Just as Zach had predicted, even after night fell, none of the young men had returned.
Earlier, the settlement had been weighed down by a heavy, hopeless atmosphere. But now, laughter echoed between the buildings, and the smell of simmering meat drifted through the air.
Grrr—
Leo's stomach let out a loud growl. He'd been starving for hours now, but the only thing keeping him going—the only thing that let him raise the bow over and over—was the satisfaction of watching his Basic Archery skill tick upward, bit by bit.
Since reaching Level 1, he could clearly feel the difference. Pulling the bowstring to full draw no longer took everything he had. He could fire off ten shots in a row before his arm even started to burn.
The downside?
Each arrow barely gave him 0.5% progress now. Even hitting the bullseye only granted just over 1%.
In other words, to level up from 1 to 2, he'd need to land at least a hundred perfect shots.
'Much harder than before. Two or three times harder, at least.'
"But it's fine," Leo muttered to himself. "Slow but steady."
That's only a day or two of effort. Maybe less, if he trained into the night.
"You really don't know how to stop, do you?"
Zach's voice came from behind.
Leo snapped out of his thoughts and turned with a sheepish grin. "Hey, Uncle Zach."
Zach's expression had softened. He'd been watching from the side all afternoon, and the more he saw, the more impressed he became.
That kid—he was improving fast.
In the morning, Leo had looked like a total rookie. He fumbled with his stance, had no rhythm.
But by afternoon?
His posture was clean. His form, sharp. Every three or four arrows, one would hit dead center.
Zach had trained dozens of kids over the years. He'd never seen one like this.
"Hmph." Zach cleared his throat, trying not to show how impressed he really was. "Anyway, it's getting late. I'm heading to the gates for a look. You should get some rest and come back tomorrow."
The meat in the air was tempting—even if he'd only be able to get the scraps by now, it was better than going hungry.
Leo nodded. "Alright, Uncle Zach. But… can I light a torch and keep practicing for a bit?"
Zach blinked. He looked like someone had just told him the moon fell out of the sky.
"You… you want to keep training? At night?"
He was genuinely stunned. He'd seen diligence before, but this?
Even among adults, no one in the entire settlement trained like this.
Leo chuckled. "Can't sleep anyway. Might as well keep going. But if it's inconvenient, I'll pack up."
He sighed inwardly, already expecting rejection.
But Zach waved his hand. "Inconvenient? Hell no. I'll get you a torch. You want to train, you train."
"Thanks, Uncle Zach!" Leo's eyes lit up.
At this pace, he might just hit Level 2 by this time tomorrow.
Just then, footsteps echoed from the far end of the dirt path.
Leo and Zach turned at the same time.
A middle-aged man walked into view, holding a large slab of meat in one hand.
"Dad?"
"Grant?"
Both of them called out in surprise.
Grant nodded, clearly in a good mood. His usually serious expression had relaxed into something close to a smile.
"Zach, this is for you," he said, handing over the meat—a hefty cut from the hind leg, nearly two full pounds.
Zach's eyes welled up slightly. "You didn't have to bring this all the way over here… And why give me the good stuff?"
Grant shook his head. "The young men in the settlement are counting on your training. They're our future. It's only right that you get the best. Everyone understands—no one minds."
Zach took the meat slowly, cradling it with care. "So… today was a good hunt?"
Grant smiled. "Better than we hoped. Bagged two prairie hares. One of them nearly fifty pounds. After skinning, we got over forty. The smaller one was more than thirty. Every household got a pound. And those who help the settlement? Got a little more."
"That's great," Zach said, smiling for real this time. "If only we could have days like this more often."
"If only," Grant agreed.
There was a moment of quiet.
Then Grant turned to his son. "Leo, come home. The stew's already done. It's waiting for you."
"Coming, Dad."
Leo was already imagining the taste.
He said goodbye to Zach and followed behind Grant, their footsteps crunching over the uneven earth.
"Your mom said you trained all day," Grant said. "You put your chopsticks down at lunch and ran off to the range?"
"Yeah," Leo replied softly.
He still wasn't entirely comfortable being alone with his father. Something about Grant's silence made the air feel heavier.
"How'd it go?"
"...Not bad?"
Leo answered carefully.
"Good." Grant nodded. "If you're serious about this, I'll ask the Wells brothers to help you out sometime. They're the reason we had such a good haul today."
"Thanks, I'd really like that."
Leo had already heard about them from Zach. The Wells brothers could draw hundred-pound bows with ease. Their skills must be insane.
Getting lessons from them would be priceless.
"Mm."
Silence fell again.
Thankfully, home was just around the corner.
As they turned the final corner, Leo's eyes narrowed.
Inside the main room of their small house, his mother and younger brother weren't alone.
Three or four unfamiliar men stood or sat, clearly waiting for someone.
'A celebration?' Leo wondered. But something about it didn't feel right.
"Wayne? Travis? What brings you here?"
Grant stepped forward in surprise. "You're just in time. Haven't had dinner yet, right? Eat with us!"
His wife jumped in quickly, smiling. "Yes, yes! Food's ready. Come, sit down."
After all, if it weren't for the Wells brothers and their archery, the hunting party wouldn't have caught a thing. There'd be no meat to share tonight.
But the men exchanged glances.
Then all eyes turned toward the tall man in front—broad-shouldered, slightly balding.
Wayne Wells, the older of the two brothers, stepped forward.
"Grant," he said, his voice unusually serious. "We came to say goodbye."