Chapter 112: Anticipation is the Essence of a Gift (1)
Taragon stepped onto the stage, but this time, he looked different. The mercenaries looked at him in admiration, and even Keter smiled in satisfaction.
He had a small shield, known as a targe, attached to his right forearm. It was compact enough not to interfere with his archery. His bow had changed as well. He had switched from a longbow—known for its range and power—to a short bow, which had a shorter range but boasted greater firing speed and accuracy.
And even this short bow was no ordinary weapon. It was a straight shortbow that was only one meter in length. Considering that Sefira’s archers typically wielded longbows that were 1.7 meters, its size made it seem almost like half a bow.
A shorter bow required more strength to pull and had a reduced range. But for a Sefira archer, those were not weaknesses. With ample strength and a bow constructed for durability, those limitations hardly mattered. Even with a short bow, Sefira’s archers could fire arrows eight hundred meters with ease.
Because the bowstring was shorter, so were the arrows. The arrowheads were not broad but sharp and singular, like a bodkin tip. Taragon didn’t give the seventh unit of Squad Two a chance to analyze him.
He rushed forward. The mercenaries were startled. Until now, Taragon had always tried to increase the distance. Never before had he actively closed the gap. He fired as he ran. His shots were much more stable and significantly faster than when he used a longbow.
“Guh!”
“Urgh?!”
Two Platinum-class mercenaries were struck—one in the shoulder, the other in the abdomen. The arrows were so fast that they had no time to react, let alone defend.
But they weren’t fatal. The arrowheads were needle-like, designed for piercing. Without targeting vital spots, bones, or organs, they couldn't deal critical damage.
This time, the match’s rules held Taragon back. If there had been no restrictions, he could have aimed for the face, delivering a decisive blow.