Firm Resolve

Matthew activated his combat technique. His eyes locked onto the arrow flying off the string. Its trajectory, speed, and even the minute deviations caused by air friction were crystal clear in his sight.

The arrow seemed to follow the path drawn by his mind, precisely piercing the bird's body—

It did not pass completely through, instead stopping perfectly inside the body. This ensured an instant kill while maximizing the preservation of the prey's integrity.

He nodded secretly, a thought naturally coming to mind:

‘This is probably not much different from the sharpshooters of my past life.’

At the same time, the bird slowly plummeted to the ground with a soft thud.

The adventurers a few paces ahead turned toward the sound—

A bird lay quietly in the grass not far away. An arrow was firmly embedded in its chest, its fletching trembling slightly and its shaft perfectly straight.

The depth of the arrow's penetration was controlled with extreme precision, neither exiting through the back nor merely scratching the surface due to insufficient force.

A trace of shock flashed through the eyes of several adventurers.

This silent, precise shot felt exceptionally sudden on the open dirt road.

But this arrow had to have come from someone within their ranks, and the one who could use a bow was at the very rear of the caravan.

Their thoughts instantly aligned, and they all turned their heads to look.

There stood the black-haired youth at the rear, holding a White bow in his hand. His expression was calm, and his gaze rested on the bird's carcass not far away, as if he had merely done something completely ordinary.

The men quickly turned back and whispered in low voices:

“What a fast arrow... I didn't hear the bowstring at all.”

“Controlling the force so steadily isn't something an ordinary archer can do.”

“No wonder a Silver Rank expert treats him with such respect...”

At the rear, Sierra, being an archer herself, kept her eyes fixed on Matthew.

When that arrow was silently released and the bird fell to the ground, her pupils contracted slightly.

She understood the difficulty of this shot far better than the others.

In terms of accuracy and control, hitting the bird dead center in the chest without the slightest error required exceptional eyesight and anticipation, especially while riding a bouncing horse.

Shocked to her core, a trace of complex emotion welled up in Sierra's heart.

When she had adventured with Matthew in the Shadow Forest, she already knew his archery was impressive.

But seeing him again now, this shot faintly exuded a sense of absolute control forged through thousands of trials—

It was not just about precision; the control over force, timing, and intent had reached a level close to perfection.

In just a few short months, his rate of growth had actually become so terrifying.

Meanwhile, Matthew paid no attention to the opinions of others.

At this moment, his only thought was to seize every second to increase his strength. Had he not been worried that Regg might notice something unusual and discover that he was practicing a meditation method, he would have already started his meditation training.

Though the probability was low, as very few people possessed his kind of constitution, who was to say that Regg, as the Eldest Young Master, did not have some hidden means up his sleeve?

For now, since he could not meditate openly, he quietly adjusted his breathing and began running his breathing technique.

His breath rose and fell in rhythm with the horse's gait, drawing in and releasing air in long, steady cycles. Wisps of faint energy slowly circulated through his body, both tempering his physique and maintaining his mental focus.

Even during this seemingly ordinary journey, he refused to let any opportunity to grow stronger slip by.

...

Thus, day after day, night after night passed.

Late in the night on the fifteenth day after their departure, the caravan set up camp in the middle of the Sunset Grasslands.

The chill of early spring had not yet dissipated. The night wind of the grasslands carried a bone-chilling bite, causing the simple tents to flap loudly.

The campfire flickered in the open wilderness, its dancing flames illuminating the ankle-deep grass around them.

The darkness in the distance was thick, filled only with the howling of the wind and the faint cries of wolves.

Beside the fire, Reese and Payne kept watch in silence.

Reese's tall, thin figure cast a long, narrow shadow in the firelight. His sunken cheeks and exhausted eyes made him look as haggard as if he had overindulged in debauchery.

He tightened his leather coat and spat in a low voice:

“This godforsaken place, even the wind cuts like a knife.”

Paxson sat nearby, his average-sized frame wrapped in a thick felt coat. Shifting his weight, he grimaced and sucked in a sharp breath of cold air:

“Hiss... traveling non-stop for the past ten days or so has practically rubbed a massive blister onto my backside.”

Reese glanced at him, a dry chuckle squeezing out of his throat. “Heh, it's not so bad. After all, the pay is good.

“Once we finish this run, we can live comfortably and play around for several months...”

“True. This young boss is certainly generous with his coin,” Paxson rubbed his freezing hands, the secret delight in his tone quickly shifting to unease. “But we've reached the middle of the Sunset Grasslands now. Everyone knows this is where the horse bandits are most rampant...”

“What are you afraid of?” Reese cut him off, chinning toward Porter's tent. “With that lord around, which horse bandit would dare come seek their death?

“Not to mention, we also have a sharpshooter in our group, and that young master doesn't seem ordinary either...”

Paxson followed his gaze. The tense lines on his face relaxed slightly, but he still muttered in a low voice:

“Let's hope so...”

The cold wind howled, blowing the wild grass to slap against Matthew's tent.

Matthew stopped listening to the whispers between the two watchmen. Closing his eyes, his mind settled completely as he slowly began to run his meditation method.

His consciousness was like diving into a bottomless, dark lake, sinking into that familiar, tranquil space where only the faint glow of mana flowed.

As his consciousness sank, all sounds from the outside world gradually receded.

The howling of the cold wind, the rustling of the grass continuously slapping against the tent, the occasional crackle of the campfire, and even the intermittent whispering of the watchmen all seemed to be sealed off by an invisible barrier.

In the end, only his own long, steady breathing remained, along with the wisps of energy particles in the environment perceived by his mental energy.

As his consciousness plunged into meditation, the wisps of energy particles in the environment were attracted and absorbed by him, subsequently merging into and strengthening his own mental energy.

However, the efficiency of this process had quietly slowed down.

Matthew sensed the concentration of energy around him.

Being in the Sunset Grasslands, the concentration of white energy particles in the surrounding environment was more than ten percent higher compared to when he was in Stone Mill Village, nearly reaching twenty percent, although it still fell short of the blessed cave.

But logically speaking, meditating here should have been much faster.

Yet, even when he ran his meditation method with all his might, the efficiency of his mental energy growth barely broke even with his previous rate.

“As expected, the feeling of a bottleneck is becoming clearer and clearer.”

He muttered to himself, ‘I wonder if this is because, as my mental energy base increases, limited by my natural talent and equipment boosts, my absorption and conversion of energy can no longer keep up with the needs of my growth?’

...