Chapter 6

"Emory, Scarlet is being generous enough to let you compete with a professional archer. Aren't you going to pick a bow?" Lillian Eldrich, tall and sharp-tongued, couldn't help prodding him when she saw Emory still rooted to the spot.

"But why should I compete with him?" Emory glanced coolly at Sylas. "Beating him would be a waste of time. It means nothing to me."

"You? Beat Sylas? Are you dreaming? He was in the top four at the national championships!"

Lillian sneered.

"Emory, you just said competing with me was meaningless. What—are you looking to make it more interesting?" Sylas narrowed his eyes at him.

"That's exactly what I meant." Emory held up three fingers. "If you lose, pay me this amount."

"Three million?" Sylas's brow twitched.

He might've been born into money, but even his monthly allowance was only 700,000 dollars.

Three million... that would be his monthly allowance from the last four and a half months.

"Emory, have you never seen money before? You just open your mouth and ask for three million, you—"

Lillian had started to scold him, but Emory shook his head. "I meant thirty thousand."

Thirty thousand was just enough to buy the Iris Nightshade that could heal Cora's injured leg.

"Pfft—so it's just thirty thousand?" The scolding on Lillian's lips turned into a scornful laugh. "A country bumpkin really is a bumpkin. I thought you were asking for a fortune. But this? This is it?"

"Lillian, you don't get it. To us, thirty thousand is just dinner money. But to someone like Emory? That's several years of farming income." Scarlet looked at Emory with something close to pity. "Where we begin in life is a place Emory will never even reach, no matter how hard he tries."

And in the midst of her mockery, Scarlet became more convinced—that red truffle had to be something Emory happened to find in the mountains. Otherwise, if he really had millions to offer as a betrothal gift, why would he gamble with Sylas for just thirty thousand?

"Heh, Emory, thirty thousand is nothing. I'll take your bet." Sylas smiled faintly. "But... if you lose, I don't want your money. Just shout three times, 'I'm a poor-ass toad.' That's enough."

Before Sylas's words had even finished, Lillian laughed, "Sylas, you're too kind. Not only are you going to beat him, you're even helping him face reality?"

"Our worlds don't overlap. I've never liked bullying kids from the mountains." Sylas walked toward the archery range, head held high. "Emory, I'll let you shoot five arrows first. First one to hit a hundred wins. How's that?"

"No need." Emory shook his head. "I'm afraid after five arrows, you'll have already lost."

"Emory, are you sick or something? Do you even understand how archery works? One arrow can get you ten points max. Even if you hit the bullseye five times, that's fifty points. How's Sylas going to lose?" Lillian exploded.

"Lillian, explaining the rules of archery to a hillbilly like Emory—do you think he can even understand? He hunts with arrows in the mountains. He's all instinct and no technique," Scarlet added mockingly before turning to Sylas. "Sylas, go first. Give Emory a lesson in how real archery works."

"Then allow me." Sylas picked up a competition bow with practiced ease.

He drew the bowstring fully, nocked the arrow.

Whoosh.

The arrow sliced through the air, hitting the bullseye thirty meters away.

"Yes!"

"No wonder he's the archery champion of Vermillion Delta—ten points on the first shot!"

"Emory, if you ask me, don't even bother. Just admit defeat and save yourself the embarrassment." Lillian and the others were merciless in their jeers.

Emory, however, remained quiet.

Soon, Sylas had fired all ten arrows.

Seven bullseyes. Two nines. One seven. Ninety-five points in total.

"Oh my god, ninety-five? Didn't you only get ninety-four at the national championship?" Lillian looked at him, full of admiration.

"That's because Scarlet's here today," Sylas replied with a tender look. "She inspired me to do better."

"Ah, so this is the power of love?" Lillian joked.

But Scarlet didn't laugh. She turned sharply to Emory. "Emory! Sylas has finished his ten shots. It's your turn now!"

"Okay," Emory said lightly, picking up a wooden bow at random.

"You're using a wooden bow?" Lillian's expression twisted.

Even Sylas couldn't hold back a laugh. "Emory, who uses a wooden bow for target shooting? Everyone knows they're fragile and weak. Want to switch? I'd feel bad winning like this."

"No need." Emory shook his head.

"Hmph, I bet he knows he can't beat Sylas, so he picked that on purpose. That way, even if he loses, he'll have an excuse." Lillian looked smug, as if she had read him like a book.

"Emory! You haven't even shot yet, and you're already thinking about making excuses?" Scarlet's face chilled. "Aren't you ashamed? Thank god I didn't marry you. If I had—"

Thwack!

Before she could finish, Emory had already shot his first arrow.

Thunk.

Thirty meters away, the arrow pierced straight through the bullseye.

"T-Ten points? A country bumpkin like Emory... actually hit ten?" Lillian stared at the distant target, face full of disbelief.

"Hmph, he just got lucky. Let him shoot again—he won't hit it." Scarlet scoffed.

But in answer, Emory fired four more arrows.

Each one struck the bullseye clean.

"All... all tens?" Sylas's face darkened.

At that moment, Emory suddenly lowered the wooden bow in his hands. He made no move to shoot again.

"What's the matter, Emory? Lost your nerve? Afraid your luck's run dry?" Lillian sneered.

"I've already won. There's no need to keep shooting." Emory's tone was flat and unbothered.

"Won?" Lillian blinked, then burst into laughter, clutching her stomach. "Emory, are you still half-asleep? Sylas scored ninety-five. You only got fifty. What exactly did you win with—your mouth?"

"Who told you I only scored fifty?" Emory stepped forward, dragging the thirty-meter target out of the way.

And then—

Everyone, including Scarlet, watched in stunned silence as another target, placed fifty meters away, came into view.

Dead center, an arrow.

A perfect ten.

He'd hit both targets with one shot?

"That... that's impossible. A kid from the mountains? And he's that good? Enough to beat a national championship-level archer?" Lillian couldn't accept it.

But the arrow lodged in the bullseye fifty meters out offered no room for denial.

"Sylas. You lost. Hand over the thirty thousand." Emory now stood in front of Sylas, who looked thoroughly defeated. Calmly, Emory extended his hand.

"You—" Sylas gritted his teeth, the bitterness plain on his face. But he knew it. He'd lost. And lost without dignity.

"Emory. You're good. I'll remember you. Here—take your thirty thousand." He tossed a bank card at Emory and left, humiliated and speechless.

After he was gone—

Scarlet stormed up to Emory, anger burning in her eyes. "You cheated, didn't you? A backwoods nobody like you—how could you beat Sylas?"

She had set up the archery match just to humiliate him. Never once did she expect him to shine.

And yet, Emory had stolen the spotlight in one breathtaking moment.

A bumpkin who grew vegetables in the mountains—daring to stand out in her circle?

But—

Emory didn't even look back. He ignored her completely and walked away.

"How dare he just walk away?!" Scarlet stomped her foot in frustration.

"Scarlet," Lillian rushed to console her, "he must've cheated and got scared when you confronted him. That's why he ran."

She huffed and added, "Even if Emory is good at archery, so what? So what if he beat a national-level archer? He still has to play servant to the wealthy.

"Don't even try comparing him to Sylas. Sylas doesn't even have to lift a finger, and his dad drops 700,000 dollars into his account. And Emory? He's in his twenties and doesn't even have thirty thousand to his name. What's he going to achieve in his lifetime?

"Not marrying him was the smartest thing you ever did, Scarlet."

That finally brought some color back to Scarlet's face.

She turned to Lillian and said, "Let's go eat."

…

At the same time, at Blackwell Enterprises—

Michelle had just finished a meeting with her father.

"Dad, I've got a party tonight. I won't be home for dinner."

She said it playfully, almost like a child asking for permission.

"Fine, just don't stay out too late. We've got that meeting with the Hudds Ventures tomorrow," her father reminded her.

"What's even the point of talking to Hudds Ventures?" Michelle rolled her eyes. "That Lucy is so annoying. Thinks she knows everything. And she actually let some foul-mouthed scammer treat her dad's illness?" She scoffed. "It's a joke!"

"I've never seen anything that dumb—drawing charms to cure someone? Saying you'd die by the end of the day?" She snorted. "If I ever run into that quack in Goldspire City, I swear I'll—"

But she didn't get to finish.

With a sudden thud, her father collapsed in front of her. His face had turned black, mottled with strange blood-colored spots.

"Dad? Dad—what's wrong? Don't scare me…" Panic overtook her face as she knelt beside him, realizing—

He wasn't breathing.