Chapter 68
Chapter 68
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 68
Chapter Title: 23. In High Spirits (1)
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I had no idea bows were a strength-based weapon.
In the few RPG games I'd tried, they were always agility builds.
In historical dramas, they make it look effortless—swish swish, no sweat.
Who knew it took this much raw power?
Ting! Chak!
"Ugh!"
I released the bowstring, and the damn thing whipped back, slapping the back of my hand.
Crazy!
It stings like hell!
Sure enough, a red welt striped across my skin.
Posture matters a lot here.
Otherwise, you're gonna hurt yourself.
How the hell do you even do this?
I gripped the bow again and pulled the string back slowly.
This time, I clenched the hand holding the bow tight.
Power into both hands!
Draw back with my back!
...Fuck, this feels awkward.
Posture's off.
There was a manual on the desk.
The cover showed some middle-aged guy nocking an arrow and drawing the string.
...Elbow up higher?
Like this?
...Still awkward as hell.
I fumbled a few more times, ting, ting, then grabbed an arrow from the pile stacked in the corner of the table and nocked it.
Pulled it back all the way.
"Ngh, fuck."
Damn it.
The arrowhead wobbled all over the place.
Not flush against the bow, swaying like a drunk after a few bottles of soju.
Fingers on the string need attention too.
I eased the string forward slowly, slotted the arrow properly between my fingers, and nocked it right.
Pulled back.
...Better?
Kind of?
Gonna need practice for this.
Bows... how did people use these as weapons back in the day?
No way a beginner can wield this effectively.
Takes a ton of practice to use properly.
I grabbed a fistful of arrows and headed outside.
Found a spot amid the corpses, dumped the arrows at my feet.
Made it this far—time to practice.
Alright, draw!
Release!
Tick.
Twaang~
"Ow, fuck."
The arrow looped lazily in the air before hitting the ground, while the string tap-danced with a mangled twang.
"Gonna drive me nuts, this shit."
For real.
I get it—with the Hit skill, it's guaranteed headshot.
But first, you gotta actually launch the projectile, right?
Can't blame the skill when it's twisting mid-air and plopping on the ground without even a chance.
Practice time.
Decided to go all in, headed back to the room, hauled out a pile of arrows.
That's when I noticed—inside the wooden basket of arrows, there were plenty of quivers stuck in there too.
Quivers were mostly sturdy leather.
Tried sticking an arrow in; the lining gripped it snug, felt secure.
Flipped the quiver upside down—no drop.
Ooh, nice.
"Ah, right."
Projectile Duplicator.
Feather Band!
I pulled the feather band from my sword sheath.
Practice is practice, but first, secure arrows. Without that, it's pointless.
How do you use this thing?
Took an arrow and tried wrapping it.
It unraveled smoothly.
No matter how coiled the feather band is, it won't wrap something as thin as an arrow tight enough to hold.
It's more like loosely circling your thumb and index finger.
Not for wrapping arrows.
...Just leave it?
I tossed an arrow roughly into the coiled band and picked up the bow again.
Alright, practice.
Tick, twaang~
Tick, thunk.
Tik tik.
Damn, not working.
Think it's good, then it flips in mid-air.
Keep at it till it works.
Posture first.
Index and middle fingers gripping feather and shaft together.
Nock to bow.
Power in both hands.
Fingers supporting the arrow right.
Draw.
"Suuuup."
Bow bent into a D-shape.
Aimed the tip at the target, released.
Shoooot!
Whistling through the air, nailed the target.
Not the red center, obviously.
Barely stuck in the edge.
But...
"Ooh... fuck..."
The rush...!
Arrow zipping off with a whoosh and thunk into the target—feels so damn good.
I basked in it for a sec, shook my head, grabbed another arrow.
Just one good shot so far.
Out of a hundred, all hundred need to fly true.
Practice, practice.
Kept shooting for about an hour.
Thanks to the stamina achievement skill, my arms and back warmed up nicely without much fatigue.
And I was getting better, shot by shot.
This is fun.
Got so hyped, blasting away, then remembered the feather band and glanced over.
My feather band.
How's it doing?
"............"
Untouched.
One arrow inside the coil.
Duplicator, so it should copy that one, right?
But no clue how...
I tilted my head, picked up the band.
"...Gonna drive me nuts."
Slapped it against my forearm.
Snap, whoosh.
Snap, whoosh.
"...Hm."
It wraps...
It wrapped around the sword sheath too.
I eyed the quiver.
...Work on that too?
Lifted the thick, sturdy quiver and slapped the band against it.
Whoosh.
Wrapped perfectly.
Like a bracelet.
Arrow inside: the one from before.
Set the quiver aside and dove back into archery practice.
Shoo! Thunk!
Air-cutting sound...!
Faint, tiny whoosh, but definitely there.
Every arrow a thrill.
Got so into it, lost track of time practicing—no, playing with the bow.
Another hour gone before I knew it.
Glanced at the quiver in shock.
Four arrows stuck in it.
"...Jackpot."
Four.
Three in an hour...?
Then...
How many a day?
72?
72 free arrows!
"Jackpot."
I'm thrilled.
Joy bubbling up.
Picked up the quiver, tapped it happily.
Wait a sec.
This one... max ten, maybe?
Crammed full, twenty tops?
Looked around.
Anything bigger than these flat ones? Holds more arrows?
Yes.
Cylindrical quiver.
Stuffed tight, maybe thirty-something?
Gathered arrows from the floor, loaded the cylinder.
35.
35 arrows...
Nodded, grinned.
Not bad.
Good idea to stock a few quivers, in case I need spares.
Two cylindrical.
One flat.
Three total, crammed full.
Even if it duplicates, hoarding what you see is human nature.
80 arrows now.
Plenty to work with.
Will run out eventually, but seeing them stacked eases the mind.
Pretty heavy too.
Without stamina skill, how would've I carried this?
Set the three quivers aside, used all remaining arrows for practice.
Stuck in targets, cushions; for fun, ceiling, floor—messed around solo.
Fun part: straw-woven traditional target.
Iron bucket nearby.
Mop stuck in it—cleaning gear, probably.
Three arrows pierced it.
Right through, feathers too.
Headshots no problem.
After shooting every last arrow, feeling pretty familiar now.
Retrieved all from targets and everywhere, dumped in a wooden tub, packed bow and arrows.
Bows packed: five total.
Not sure who'll use 'em, but handy for family self-defense.
Grabbed every arrow not for me, for that reason.
Duplicates or not, giving away my share feels off.
Slung recurve bows and such over my shoulder, strapped quivers to my back.
Hugged the arrow-filled tub and left the traditional archery center.
"Good shopping today."
Zero cost, stocked daily weapons.
Satisfied.
Down elevator, out the building—sunset already.
Whoa, pretty sunset.
Paused to watch, spotted something in the sky.
...Airplane.
Small prop plane.
Flying low.
I held my breath.
Still...
Still humans out there.
But... weird.
Something dropping...
Like the plane's pissing from the sky...
Strange sight.
Narrowed my eyes at the distant sky.
Spraying something?
Paper?
"What the hell..."
Stared forever, no clue.
Definitely dropping stuff.
Paper? Snacks? Relief supplies? Too far to tell from here.
Sunset makes it look black.
...Too distant to check.
Round trip would take at least a day or two.
Head back.
Down to Cheonggyecheon, retraced my steps.
Dead bird.
...Gross.
Passed the bird, kept walking.
Cheonggyecheon water—pretty clear.
Tiny fish.
"............"
Tiny... fish.
Looked back.
Dead bird.
If birds turned into human beasts, other animals did too.
Makes sense.
Stared at the fish from the bank.
Are these beasts too?
Minnows or whatever—small fry swimming around carefree.
If beasts, they'd react to me.
Set down the tub, crouched by the water.
These finger-sized minnows swam on, oblivious.
Dipped my hand in the shallows.
If beasts, they'd have teeth. Like the bird.
And they'd react—try to bite, like human beasts.
Lunge out and chomp my hand?
No biggie if they do.
Squash 'em, and I'm immune anyway.
Moved my hand slowly—no reaction.
Plunged a finger in.
Fish darted away.
...Darted?
I tilted my head.
Beasts fleeing from life? Doesn't add up.
Dunked my whole hand.
Waited.
Nothing.
Fish loitered at a distance, doing their thing.
"............"
Water flow slowed.
Gentle ripples like jelly pushed by wind.
Snagged a fish, lifted to palm.
Checked the mouth close up...
Too small to tell.
No teeth?
Acceleration ended.
Flap flap.
Fish...
Just doing normal fish things.
Thrashing for air.
Looks unchanged.
I alternated stares between dead bird and fish.
What's the difference?
Both creatures; size aside, nothing.
...Size?
Only certain sizes mutate?
Flap flap.
Fish still samba-ing on my palm.
No biting.
Yep, unchanged.
Flicked it back to the stream, stood up.
Looked skyward.
No birds anywhere.
...Come to think, since the apocalypse hit...
No birdsong.