired bullets, sure, but useless for channeling innate mana or talent.
Easy for noobs, hence the recommendation, but their limits were glaring.
This player flipped it. Prepped enhanced ammo for variable damage ahead of time, dumped stats solely into vitality and accuracy over mana or strength—compressing everything for peak efficiency.
Why bother with finicky spellblade or sword builds on disposable mercs? Straight to optimized early-game clears.
Topped the forums once...
That post fueled a week-long inferno on "Is it efficient or not?"
Lesson learned? If your stats suck, go guns early-game. Noobs feast on gunpower.
Pure formula. Pure strat.
"What the hell?"
Had I posted that? No way. Who the fuck was this guy!
Sure, guns felt off in a non-modern fantasy world. But in Humans vs. Orcs—Guinness-listed, no less—dwarves had firearm proficiency as a racial trait and used guns.
Forced adaptation...
Sigh... that damn author.
Fine. Pheasant or chicken, I'd make do with my skills.
* * *
Lev Denek: Demerit Points 49
He's really going all-in, huh.
Instructor Sylvester was a veteran handling newbies for the 16th semester straight. Clarice drew cadets from across the continent, but this guy? A rarity.
The academy honed primary weapons, maximized position roles, and forged hero parties for the battlefield. Only the elite made the cut.
A mage gunning for archer? No elven blood, no bowman lineage, no hunter roots. Records showed House Denek bred decent mages via innate mana pools.
Mage houses dominated magic, knight houses melee, the blessed divine arts. Not stereotype—common sense.
Defy it? Like begging for expulsion in a rank-obsessed place.
Worse, it tarnished Clarice's pride, dooming the fool's future.
Wonder what the backbencher picks.
Archer weapons boiled down to longbows, recurve bows, shortbows, crossbows. Elves and bowman clans favored all but crossbows and shortbows.
Then sub-instructor Bella whispered to Sylvester—old friends, casual tones.
"Senior, non-bowman archers are raaare these days. Last one when?"
"Ten years back?"
"Bet on his pick?"
"Not the time..."
"Scared?"
"Two weeks' meal stipend. Crossbow."
"Hey! Me too?"
Sylvester knew. Unpopular picks dodged direct comparisons. Crossbows were mechanically simple—no draw strength needed. Classic yearly pick for the desperate.
Not mage houses, though. Cornered no-talents or lucky hunter kids chasing easy wins.
Crossbow ending. Talentless grave.
Lev Denek knew it too. Crossbow pickers went nowhere.
Click.
Lev grabbed his weapon. Bella facepalmed.
"Lord almighty."
Sylvester looked away.
"All that confidence, and this?"
* * *
I knew picking crossbows—hard to infuse with character skills—capped my potential.
But to survive week one here? Highest odds item only.
Reason for crossbow? Simple.
Rarity: D+
Seems combat-ready, not practice. Wooden grip feels solid.
Durability: 98/100
Equippable
System scan said so. Only oak one among practice-prefix junk.
Rare pick left it pristine—token stock.
Edge secured.
I needed raw damage now.
With strength at one bar, even drawing a bowstring was impossible. Practice? Forget it.
Crossbows? Cock the string into a fixed frame, mech-launch. Minimal user reliance. Perfect for my empty-stats ass.
Best was guns. No guns? Next best.
Temp weapon anyway. Fine.
* * *
"Return to seats."
"Yes, sir."
Our hero Edwin: two-handers, frontliner support.
"..."
He'd hesitated—something to say post-yesterday—but sat.
Quick wrap-up after. All pondered deep, picked earnest.
Melissa: wand, midliner support.
Aria: priest staff, midliner support.
Selena: bow, backliner support.
"As expected."
Novel on rails.
"Ah, right."
Bella closed: "Positioning done. Rest weekend. Class assignment eval Monday."
"Party test. Team up 5-man with like-minds or needs by Monday submit."
Positioning over.
* * *
Empty classroom post-instructors. Cadets buzzed in clusters, plotting parties.
"Team up?"
"Duh. Trust bro."
"Next, healer~"
"Tank for mobs~"
Party comps mattered. Not my circus.
Exam flop, wastrel rep, now archer? No invites for bomb-me.
Group project hot potato vibes.
Sorry leftovers—I'll just not screw up, dodge expulsion fodder.
"Plans today?"
"Chill. Early finish rare."
"Agreed."
"Gym for me."
"Masochist..."
No afternoon? Free time woes.
Me? Doomed dropout cramming crossbow basics through weekend.
Blame not picking Lev's body.
Gym it is.
In Reincarnated Hero, training spots like dojos or forests gave bonus XP.
System me? Gym over random grind.
Decision made, exiting—
Aria loitered at door, waiting.
"......"
Blank stare at me, then—
"Aria, what're you doing? C'mon."
"Ah, yes."
Vanished with Melissa.
"...Huh?"
Creepy vibe, pivot to front door—
"?"
Half-elf Selena on threshold.
Elven sharpness: piercing gaze, unapproachable.
- ...She iced me too, then dipped.
"What the actual fuck..."
Breathing villain arc?