Chapter 56: Hunting Time [1]
He lacked talent.
They had only been in the hunting ground for an hour, and Alice was already fighting the urge to sigh out loud.
"Ugh... this is harder than I thought!"
She hadn’t expected to spend the entire time just watching him struggle to pull the bowstring.
She had prepared lessons—lining up the shot with the prey, aiming for the legs instead of the body for efficiency—but all of that had gone out the window. There was no point. He wasn’t even ready for the basics.
Normally, she would’ve scolded him, maybe thrown in a sarcastic jab. That kind of blunt honesty usually worked with someone as shameless as him. But seeing him grit his teeth and keep trying despite everything... it softened her mood.
"Sigh. It’s just not working. Maybe I expected too much. The gear is awful," he muttered, rolling his shoulders.
And just like that, he tossed aside the Northern military bow as if it were some cheap toy.
That was the last straw.
"Oh, come on. You don’t see a bad cook blaming the pan, do you?"
"That’s not a fair comparison," Julies shot back without missing a beat. "Even a good cook can’t make a proper dish with a cracked pot. Tools matter."
She had gotten used to that silver tongue of his—and the dead-serious look he wore while saying nonsense—but it still managed to draw a dry chuckle out of her.
"Fine. Since you can’t even pull the string properly, I won’t waste my breath explaining. Just watch how I do it and try copying the form later."
This was one of the rare days she had to herself for hunting, and she wasn’t going to waste it—especially not with his quiet attendant standing off to the side, watching everything.
Then she spotted it.
A perfect opportunity.
"See that flock of birds up there?"
"Birds?" Julies squinted. "I see five little dots, maybe."
Even for Alice, it was a bit of a stretch. But a moving target in the sky was still better than lecturing someone who couldn’t draw a bow.
Alice didn’t reply right away.
She raised the bow with practiced ease, her fingers wrapping around the string with a fluid familiarity that made it look effortless. She exhaled slowly, tuning out the sounds around her, eyes locking onto the distant shapes gliding across the sky.
A heartbeat passed. Then another.
Thwip.
The arrow soared in a clean arc—sharp, steady, deliberate.
One of the distant dots suddenly dropped, tumbling downward like a falling leaf.
Julies blinked.
"No way..."
Alice lowered the bow and turned to him with a smug smile playing at her lips.
"Still think it’s the bow’s fault?"
Julies scratched his head, feigning deep thought. "Well... maybe it’s not just the bow."
She rolled her eyes and handed it back to him. "Try again. But this time, don’t yank it like you’re trying to rip the string out. Just... feel the weight, follow through with your shoulder. And keep your stance tight."
He took the bow hesitantly, like it was some fragile relic instead of the exact same one he’d been fumbling with for the past hour.
"Alright, alright. I watched. I’ll try."
He stood where she had, awkwardly mimicking her posture. His knees were too straight, his shoulders too tense, and the grip too tight. Still, he pulled—slow, unsteady, but with more intention this time.
The string drew back, trembling.
And then—
Snap.
The arrow flew. It veered off course almost immediately and sank into a distant tree trunk with a dull thud.
Alice didn’t say anything.
Julies lowered the bow, visibly sweating. "...That wasn’t terrible, right?"
She tilted her head and gave it some thought.
"Well. At least it didn’t hit me this time."
From the edge of the clearing, the attendant muffled a laugh behind a gloved hand.
Julies groaned.
"I feel like I’m being bullied."
Alice smirked, already nocking another arrow. "If I wanted to bully you, I’d let you keep shooting without telling you what you’re doing wrong."
He opened his mouth to retort but hesitated. "...Fair."
She nodded toward the sky again.
"Two more birds. Want to try again, or are you going to blame gravity next?"
Julies sighed deeply and picked up another arrow.
"Bring it on. Gravity’s got nothing on me."
......but the result was the same as before.
The arrow whistled through the air, hopelessly off-mark, slicing through empty sky and vanishing into the thicket with a rustle.
Alice sighed—this time not even trying to hide her frustration.
"That’s it. One more. Just one last shot, and then we’re done for today."
Julies turned toward her, shoulders slumped. "You said that last time."
"I meant it this time."
He hesitated, then looked down at the arrow in his hand as if it had betrayed him. "Maybe I really just don’t have the knack for this."
Alice didn’t answer right away.
She glanced over at the distant clearing, where the soft golden light filtered through the leaves. The day was too perfect to spend sulking over failure.
"You’re not hopeless," she said finally. "Just slow."
"That’s the nicest insult I’ve ever received."
Alice shot him a sharp look, but her lips twitched. "Shut up and draw the bow."
Julies sighed again and nocked the arrow. His fingers trembled slightly as he pulled back the string. It wasn’t smooth, and it wasn’t pretty, but it was slightly better than before.
He took aim.
This time, Alice didn’t interrupt or correct his form. She just watched.
The arrow flew.
Not true. It flopped, arched weirdly to the side, and hit the ground a few paces ahead with a pathetic thud.
Julies stared. "That’s... worse than my first shot."
Alice pinched the bridge of her nose.
"It’s not the bow," she muttered.
Julies dropped to the ground with a groan, lying on his back in defeat. "It’s me. I’m the cracked pot."
"You’re not a pot," she said dryly, slinging her bow over her shoulder. "You’re more like wet firewood. Takes forever to get going, makes a lot of smoke, but eventually catches flame."
He looked up at her, squinting through the dappled light. "...Was that encouragement?"
She smirked. "A very generous one. Don’t make me regret it."
Julies sat up with a defeated laugh. "This is going to take weeks, isn’t it?"
Alice shrugged. "Probably. But don’t worry."
She looked back over her shoulder as she walked off.
"I’m a very patient teacher."
"Really?"
"No."
He groaned again, louder this time. "I knew it."
But he picked himself up and followed her anyway, bow in hand.