Seikaku's POV
The wind cuts across the top of the crumbling watchtower, tugging at my cloak. Smoke and ash rise from Korvath's streets, drifting like black fog between the rooftops. From here, the battlefield spreads out beneath me—a living map of movement, chaos, and death.
I narrow my eyes.
Wind: moderate east. Visibility: low. Chieftains: five. Distance: two hundred sixty meters. One chance.
Below, Kaito moves like a wounded beast. His body is torn, blood streaking the cobblestone, but he refuses to fall. Five chieftains circle him like wolves around a cornered prey. His strike takes down one… but at the cost of his body. Efficient, but wasteful. He'll die if this keeps up.
My left hand steadies the bow, while my right fingers brush against the smooth wood. Calm. Always calm. I filter the battlefield through numbers, angles, and probabilities. Emotion gets in the way.
The trapdoor creaks open behind me. Footsteps. Light, hurried.
"Seikaku!"
Mireina Katsumi climbs up, pink hair plastered against her flushed cheeks, robes of silver and blue streaked with soot. She's clutching a reinforced case to her chest.
I glance at her. "You're late."
"This is war, not target practice," she snaps, setting the case down. She flips it open with a practiced motion, revealing a single arrow lying in black velvet. The shaft is carved with glowing runes; the head is coated in a shimmering alchemical compound that hums faintly.
"This is the best I can make under pressure," she says, catching her breath.
"One is enough."
She looks at me like she wants to argue, but she doesn't. She knows me well enough to trust the math.
I notch the arrow and draw it back slowly. The tension hums through the bowstring.
Wind correction: +3 degrees. Elevation: 12. Target trajectory… locked.
Everything falls away. The clash of steel, the shouts of adventurers, the pounding war drums—it all blurs into silence. There's only the line between me and the target. One thread. One shot.
"Bull's Eye," I whisper. The runes flare.
I release.
The arrow whistles through the smoky air like a silver streak. It curves through the chaotic battlefield, threading the gaps between fleeing civilians and advancing kobolds with inhuman precision. The second chieftain—a hulking brute with bone armor and jagged teeth—turns just in time to let out a guttural roar.
The arrow pierces its eye socket.
The explosion blooms in a burst of alchemical fire, black blood, and shattered bone. The chieftain collapses backward, crushing a dozen kobolds under its bulk. The roar of the battlefield surges as nearby kobolds falter, momentarily stunned.
Chieftains remaining: three.
Mireina lets out a breath she'd been holding. "You… actually did it."
I lower the bow, already drawing the next arrow. "Of course."
There's no time to admire the shot. The enemy adapts fast. Kobold elites surge toward the northern walls, trying to rally after their leader's death. Riders on scaled beasts push through the ranks, their snarls echoing across the street.
I adjust aim. Three arrows, three targets.
First arrow—through the throat of a rider mid-charge. The creature beneath him stumbles, trampling two kobold elites in confusion.
Second arrow—split shot. Two elites drop simultaneously, skulls punctured cleanly.
Third arrow—slams into a rider's shoulder, knocking him off his mount. The beast panics, crashing into its own line and sending several kobolds sprawling.
Every movement is calculated. Efficient. No wasted breath, no hesitation.
Mireina watches from the corner of her eye, awe creeping into her voice. "Are you even human?"
I don't answer. The question is irrelevant.
I nock another arrow and scan the battlefield again. Kaito's still standing—barely. Yoshiya and Omina are moving from the south. Reinforcements are pushing from the west. The kobold tide is slowing.
"Chieftains: three. Advantage… shifting," I murmur.
Mireina adjusts the runes on the next arrow, her hands steady now. She's caught up to the pace. Good. I need her sharp.
The watchtower trembles under a distant shockwave. The Kobold King has entered the fray. Even from here, I can feel the weight of his presence like a stormcloud rolling in. But the board is set. Piece by piece, the enemy falls.
I draw in a breath and raise my bow again. The world narrows to a single line.
"Precision wins wars," I say quietly.
And then, I fire.