Back in the real world, Kent’s fingers twitched.
The memory was still active, the knowledge flooding into him—like rivers pouring into a dried well.
He stood slowly from where he sat.
Looking around, the chamber felt different. His aura was deeper now, not just powerful—but refined.
His hand stretched toward his spirit ring.
With a thought, he summoned the Nagastra Bow—its 2nd form now visible. The weapon glowed, pulsing with ethereal heat.
Kent’s eyes locked onto the bowstring.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a silver coin.
“Just a coin,” he murmured, holding it gently. “Let’s test it.”
He placed the coin on the bowstring and slowly pulled.
The moment tension formed—light surged from the coin, and it began transforming, absorbing Kent’s will.
He narrowed his eyes and whispered,
“Pierce the unseen.”
He released.
ZWHIIIIINNGGG!
The arrow vanished from sight—becoming an invisible streak that cracked a distant coral vase into dust.
It obeyed.
It understood.
Kent grinned. And again sat with the memory crystal.
—
The salty sea breeze brushed across silken curtains, dancing like quiet whispers through the room.
Neela stirred.
Her eyelashes fluttered.
A soft groan escaped her lips, and her world swam back into clarity—warm light, the faint scent of herbs in the air, and a dull ache in her chest where the poison had burned her Yin essence.
She blinked.
And then… her eyes drifted sideways.
There he was.
Kent.
Sitting cross-legged like an unmoving mountain, wrapped in an aura of gentle light, the memory crystal floating silently before him.
His face was still. Eyes closed. Brow faintly furrowed as though caught in a deep trance. But even in such a state, the way his body leaned slightly toward her bed, how his palm was just beside her hand—Neela’s heart stirred.
A single teardrop slid from the corner of her eye.
But it wasn’t pain.
It was relief.
A fragile, trembling smile bloomed on her lips as she watched him. He came for me… he saved me… and never left my side.
Her limbs were still weak, and her voice barely a whisper, but her soul shone with warmth as she closed her eyes again—no longer alone in her fight.
—
Inside the Memory Crystal…
Kent remained absorbed.
The world of the Arch-Magus still unfolded before him—complex, elegant, filled with the fury and grace of ancient archery magic. But now, Kent was focusing on something deeper. Not just the spells or the arrows… but the bow itself.
The bow used by the Arch-Magus was not just a weapon. It was a living extension of will and force.
What makes a bow worthy of commanding the battlefield?
What gives it the strength to shape arrows into gods of destruction?
He zoomed in, mentally tracing the bow’s form.
It was not a standard shape—not the crescent curve or the longbow commonly seen. It was asymmetrical, made from Naga bone and sea-hardened spiritwood, wrapped in tendrils of mythic kelp that glowed under moonlight. The grip had ancient runes burned into the leather, while the limbs were slightly serrated—almost like fins.
The string was from a beast—maybe even a sea dragon. It shimmered, switching between transparent and glowing based on the spell infused.
The Magus didn’t just shoot with it—he spoke to it.
A bow crafted with heart… not just hands. One that resonates with your intent.
Kent inhaled slowly within the crystal’s illusion. He felt the subtle heartbeat of the bow through the vision. It responded to anger, to sorrow, to protection, to vengeance. It adjusted.
Each bow was unique, not forged but cultivated—grown alongside the Magus’s path.
That’s why he needed Muni Naga—the ancient craftsman whose name was whispered in reverence in the Naga clan. Only he could help craft a living bow from materials that fused with the soul.
Scene changed as Kent blinked…
Kent now stood before a blue flame that the Arch-Magus used to temper arrows. The flame didn’t burn—it sang. It accepted only arrows that held truth.
The Arch-Magus placed his palm on a bare shaft. He let it absorb his grief, his fury, his protection.
Then fired.
The arrow screamed as it flew, and behind it—dozens of demons exploded, unable to resist its pure will.
Kent clenched his fists, heart pounding.
This is how I must shape my bow… a bow that does not bend to fate, but bends fate to its string!
His thoughts were clear.
The memory crystal slowly dimmed.
The knowledge had been passed.
And Kent… opened his eyes.
His vision adjusted to the warm light of the chamber, and the first thing he saw—was Neela’s gaze meeting his.
She didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
But her smile—silent, pure, teary-eyed—was enough to shatter every weight that had pressed upon his chest.
The door creaked open with a gentle rustle of robes and the sweet scent of ocean lilies.
“Sister Neela,” a soft voice called.
Nyara entered, radiant and calm, holding a jade flask filled with warming spirit potion. Her hair shimmered like ocean tides, and a warm smile danced on her lips. Behind her trailed a maidservant, bowing deeply before placing a tray of medicinal fruit.
“Sister…” Neela murmured, her voice hoarse.
Nyara rushed forward and took her sister’s hand. “You’ve returned from the brink, little coral heart. Let’s not let your stubbornness get in the way of healing now.”
She helped Neela sit upright, placing a soft cushion behind her back and carefully lifting the potion flask to her lips. “Drink slowly.”
Neela obeyed, sipping the bitter liquid as Nyara held her with the care of both a sister and a healer. Every movement was filled with affection.
“You know,” Nyara began, her voice lowered, “If it weren’t for Kent, you wouldn’t be here right now.”
Neela’s eyes flicked sideways.
“I saw the state of your body,” Nyara continued. “That poison would have scattered your essence in hours. He forced his way into the treasury, ignored the nobles, and… treated you like someone who mattered. He never left your side.”
Neela bit her lip softly. Her gaze once again fell on Kent, who stood just beside the chamber window, his back straight, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t said a word since the sisters began speaking. The light wind stirred his robe, but he stood like an ancient statue—firm, resolved.
–
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