In the afternoon, the shooting range lay quiet and deserted.
The intense morning training had concluded, leaving only the rustle of the forest wind filtering through the canopy.
Li Fan crouched alone at the edge of the range, dismantling his quiver to inspect each arrow for hidden fractures.
This was a hunter’s solitary peace.
A steady set of footsteps approached from the range entrance, purposeful and heading straight for him.
Li Fan slotted the last arrow back into the quiver without looking up, his tone casual.
“Spit it out.” Firas stopped two paces in front of him, staring fixedly at him.
“I want to ask you something.
It has nothing to do with tactics.” “Speak.” “Earlier by the campfire, you said that ‘if’ Quel’Thalas ever lost the arcane’s protection, our combat techniques would become useless scrap paper.” Firas paused, his voice dry.
“Why did you use the word ‘if’?” Li Fan’s hand fastening the quiver paused slightly, and he looked up.
“An ordinary person hypothesizing such an impossible disaster would say ‘what if,'” Firas pressed, his gaze unyielding as if dissecting his quarry.
“While ‘if’ is a word subconsciously chosen by someone who already believes, deep down, that it is bound to happen.” Li Fan gave him a searching look.
How long had this elven ranger turned that question over in his mind before finally asking it?
“Your powers of observation have certainly improved,” Li Fan brushed it off casually.
“Though that question sounds rather alarming.
Those who understand might think you’re discussing word choice; those who don’t might assume you’re interrogating me as a spy.” Firas’s fine brows knitted sharply.
He was about to flare up, but forced himself to swallow it down.
“You didn’t answer my question.” Li Fan slowly stood up, dusting off his knees.
“When I wandered Lordaeron as a roaming hunter, I saw countless settlements wiped completely off the map.” Li Fan’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion.
“When a people rely on a single great power for long enough—long enough that it feels as natural as breathing—they lose an instinct.” He met Firas’s eyes.
“They completely forget to consider how they will survive when that power abruptly vanishes.
Because in their arrogant hearts, the concept of ‘vanishing’ simply does not exist.” He paused, bluntly uttering those treasonous words: “The present Quel’Thalas and the Sunwell share precisely such a pitiful relationship.” The wind on the range died down instantly.
“This isn’t some sensational prophecy.” Li Fan watched Firas’s face pale.
“It is merely a hunter’s most fundamental risk assessment.
The disasters deemed ‘utterly impossible’ by everyone are precisely what a hunter must risk his life to prepare for.
Because once such a catastrophe strikes, the disparity between the destruction it brings and your level of readiness becomes an absolute meat grinder.” Firas stared blankly at the range, falling into a suffocating silence.
The pause stretched so long that Li Fan assumed the elf’s proud ego could not stomach the truth.
Just as Li Fan turned to leave, Firas spoke.
“My father…
once told me something similar.” Firas’s voice dropped a full octave.
It was no deliberate affectation, but the raw hoarseness of deeply buried memories being suddenly torn open.
“He said that a ranger’s arrows cannot merely adorn present peace.
Our arrows must always point toward the unseen threats lurking in the shadows.” Li Fan’s eyes shifted slightly.
“Your father was a true ranger.” “Eighteen years ago.” Firas’s lips trembled faintly.
“He went on a deep-border sweep mission and never returned.” The moment those words landed, the stagnant air on the range seemed to thicken with the heavy scent of blood and sorrow.
Li Fan offered no hollow words of comfort.
He simply stood in silence, allowing that grief-laden statement to settle between them.
“I understand now.” Firas drew in a deep breath of cold air and bowed his head solemnly.
“Thank you for telling me this.” *Thud, thud, thud.* Heavy, powerful footsteps approached.
Hawksbill strode past them with broad steps, showing no intention of stopping.
Yet the moment he brushed past Firas, his voice drifted along with the wind: “During the rearguard action where your father fell, I was right beside him.” The veteran’s boots struck the bluestone pavers with steady weight.
“The final arrow he loosed pierced straight through the troll commander’s skull, shattering their entire raiding party into utter rout.” Hawksbill did not pause in the slightest.
“In that bloody battle, had he not bought us terror with his life, not a single one of us in that squad would have made it back alive.” The instructor continued toward the storage area.
Firas remained frozen in place, like a statue stripped of its soul.
Li Fan did not linger to watch his vulnerability.
Slashing the quiver back over his shoulder, he turned toward the eastern side of the camp.
Each went their separate way.
The eastern stone corridor was half-open, facing the inner courtyard.
Li Fan crouched in the shadow against the wall, taking spare bow parts down from the rack one by one to inspect them for hidden flaws.
The bluestone slab rested right beside his hand, bearing the circular rune he had carved to represent a “hunter’s completion.” *Creak—* The aged wooden gate at the corridor entrance was pushed open gently.
From the light, lively footsteps alone, he knew who had arrived.
Vereesa strode briskly into the corridor, stopping two paces away from him.
Her attention was instantly captured by the carved stone slab.
“This is…
the most ancient hunter tracking rune.” She crouched down, her eyes glowing with pure curiosity as if studying a priceless relic.
“A relic from the ancient hunting era of Quel’Thalas.
I’ve only ever seen it described in an old family scroll fragment.” She looked up, delighted.
“How is it on this stone slab?
Where did you trace it from?” “Deep in the northern foothills, there’s an old hunting outpost abandoned for a century,” Li Fan said, resting his hand on the wooden rack.
“It was carved into a granite platform there.” Vereesa lowered her head again, carefully tracing each stroke of the rune.
“You carved it so deeply; you’ve almost chiseled right through the stone.” “If it’s carved, it should last long enough to endure the weathering,” Li Fan replied evenly.
“That’s the purpose.” She turned those words over in her mind, then stood up lightly.
She looked at Li Fan for a moment before abruptly changing the subject, excitement creeping into her voice.
“I came to find you today because I want to challenge the sixty-five-meter target again.” Li Fan neatly hung the maintained bow back onto the rack, clapped the dust from his hands, and stood.
“The open ground outside the corridor happens to be exactly sixty-five meters.” He strode out into the open, eyeballed the distance, drew a firing line in the moss with the toe of his boot, and pointed toward the distant target.
Without hesitation, Vereesa stepped up to the line, smoothly nocking an arrow and drawing her bowstring.
*Whoosh—* The first arrow flew like a streak of light, but veered disappointingly to the left of the bullseye.
She was not discouraged.
Without needing Li Fan to correct her, she keenly detected the minor flaw in her muscle engagement.
Quickly adjusting the angle of her draw hand, she shifted her power half an inch to the right.
Nock, full draw, release!
*Thwack!* The second arrow violently ripped through the air and slammed dead center into the bullseye!
The fletching still trembled fiercely.
Vereesa gripped the bow riser tightly, fighting down the urge to cheer aloud.
Seeing her struggle to contain her triumph, Li Fan could not help but laugh.
After admiring her handiwork for a moment, Vereesa suddenly turned around and held out her hand to him with utter confidence.
“Hey!
The smoked meat you gave me last time is all gone!” “Already?” Li Fan looked at her, mildly taken aback.
“Next time you go to the market, remember to buy another bag.
It’s really delicious.” She lifted her chin, a playful sense of entitlement flashing in her eyes.
“Why should I be the one to buy it?” “I kept you company for ten minutes last time for half a bag, so you have to give me one this time too.” Without giving Li Fan a chance to argue, she spun around lightly and dashed off like a proud young fawn.
Standing in place and watching her retreating figure, Li Fan called out toward the woods, “Fine!
When are you coming back, then?”