Morning sunlight filtered through the wooden window, gentle and warm.The child lay quietly in his mother's arms, eyes half-open, observing the world with a calm thatdid not belong to a newborn.Footsteps approached.Wilson entered the room.
The moment he saw the child, the stern aura he carried outside softened. He walked closer, hismovements unusually careful for a man known across regions as a great archer.
The mother smiled faintly."His name is Leo," she said softly.Wilson paused.
"Leo…" he repeated, as if tasting the name.
He reached out and placed a finger into the child's tiny palm.The grip was weak.
Yet… steady.Wilson's eyes darkened slightly. He lowered his voice and spoke as if the child could alreadyunderstand."Grow up quickly, my boy," he said."And become stronger… with time."Leo stared back at him.For a brief instant, something unseen stirred.
Time slowed.
Not enough for anyone to notice—only enough for the child to feel the weight of those words.Suddenly—A sharp fluctuation rippled through the air.Wilson's expression changed.
Spiritual energy gathered around his right hand, condensing into a faintly glowing sigil. Lines oflight twisted and formed characters in midair before sinking into his palm.A spiritual message.His brows furrowed as he read it.The room grew silent."The border…" Wilson muttered.The mother's heart skipped a beat.
"What happened?"
Wilson clenched his fist."My father," he said quietly. "Leo's grandfather."His voice grew heavy."He's in danger."
Far away, at the blood-soaked borderlands—A battlefield burned.Two figures cloaked in crimson spiritual energy advanced relentlessly, their auras twisted andviolent. Every step they took carved scars into the land itself.Mad Blade Cultivators.Cruel. Ruthless. Insane.Both stood at the Seventh Realm.Between them stood an old man.His back was straight.In his hands shone a sword of pure brilliance—Divine Sword Light Ray. Each swing releasedarcs of radiant light that split the earth and scattered the crimson energy.Leo's grandfather.
A great swordmaster.A Seventh Realm cultivator.Alone.His sword light clashed against the mad blades, illuminating the battlefield in flashes of whiteand red. Though blood stained his robes, his eyes burned with unwavering resolve."So the border sends mad dogs now…" he said coldly.The two blade cultivators laughed, their voices distorted by madness.
"LIGHT WILL BLEED!""DIE WITH HONOR, OLD MAN!"
They attacked together.Sword light erupted.Blade intent screamed.The collision shook the heavens.Back in the quiet village, Wilson exhaled slowly."Two Seventh Realm mad blade cultivators," he said. "Father is holding them alone."The mother tightened her hold on Leo."You're going," she said, not asking—knowing.
Wilson nodded."They're asking for the best archer," he said. "I can't refuse."He looked down at Leo one last time.The child's eyes were clear.Too clear.For a fleeting moment, Leo felt something stir deep within him—a distant battlefield, clashinglights, distorted space.Then it vanished.Wilson straightened."Wait for me," he said softly.Neither the mother nor the child replied.But as Wilson turned to leave, time hesitated for half a breath—as if something unseen had acknowledged the path he was about to walk.The Bow of the Ren FamilyWilson stepped into his private chamber and closed the door behind him.The room was silent.
No windows.
No decorations.
At the center rested a black-colored box, its surface covered in faint sealing marks. Dust hadgathered around it, as if it had not been opened for many years.Wilson stood before it for a long moment.Then he reached out.Click.The seals unlocked one by one.
The lid opened.BOOM—A terrifying surge of spiritual energy exploded outward.The air trembled.
The walls vibrated.
Even the space within the room warped slightly under thepressure.
The energy was sharp, domineering, filled with an ancient killing intent.Inside the box lay a bow.It was pitch-black, its surface smooth like obsidian, yet carved with golden lines that pulsedfaintly like a living heartbeat.
The bowstring shimmered as if woven from condensed light itself.A family heirloom.Wilson's gaze softened.
"So you're still sleeping," he murmured.
He lifted the bow carefully, as if greeting an old companion."Friend," he said quietly, "today is the day."
The bow hummed.Spiritual energy answered his call."Today, you will show the glory of the Ren family once more."Wilson's eyes sharpened."We will shoot them," he said coldly,"like rain from the sky."He stepped outside.The morning air was calm.Too calm.The mother stood waiting, Leo in her arms. She did not ask him anything. She already knew.Wilson walked forward and wrapped his arms around them both.The embrace was firm.Warm."I'll be back," he said softly. "I'll bring Grandpa with me. He will see you with his own eyes."The mother nodded, holding back her fear.Leo stared at his father.For a fleeting moment, time slowed.Something deep within the child stirred—an echo of tension, distance, and impendingbloodshed.Wilson released them.He turned.His aura changed instantly.The gentle father vanished.The Great Archer returned."Gather," Wilson commanded.
Figures appeared from the shadows—his subordinates, elites trained under his command. Eachcarried weapons and resolute expressions.
"We move from the east side of the border," Wilson said. "No delay.""Yes!"Wilson stepped onto his sword.The blade lifted him into the air.Behind him, his subordinates followed—each standing upon swords, streaks of light cuttingacross the sky.Then—They shot forward.Like arrows released from a bow.The sky split as they accelerated, leaving trails of light behind them, racing toward the battlefieldwhere sword light and mad blades clashed.Back in the village, Leo closed his eyes.Far away—Time tightened.Space stretched.And destiny began to move.