The air was tense. Serena stood firm, her golden bow gleaming faintly beneath the pale light filtering through the drifting ash. Across from her, two cloaked figures advanced—silent, composed, deadly. Their movements were fluid, like seasoned predators, muscles coiled beneath heavy fabric.
The first move came swiftly. The daughter, lean and fast, darted toward Serena with terrifying speed. Serena's reflexes kicked in—her bowstring stretched, and a brilliant fire arrow formed instantly. It launched straight toward the charging figure, exploding against the ground just before impact. The girl recoiled mid-stride, smoke curling around her, but she remained upright.
Serena stepped sideways, spinning, already drawing another arrow. Fire again. The second burst forced both figures to split, the mother flanking left. Serena wasted no time, letting her third and final fire arrow loose. It detonated between them, creating a barrier of heat and smoke.
With fire exhausted, she shifted elements.
A gust surged from her next arrow—wind. The projectile spiraled like a drill, hitting the ground and scattering dirt into the air. The daughter charged again, leaping into the confusion. Serena pivoted, released her second wind arrow, and caught her in mid-air. The force hurled the girl backward into a fallen tree, snapping thick branches with the impact.
The mother rushed from the smoke, fist raised. Serena blocked with her bow, the hit sending tremors through her arm. She gritted her teeth, planted her feet, and fired her final wind arrow at close range. The burst knocked the cloaked woman several feet back, cloak torn and fluttering like a wounded flag.
Serena was breathing heavily now. The elemental drain was taking effect. Mana was thinning. But there was no time to rest. Both enemies were already up, bruised but relentless.
The daughter's cloak was burned across the shoulder, revealing muscle bound in dark armor. Her steps were heavier now, but no less dangerous. She circled wide, forcing Serena's attention to split.
Serena pulled another arrow—ice this time. Sharp and cold, it shimmered blue as she launched it at the mother. It missed by an inch, freezing the air behind her. The second arrow followed, this time targeting the daughter. She spun to avoid it but slipped, her foot catching on uneven ground. The arrow nicked her leg—flesh wasn't torn, but blood welled beneath the cloth.
Serena drew her third and final ice arrow, aimed center-mass at the mother, and fired. The woman raised her arm in defense. The ice shattered against her, slowing her movement with a faint frost webbing over her limbs.
Serena staggered back—three elements spent.
The ground trembled.
Both cloaked women came at her together. The daughter reached first, fists swinging in a brutal flurry. Serena ducked, rolled, and countered with a powerful spinning kick to her ribs, sending her stumbling.
But the mother was close—her punch connected square to Serena's side, cracking through the outer armor. Serena grunted, spun away, and retaliated with a knee to the woman's chest, followed by an elbow to the back of her neck. The force dropped her briefly to one knee.
Breathing hard, Serena leapt back, creating distance.
All three now bore marks of the battle—cuts, bruises, torn cloaks, bleeding knuckles, aching ribs.
Yet none had fallen.
They stood, facing each other again, battered but unbroken.
The storm was far from over.
"Serena, you're a strong young lady. Even if this is your first real battle, we know you'll be fine. So don't worry."
Those were the words of a battle-hardened man clad in metal plate armor. His face was marked with scars, one eye long lost, and his head completely bald. His frame was tall and muscular—every inch of him a veteran.
In contrast, Serena looked fragile and unsure. She was just a timid teenager then, about to enter her first true battle as a mercenary. Until that day, she had only participated in friendly duels—fights where victory and defeat held no weight. But now, the cost of losing would be her life.
She had no magical arrows back then. In fact, she knew almost nothing about magic. That battle had been brutal—deadly. She barely survived, emerging with multiple fatal wounds that took months to fully heal.
But after that day, she was never the same.
She was never the weak, timid girl again.
Her mercenary group had treated her like family, and she came to see them the same way. She fought in countless raids afterward, and with each mission, they returned victorious. She grew stronger, fiercer, more confident.
Then one day, her group hosted a friendly match with another mercenary band.
Among them was a young male archer—around her age. He had short blue hair, serpent-like green eyes, and fair skin. His attire was simple—just basic mercenary clothes, no armor. He approached her in front of both groups and spoke with a calm yet confident voice.
"I don't know your name, but I challenge you to a duel."
He'd issued the challenge in front of everyone. Serena couldn't reject it—it was a matter of pride.
"Alright then. But what kind of duel are we talking about?"
"Simple," he said, pointing toward a distant archery target. "We'll both shoot at that target simultaneously. We continue until one of us misses."
The camp was set on open ground, secured with iron spikes and wires. Dozens of tents surrounded a central campfire. There were training targets scattered around—the perfect battlefield.
Both archers took their positions. Serena's group cheered for her, the boy's group did the same for him.
First shot—both hit.
Second—dead center.
Third—perfect again.
It went on for over an hour. Eighty arrows fired. Eighty hits. And now, the eighty-first.
Serena was soaked in sweat. Her hands trembled. Fatigue crept in. The boy, though sweating too, looked steadier.
"Ready! One... two... three—SHOOT!"
The referee called it out.
Both arrows launched.
His struck true.
Hers missed.
Serena dropped to her knees, exhausted, disbelief washing over her. She couldn't sleep that night. She didn't even go out to say goodbye when the other group left the next day. She remained alone in her tent, ashamed and broken.
That same old man in the metal armor entered, kneeling beside her, trying to comfort her.
"Old man... you must all be so disappointed in me..." Serena murmured.
"Why would we be?" he asked gently.
"Because I brought shame to you all. I failed you."
He placed a hand on her head and said,
"No. We were proud of you. You hit eighty consecutive shots at such a young age. That's incredible. You made us proud, Serena."
Her tears flowed.
"I'm sorry... I won't lose to him again. I won't lose to anyone ever again. I swear it... I'm sorry..."
"We know, Serena. We believe in you."
Now, Serena stood before the cloaked mother and daughter, her eyes blazing with resolve.
"You see, mother and daughter... I don't plan on losing to either of you. No—losing to anyone. I have an oath to fulfill. And to do that, I'll never lose. You better remember that."
The mother chuckled softly.
"My, my... such confidence. Youth truly is beautiful."
Without warning, the mother lunged forward with incredible speed.
Serena didn't flinch.
This time, her hand drew a lightning arrow—brilliant, crackling with energy.
She aimed.
And then—
SHOOT!