Sweat-slicked brown skin gleams everywhere—toned arms flexing as a young woman pulls back a bowstring, her cropped top riding up to expose the underside of heavy breasts that sway with the draw.
Thighs strain and release as another leaps a low hurdle, short skirt flipping to flash plump ass cheeks that clap softly on landing.
GULP!
Grunts and heavy breaths fill the air—visceral, rhythmic, like a collective heartbeat.
One pair circles each other in hand-to-hand: the taller one lunges, grabbing her partner's waist, bodies pressing close—with their breasts squishing together, their nipples stiff and visible through the sweat-damp fabric, and their hips grinding briefly before the throw.
I CAN'T HELP BUT LOOK!!
Asses flap and shake—wide, plush curves bouncing with every kick or pivot. Breasts sway wildly during jumps, straining against tiny tops that barely contain them.
One woman's top even slips during a spin kick—her dark nipple flashing free, tough and spikey in the heat.
She just giggles mid-motion, pausing to tuck it back in with casual fingers, her sweat tracing paths down her cleavage.
I only smile back—awkward and polite. But definitely awkward.
Internally, however, I was being crucified by these women.
"Tsk!" Focus, Yanen. Magic and arrow. Not… that.
The bow in my hands is plain wood, with no frills or glow.
Enchantments are a thing here—infusions that amp weapons with elements or effects—but they don't want anyone dying in training, so mine's just basic.
"How has your magic training come along?" Suwaira's voice booms from behind me.
And I turn.
He's appeared with guards, who were slightly muscular but slender dark elves, their silver hair tied back, bodies lean and defined under minimal leather wraps.
And their magic power glimmers in my senses now; like vague glows, or like fireflies next to Suwaira's bonfire.
Now that I've got a better grasp on magic, I can see it clearly: compared to him, they're all grasshoppers.
"Well, it's coming along…" I lower the bow. "I was trying to shoot an arrow imbued with lightning attribute. I feel like it'd enhance the speed."
"Oh? You're learning!" He nods approvingly. "Indeed, it does increase the speed and strike power. Try it."
I turn back to the target, which was about sixty meters away, a thick log painted with rings, backed by an earthen berm.
Kyūdo basics flood my mind: stance first—feet shoulder-width, body relaxed but rooted.
I nock the arrow—feathers brushing my cheek—draw the string back slowly, my elbow high, and my other hand pushing forward.
My breath was steady.
Aim with the heart, not the eyes.
But add just a little bit of magic.
I liked Kyūdo too, as well as every form of martial arts, but sadly I feared getting into trouble and only watched.
But now was different; I was stronger... And in the worst case, Eirene would beg Asherah to bring me back to life.
I feel the energy inside me, being warm and buzzing, like gathering saliva but my entire body is the mouth.
It pools in my center, then flows upward: through veins, into my arms, then my fingertips.
When it's now almost concrete—thick and teeming—I channel a thread to the arrowhead.
Imagine: plasma… Crackling bolts... Speed of light.
Then the arrow sparks: blonde light flickering along the shaft, tiny arcs jumping like fireflies on steroids.
Good. It's ready.
And so I release.
The string snaps forward, as the arrow rips free in a blaze of gold-white lightning.
It covers the distance in a blink—faster than sound, trailing a deafening *CRACK* that splits the air like thunder.
It hits the target dead center, with lightning exploding outward—blinding flash, with ozone stench.
The log shatters, with wood splintering in all directions, chunks flying like shrapnel. The earthen mound behind erupts, and dirt vaporized in a four-foot-deep crater, with red-hot edges glowing molten.
It didn't stop there.
The arrow keeps going—boring a straight, searing path across the wasteland, earth melting into glass, rocks cracking from heat.
Soon, the arrow vanishes over the horizon, leaving a red glowing trench that smokes and hisses for as far as the eye can see.
Next? The training grounds fall utterly silent.
Elves freeze mid-motion, with their bows half-drawn, staffs lowered, and their eyes wide in fear.
The kids immediately huddle behind the older ones.
Dust settles slowly over the destruction; the air smells like burned earth and electricity. A few dummies near the blast catch fire—straw igniting in lazy flames.
I lower the bow, with my hands shaking.
Yikes. Magic... Bad.
Infact, it was extremely terrible Kyūdo!
I turned to Suwaira; I wanted to tell him that magic was surprisingly dangerous, but—
"How did you cast a spell without the incantation?" His eyes are wide in surprise. "Did you enhance an elemental attribute with magic? I thought you were clueless about magic? How much magic power do you even have? Are you sure you're not a spirit? Or are you possibly an Emanation?"
"I don't know, I don't know, I am actually clueless about magic—this is my first try, I don't know—I swear, I am not a spirit—I'm a man, and I am not even close to an Emanation."
I answered all his questions respectively, my eyes also wide in surprise.