The hunt had been long and intense, but by late afternoon the team began heading back toward the village, their packs heavy with game. The wild boar had been the highlight, but several pheasants, hares, and even a deer added to the bounty. Villagers paused to watch as the hunters returned, impressed by the sheer volume of the catch.

  Chen Mo stayed modest, taking only his fair share—a few pheasants, a hare, and enough meat from the deer to sustain him. The rest of the boar and deer would be divided among the hunters and families, as was customary. With his portion secured, he returned to his hut to sort and store the meat and pelts, carefully preserving what he would eat and preparing the rest for the weekly delivery to the chief.

  He hung pelts to dry in a ventilated corner, salted some of the meat, and organized the rest for meals in the coming days. Each action was deliberate and measured, reflecting the discipline honed through weeks of training.

  Finally, he checked the panel:

  Archery: 40/300

  The Minor Achievement continued to amplify his progress, and today’s hunt had added 20 points. Chen Mo considered his plan: steady daily hunting, careful storage, and incremental skill gains would soon allow him to venture deeper into the forest for larger, more dangerous game.

  After preparing his share, he ate a modest meal, feeling satisfied, nourished, and quietly confident. Outside, the village settled into evening calm, while Chen Gou lingered on the edges, watching with a mix of admiration and unease, determined to push harder tomorrow.

  Over the next five days, Chen Mo kept to his disciplined routine. Each morning, he trained his archery until the panel registered every successful shot: sometimes solo in the outskirts of the forest, sometimes joining the hunting team for coordinated hunts. By combining solo precision and teamwork, his skills accelerated at an unprecedented pace.

  By the end of the fifth day, the panel reflected his progress:

  Archery: 140/300

  A surge of 100 points over the week marked the effects of Minor Achievement in full swing. Muscle memory, refined posture, and intuition were transforming his every shot into near instinct.

  During the week, he had gathered pheasants, hares, deer portions, and a few smaller game, drying and salting what he could not consume immediately. By careful estimation, the value of his accumulated pelts and preserved meat reached roughly 600 coins for the week.

  With his past savings of 260 + 350 + 350 coins from previous deliveries (week 1: 260, week 2: 350, week 3: 350), he now had a total of 1,560 coins. Considering the bandit toll of 1 tael of silver per household (1,000 coins), Chen Mo could now pay the toll comfortably and still keep a substantial surplus for grain and necessities.

  Early the next morning, he carried this week’s haul to the chief, who was organizing the village goods for delivery and storage. Uncle Tie and a few elders were present, helping him weigh, record, and store the pelts and dried meat.

  “You’ve done well, Chen Mo,” the chief said with satisfaction. “Your diligence is benefiting not just yourself, but the whole village.”

  As the villagers returned to their homes, the chief raised his voice: “Tomorrow, every household must gather to prepare the bandit toll. Make sure your portion is ready and contributions measured. We need to be exact—no mistakes this time.”

  Chen Mo nodded, quietly calculating in his mind. With the toll covered and his surplus secured, he could now focus entirely on hunting, training, and reaching the next skill milestone.

  After Chen Mo left with his portion of the goods, the village chief and elders remained, reviewing the contributions and preparing for the collection of the bandit toll. The chief rubbed his chin, frowning slightly as he scanned the records.

  “Some households are still short,” he said. “By my calculation, we’re five taels short of the 80 taels required to satisfy the bandits this month.”

  One elder spoke up, voice calm but firm. “Those who have extra should contribute more. The clan is large—every able-bodied family can spare a little. If we all help each other, no one goes hungry, and the toll is covered.”

  Another elder added, “We can also encourage families with surplus grain or meat to trade for coins with neighbors who are short. It’s better to pool resources than risk leaving the payment incomplete.”

  The chief nodded, his gaze sweeping over the assembled elders. “Exactly. Survival in this village depends on solidarity. Every month is a struggle, but if the capable assist those in need, we can maintain balance. Tomorrow, when everyone gathers, make sure the households who are short know the options. Some will give extra voluntarily; others may trade or offer labor to cover the gap.”

  A third elder chimed in, “We should also remind the families that any shortfall will affect everyone. The bandits don’t negotiate. Preparation and cooperation are vital.”

  The chief’s expression softened slightly. “Let’s be strict, but fair. Our priority is keeping the village safe and feeding our people. After tomorrow, the toll will be collected, and we can start focusing again on hunting, storage, and preparations for the next month.”

  The elders nodded, each understanding the delicate balance of resources, fairness, and survival in the clan. In the quiet that followed, the weight of responsibility hung heavily, but there was also a shared resolve: together, they would meet the bandits’ demand without breaking the village.

  The next morning, the villagers gathered in the central square. Chen Tie stood at the center, voice carrying clearly. “The capable households will contribute extra to cover the shortfall. Every family must cooperate so the bandit toll is complete. Our survival depends on it.”

  Murmurs of agreement swept through the crowd. Then Chen Tie raised a hand, his tone firmer. “Do not forget: the bandit leader is a martial artist. His skill is beyond ordinary men. One mistake could be deadly. Everyone must be vigilant and diligent.”

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  A few villagers nodded nervously. Elder Chen Huang stepped forward, addressing the crowd. “Some families cannot pay enough coins, but we can all contribute through labor. I will lead children and youths into the mountains to gather more herbs. Every basket, every hour of work counts. We survive together, or we fall together.”

  “I will send my eldest to help, Elder Chen Huang,” one villager spoke up. “I cannot spare silver this month, but he can work for the village.”

  “And I will contribute as well,” added another. “Both my sons will join the herb gathering. It may not be coins, but it is still useful.”

  Chen Tie nodded approvingly. “Good. Every effort matters. Those who are capable must lead by example. Only through collective effort will we cover the toll safely.”

  Chen Mo listened quietly, absorbing the discussion. The mention of martial artists stirred his curiosity—he had never heard of humans with powers beyond normal limits.

  Later, after the villagers dispersed, Chen Mo approached Chief Chen Young with a slight bow, careful to show respect. “Uncle Young… may I trouble you with some questions?” he asked politely.

  The chief looked at him and smiled faintly, satisfied by Chen Mo’s dedication and past diligence. “You may, Chen Mo. Speak freely.”

  Chen Mo straightened slightly, hands at his sides, eyes attentive. “I heard mention of martial artists… how are they different from normal people?”

  The chief leaned back, thoughtful. “Martial artists… they possess strength, speed, and perception beyond ordinary men. Their training and discipline allow them to do things that seem almost impossible to common folk.”

  Chen Mo’s eyes brightened with curiosity. “And… how does one become a martial artist? Is it something anyone can learn?”

  The chief shook his head slowly. “It is not easy. Only the wealthy or those with connections can train in the county’s martial halls. It requires time, guidance, and resources most people in our village do not have. But if you wish, I can inquire for you tomorrow, see if there is anything you could learn or observe.”

  The chief studied Chen Mo for a moment before speaking again, his tone calm but firm. “Martial artists are not something you should fixate on right now. Curiosity can push a person forward, but it can also blind him. Our village survives because people know their limits.”

  He paused, then added, “Focus on what you can control. Hunting well, living steadily, and staying alive. Do not let distant paths make you lose sight of the ground beneath your feet.”

  Chen Mo lowered his head slightly, accepting the admonition. “I understand, Uncle Young. I won’t let my thoughts run ahead of my steps.”

  The chief nodded, clearly satisfied. “Good. That is all I expect.”

  Before leaving, Chen Mo took out a small bundle of coins and placed it respectfully on the table. “This is an extra one hundred and fifty coins. It’s not much, but I can spare it.”

  The chief’s eyes flicked to the coins, then back to Chen Mo. “You’ve done well,” he said simply. “The clan will remember this.”

  Chen Mo bowed once more and turned away.

  As he walked back to his hut, the village slowly settling behind him, his thoughts refused to stay quiet. Martial artists… unhuman strength… halls in the county.

  He clenched his fingers slightly, then relaxed them. For now, survival came first. But the seed had already been planted, and in the silence of his hut, that thought refused to fade

  Inside the dim hut, the oil lamp flickered softly, its light dancing across the rough clay walls. Chen Mo sat on the edge of his bed and summoned the panel.

  Name: Chen Mo

  Age: 14

  Realm: None

  Martial Arts: None

  Skills:

  ? Archery (Minor Achievement) 140 / 300

  He stared at it for a long moment.

  It had been barely a month since he woke up in this world, yet he already knew one thing with absolute certainty—this place was not ordinary, and it was far more dangerous than it appeared on the surface.

  Taxes, bandits, hunger, survival. Those were only the visible threats.

  The panel itself told a deeper truth.

  Realm.

  Martial arts.

  Those words did not exist without reason. Their presence alone confirmed what he had long suspected—supernatural power was real here. Not rumors. Not legends. Something tangible, structured, and terrifyingly out of reach.

  His fingers tightened unconsciously.

  The desire rose again, stronger than before. A yearning for power that could shatter limits, that could lift a person above the endless grind of scraping by. But alongside that yearning came caution, cold and heavy.

  In a world where power reigned supreme, the weak were no different from grass beneath one’s feet. Crushed without notice. Forgotten without consequence.

  To stand out without strength was suicide.

  To chase power recklessly was no different.

  Being low-key was essential. Being cautious even more so.

  Yet… caution alone would never bring freedom.

  Chen Mo exhaled slowly.

  He had lived a life of mediocrity once before—always constrained, always enduring, always surviving but never truly living. He had no intention of repeating that fate here.

  Power was not optional. It was the only way to protect himself, to carve out real freedom, to ensure that no one could decide his worth with a wave of a hand.

  But not today.

  Not rashly.

  For now, he would remain steady.

  Hunt.

  Train.

  Polish his archery until it became instinct.

  Wait for news from the chief.

  Only then—when the ground beneath his feet was firm—would he take the next step and make his plans.

  The lamp crackled softly.

  Chen Mo lay back on the bed, eyes open, staring into the darkness.

  The road ahead was dangerous, but for the first time, it was his to choose.