The Setup

To be sure, with Matthew's current Strength and Constitution, an ordinary Green-quality bow could hardly withstand the impact of him drawing and shooting with full force.

Even the Forest Shadow Hunting Bow was barely usable only because of its unique properties.

Furthermore, drawing and holding a shot for too long would not only cause heavy wear on the bow itself but also rapidly drain his stamina.

But the White Fang Bow had no such issues at all.

According to the information on the panel, the description clearly stated that the bow's material was exceptionally tough and its structure specially reinforced, making it more than capable of perfectly bearing the user's full drawing strength.

More importantly, the third effect further reduced the energy loss during the drawing process and transferred the bow's inherent stability to the arrow itself.

This way, the bow was durable, drawing it required less effort, and the arrow's flight was more stable—it was simply a perfect combination.

Matthew's eyes gradually lit up.

He brushed his fingers over the fine patterns on the bow limbs, feeling a trace of warmth beneath his fingertips.

This feel was far beyond what the Forest Shadow Hunting Bow could ever offer—it wasn't just a tool, but felt like a natural extension of his own limbs, fitting him seamlessly.

More importantly, he wanted to experience that feeling of smooth strength transmission and more stable arrow flight.

A smile slowly spread across the corners of his mouth.

“What a fine bow.”

He praised softly, his fingertips gently sweeping across the tooth-like patterns on the bow limbs.

With a thought, Matthew went to the backyard of the instructor's house.

The area was open and flat, with several wooden training posts and archery targets set up. It was the training ground where he usually practiced his archery and combat techniques.

This was a privilege of being a resident instructor; after all, land in the village was worth very little.

He took a deep breath, stood in the center of the archery range, and drew an arrow from the quiver at his side.

The moment the fletching met the bowstring, the White Fang Bow seemed to awaken. Its limbs exhibited a perfect blend of flexibility and rigidity, subtly aligning with the rhythm of his breathing.

Taking a half-step forward with his left foot, he turned his torso slightly, extended his arm naturally, and slowly drew the bow.

Unlike the stiffness and faint vibrations of the Forest Shadow Hunting Bow, which required extra effort to keep steady, the limbs of the White Fang Bow were exceptionally stable, with almost no perceptible warping.

The feel of the bowstring against his fingertips was firm yet elastic, but it wasn't as stubborn as a typical heavy bow. The draw weight was smooth and even, without any catching or sudden increases in resistance.

Even more wonderfully, as the bow reached full draw, he could clearly feel that the strength transmitting from his shoulders, back, and arms to his fingertips was not wasted or dispersed within the bow's structure as it used to be. Instead, it was smoothly absorbed and integrated by the bow, then steadily transferred to the arrow resting on the string.

It was as if the bow itself were a conductor extending his strength, rather than an obstacle.

“Whoosh!”

The instant the arrow left the string, the sound of tearing through the air was short and crisp, without any lingering vibration.

The arrow sped like a streak of milky-white light, flying straight across the courtyard. It nailed itself precisely into the bullseye of a wooden post he had set up in the corner thirty paces away, sinking nearly halfway in.

Matthew did not go to retrieve the arrow immediately. Instead, savoring the feeling of that shot, he muttered, “The strength transmission... is indeed incredibly smooth.”

The effort saved from resisting the bow during the draw seemed to have been entirely converted into the power and speed of the arrow.

The flight path of the arrow was far flatter than before; there was almost no wobble or drop after it left the string.

With these thoughts in mind, he walked forward to inspect the point of impact.

The shaft was buried extremely deep, firmly embedded in the wood.

This was not just the result of raw strength, but proof of the arrow's extreme stability in flight and the concentrated release of kinetic energy.

“The effects of this White Fang Bow certainly live up to its reputation... What a treasure!”

The smile on his face deepened, and the light in his eyes grew even brighter.

He returned to his original spot, drew another arrow, nocked it, and pulled the bow once more.

...

Meanwhile, outside Stone Mill Village.

Several tents had been pitched on the open ground at the end of the dirt road.

The tents were made of thick material, deep brown in color with silver-gray trim. Though not overly luxurious, the fine stitching and neat structure exuded a sense of understated refinement.

Several figures dressed like household servants were busy moving about the camp, deftly carrying equipment and luggage into the tents, and unloading bundles of hay and water buckets from the carriages to set them up on one side of the camp.

In front of the largest tent in the center of the camp stood a flagpole.

The flag fluttered gently in the breeze. The lion crest embroidered upon it gleamed with a dark gold luster in the sunlight. The lion's head was held high, its mane like fire, exuding an air of inviolable majesty.

Inside the tent at this moment.

Light filtered through the gaps in the tent flap, illuminating the dust motes suspended in the air. The scent of leather, metal, and incense mingled inside, completely different from the rustic smell of vegetation outside.

Regg sat in the seat of honor, his high spirits hard to conceal beneath his blonde hair.

On his left and right stood two young guards wearing the lion crest on their chests. Though their posture was respectful, their eyes held the sharp edge characteristic of noble descendants.

To his lower left, Taylor sat steadily, his gaze calm, acting like a boulder that anchored the atmosphere inside the tent.

Directly facing the seat of honor, Calm and Porter stood side by side.

Calm's back was straight and his expression steady, exuding the efficiency of a military man.

Porter leaned forward slightly, keeping a respectful and cooperative smile on his face.

Silence persisted in the tent for a moment, with only the fine dust floating slowly in the slanting light.

Finally, Taylor slowly raised his eyes, his calm gaze falling on Calm opposite him. His voice was deep and even, betraying little emotion: “You are Calm?”

Hearing this, Calm leaned his upper body forward by an almost imperceptible half-inch, responding respectfully, “Yes, Lord Taylor.”

He was no longer a hot-blooded youth who placed too much value on pride. He now understood when to advance and when to retreat; lowering his posture before such a figure was the wisest move.

Taylor nodded slightly, his tone remaining as flat as if he were stating a simple fact: “Porter says you are familiar with this area and know the tracks of the Shadow Wolf King.”

He paused slightly, his gaze resting on Calm. “Tell me in detail.”

Calm's expression remained unchanged, having already prepared his response.

He spoke in a steady voice, his words a mix of truth and falsehood, providing clear clues while leaving plenty of room for future uncertainty: “Lord Taylor, the Shadow Wolf King's range of activity is indeed to the southeast of the village, about half a day's journey deep into the forest.

“According to sporadic encounter reports from the patrol squad over the past two months, as well as unique claw marks and fur found along the way, there is a powerful wolf-type magical beast there that is far larger than ordinary grey wolves and extremely fast. Its characteristics align perfectly with the Shadow Wolf King.”