Jack chose a patch of firm, level ground near the border of the undamaged forest and the ruined practice area. He set down his pack and removed the bow from over his shoulder.

  The weapon was made from high-quality white oak and adorned with intricate carvings; the surface was polished to a light sheen with no scratches or imperfections in the bow’s finish. It would look as good as new if it weren’t for the ugly bloodstains.

  “This is a really nice bow. I can’t believe I paid less than a gold,” Jack said, smiling as he recalled the young merchant he’d bought it from. “I guess he was desperate to sell. His loss is my gain.”

  After checking the bow’s form, he found a suitable tree stump to use for target practice. The stump was over eight feet tall and six feet wide, and was littered with damage from previous practice shots. It looked as if the top of the tree had been blown off by a powerful mage spell; the rest of the tree had fallen into the practice area, where other adventurers had used it as a target.

  Jack squared his shoulders, determined to do the job well. He recalled that archery was about rhythm, precision, and a lot of repetition. Rather than jump straight into using his archery skills, like True Aim. Today, he would practice the fundamentals. Nocking an arrow, drawing the string, aiming, and releasing with a smooth, deliberate motion.

  Everything he had read about the archery class advised that the best approach was to master the fundamentals before relying on class skills. Many archers spent their childhoods learning proper form so that when they chose the archer class, they could start levelling their skills without picking up bad habits.

  He’d spent a few months in his previous life learning the fundamentals, but with his past injuries, he wasn’t sure if the previous practice would help him now

  “I’ve got about an hour before I should head home.” He didn’t want to risk being in the forest after dark, so he planned to head back early.

  With the early evening sun shining through the trees, he drew an arrow from his quiver, nocked it with care, and pulled back the string. The instinctual understanding of archery techniques that came with the archer class guided him to make small adjustments.

  Hmm… I remember how this felt when I first used the scribe class, he thought as he felt the archer class guide him to hold a better form. With the assistance of his class knowledge, the motion was smoother than his previous practice had been. As he drew back the arrow, he tried to recall everything he had read and practised in his first life.

  One practice tip he remembered was to treat each arrow as if it were your last; after drawing the arrow, count to five to give yourself plenty of time to aim. It was a good tip, though he’d struggled with it in his past life; holding the drawn arrow for too long had caused him immense pain and made the bow shake. Now, in his healthy sixteen-year-old body, there was no pain, just the normal discomfort from using muscles that were used to drawing quick sketches, not pulling back a bow.

  Jack took his time lining up his arrow to hit a knot of wood about the size and height of a man’s heart. If he could hit the target consistently, many of his shots might be lethal kill shots.

  As the arrow left the bow, it cut a clean arc through the air. Jack held his breath as he watched it descend towards the tree stump. The arrow struck the stump with a dull thud and dislodged a small splinter.

  It wasn’t a perfect shot. If the target had been a man, it might have clipped a shoulder. But it was enough to confirm that the bow was responsive and that his technique held promise.

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  “That felt… natural,” he said with a smile as he looked at the arrow still lodged in the stump. “Not bad for my first shot.” He prepared for his next attempt…

  For the next forty-five minutes, Jack practised in solitude as he repeated the motions methodically. With each shot, he noted in his mind. A drift to the left here, a touch too high there. His instinctual archery class knowledge nudged him towards eventual perfection.

  In the silence of the forest clearing, there was only his steady breathing and the rhythmic snap of the bowstring. He began to experiment with subtle shifts in his stance, correcting the slight misalignment he had noticed in his earlier shots. It was a solitary task, but he felt the satisfaction of small, incremental improvements.

  He practised releasing arrows in quick succession, drawing them back in one smooth motion and releasing without hesitation, which resulted in lower accuracy. At random intervals, he took out his dagger and simulated close-quarter strikes; moves designed to deal with an opponent who might try to bypass his ranged weapon.

  For the most part, his actions were disciplined and calculated, though they also revealed his inexperience. There was no extra flourish in his technique, only the actions of a confident man who had learned the rules of his class from countless hours of reading and memorising books on archery and fighting. All his technique needed now was countless hours of practice to turn good theory into practised reality.

  At one point, he stopped to rest his aching arms. He walked around, examining the marks in his target. The tree trunk showed a scatter of arrow holes that, taken together, told the story of his struggles and successes.

  Jack leaned against his target tree, took out his water canteen, a bag of beef jerky, and a small notebook. He wrote down his observations while chewing jerky and quenching his thirst. This was a habit he’d formed during his time as a scribe to record important details.

  First Archery Practice Session

  Location: Forest clearing 4-5 miles from Lundun

  Duration: Approximately forty-five minutes

  Weapon: White oak bow with a quiver of a dozen cheap arrows

  I shot over one hundred arrows without activating any skills.

  The target was a large tree stump, roughly eight feet tall by six feet wide.

  About eighty per cent hit the target.

  I estimate that only about thirty per cent of the shots would score a hit if the target were a human male the size of Baron Greaves.

  Overall accuracy was low, and only a few hits would be fatal.

  Accuracy decreased when aiming was rushed.

  Observations

  Muscles in my arms and shoulders began to ache in under twenty minutes.

  One hour of practice is the upper limit until I get stronger.

  Remember to perform strength exercises several times a day!

  I need to adjust my grip and maintain even breathing.

  Consider buying better-quality arrows and an arm guard.

  These notes were direct and simple, meant not to impress but to serve as a record for future improvement. With the Perfect Recall scribe skill, once put to paper, Jack would remember the information verbatim. After memorising the note, he destroyed it; he had to keep his dual class a secret.

  Jack looked at the sun, which was a little lower in the sky, and stretched his aching shoulder muscles. “I’ll practice for another quarter-hour, then head home. I have to remember to prioritise exercise,” he said, chuckling at how many times he’d forgotten since his new life began.

  Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a piece of bark dislodged from his target tree. On it clung over a dozen spider egg sacs. His smile widened as he thought of his annoying younger sister, Polly, and the sweet revenge he planned for drenching him. “They’ll do,” he said while rummaging through his pack until he found a paper bag once used for his jerky.

  “I think these are a bit bigger than the ones I used last time.” He squeezed one of the spherical egg sacs between his thumb and forefinger, “Hmm, that feels like paper. Quite robust as well, they should last until I put them in Polly’s room.”

  Having stored over two dozen spider egg sacs in his pack while giggling like a child, he continued his practice in a good mood.

  Jack nocked arrow after arrow and refined his timing and form. Despite a delay caused by the need to sketch a dragonfly earlier, he was pleased with his progress. There was no extra pressure, no pain from tight, scarred skin or trouble taking deep breaths. He was focused on the task at hand.

  Then, as he considered ending his practice session, a sudden noise disrupted the calm. It began as a rustle in the distant undergrowth… faint and easy to dismiss. Jack paused mid-draw as his senses sharpened.

  What is that? Maybe a deer, he thought.

  A moment later, the sound grew into a low, guttural snarl that cut through the gentle murmur of nature.

  “Oh, shit!” Jack had a fair idea what the noise was.