Revive him? This man? The idea was unthinkable. Michael shook his head instinctively. Once again, the dry, mechanical voice spoke in his mind:
[Ten seconds have passed. The revival option has expired. Would you like to extract a random ability? Yes/No.]
The words of the condemned man echoed in Michael's mind—the self-proclaimed war hero and renowned archer. If there was any truth to his claims, perhaps... Michael gave a slight nod and answered internally.
In an instant, a vision overtook him. The scene was surreal—a vast sky, shrouded in shadow, with faint stars barely flickering in the darkness. Among them, one star shone vividly, piercing through the gloom. Michael felt the star draw closer, its light sinking into his brow as he closed his eyes.
[You have acquired "Archery Skills" from Alan Velzeff. Would you like to explore the origin of the ability? Yes/No.]
Explore its origin? Yes.
[Alan Velzeff was a naturally gifted archer who gained renown through participation in twelve territorial wars. However, after a series of poor decisions, he was punished by the amputation of both thumbs and forefingers. Reduced to a wandering vagrant, his unchecked lust drove him to prey on the weak. He assaulted four young girls and five elderly individuals, murdering three of them. His crimes caught up to him after his final murder, and he was executed by Alfred von Wittelbach in the barony of Gregory Crassus. Exhibit Alan's legendary archery skills, renowned for their unerring precision.]
Michael opened his eyes as the voice faded. His uncle, Henry, stood before him, looking concerned.
"You alright? Maybe you overdid it, getting up so soon. Here, hand me that and rest in the back of the wagon," Henry said, gesturing toward the severed head Michael held.
Michael waved his hand dismissively. "I'm fine. Just felt a little lightheaded for a moment."
Their day's work concluded with burying the condemned criminal in the unmarked gravesite for those without kin. Wiping the sweat from his brow, Henry grinned at Michael.
"Alright, let's head home. Your aunt's probably got some bear stew simmering, just waiting for us."
It was a feast. The bear stew was rich and savory, its juices soaking into the soft white bread they dipped into it. Clara worried aloud that the meal might be too heavy for someone who had only recently recovered, but Michael couldn't resist. For dessert, they had rolls coated with honey and cinnamon, accompanied by freshly picked apricots from the garden. It felt like a taste of heaven.
Afterwards, Michael settled into a chair by the fireplace, cradling his full stomach. Fighting off the pull of sleep, he organized his thoughts.
Unfamiliar yet instinctive knowledge of archery flooded his mind. He longed to pick up a bow and try it. Techniques came to him effortlessly—how to adjust for wind direction, how to strike two targets with a single arrow, and how to rapidly fire consecutive shots. It was as if he had lived decades as an archer.
"This must be from that ability extraction," Michael mused.
The image of Alan's severed hands came to mind—thumbs and forefingers missing, a reflection of his tarnished legacy. Michael forced the thought aside, choosing instead to focus on the skills he had gained.
The next morning, Michael rose early and asked his uncle to find him a bow. Henry rummaged through the shed behind the house and produced an old longbow. Though slightly worn, it became serviceable after some restringing and sanding of frayed edges.
Michael's newfound skills proved remarkable. With the strength of his current body combined with the precision of Alan's expertise, his arrows consistently struck their targets. From 200 meters, he even managed to take down a rabbit with a single shot. Pumping his fist in triumph, Michael felt a surge of exhilaration.
It felt like playing a shooting game with a cheat code at his disposal.
However, his palms soon began to ache. Following the instincts embedded in his mind, he set about crafting a shooting glove from the bear hide Alfred had brought back. Despite never having made one before, he completed a functional glove that fit perfectly. When he tested the bow with the glove on, the improvement was immediately noticeable.
With both archery and swordsmanship at his command, Michael felt a newfound confidence. He now had the means to fight at both long and close range. Though the future remained uncertain, he knew that survival demanded a diverse skill set. He was eager to acquire more abilities, particularly if they proved as useful as this one.
But abilities required mana stones. Three stones were needed for his next extraction, and each cost a staggering 30 gold coins. At that price, his funds would quickly run dry.
Looking at the scattered arrows from his practice, Michael realized he couldn't afford to waste anything. Collecting and reusing the arrows was essential, especially since crafting new ones wasn't cheap. He winced at the sight of blunted arrowheads, the result of his immense strength.
The memory of Alfred silently replenishing the mana stone in his sword after an execution flashed through Michael's mind. Could he absorb the mana from that stone as well?
No. Repeating the act would surely draw suspicion. He needed money. A lot of it.
Michael sighed and diligently gathered the arrows strewn across the field. Once done, he headed to his room and opened a chest to check his finances. Beneath ropes, hooks, chains, and torture tools, the glint of gold coins caught his eye—27 in total. It was the allowance he had saved from annual visits to the castle.
He pocketed the coins and turned to the cupboard, where various pouches of dried herbs lined the shelves. Selling them might fetch another two gold coins, at most. Hunting for pelts and meat would help as well, but even then, saving enough for three mana stones felt like an insurmountable task.
Sighing again, Michael resolved to chip away at the goal bit by bit.
Later that day, Michael ventured to the square. The cold air filled his lungs, sharper than usual under the overcast sky. Merchants shouted over each other, hawking their wares.
Pulling up his coat collar and tugging his hat low, Michael blended into the bustling crowd.