Leveling Up My Bow In The Apocalypse

The fight made me realize how little I had accomplished since entering the tutorial. They were all higher level than me, with the average warrior being level 7 in their class, more than double what I had been. I had already decided that I would need to go hunting.

I selected the skill and felt the same sensation as when I first received my class. This time, however, much weaker. It gave me something that I wasn't sure if I could call "knowledge," but I still understood it instinctively. Perhaps it was due to my lineage skill, but I doubted it. Either way, now I knew how to sneak around a bit better than before. They were small, subtle things, far from being a complete guide to becoming a master thief.

I closed all the menus and felt quite satisfied with myself. Maybe a little sad that gaining a new skill was so anticlimactic. No laser beam skills or shooting down the eight suns with eight arrows had been acquired.

Finally, I got up from the log and stretched my back. The smell of iron instantly reminded me that I was still covered in blood. Or, more precisely, my cloak and face were covered. I took off the cloak, seeing that my shirt and pants underneath were spared from the torrent of blood. Quickly, I ran to the nearby small river, cleaned my face, and ran back to the camp, the whole trip taking less than a minute.

As I felt revitalized, I also began to feel strangely naked. I immediately realized that I had no weapon with me. My knife had been disarmed, and my bow, cut. I saw that the others were still near the corpses, and I began walking over there. First, I reached the dead Fatal Shot and grabbed the bow I had knocked down, noticing that it was identical to the old one. The only difference was that this one was intact.

While I grabbed the bow, I couldn't help but look at the dead Fatal Shot, with arrows still sticking out of him, although the blood had long since stopped flowing. The man's eyes were still wide open, showing visible horror. I looked at him until I stopped. Then, I surveyed the other corpses: the man with a sword still lodged in his skull, and the other lying in a pool of his own blood.

At the same time, I noticed the looks everyone gave me. It wasn't the same look of guilt for causing Abigail's wounds, like before. It was a look of fear. That's when it hit me, much later than it should have.

The attackers were human. I had just murdered three human beings.

.

.

.

Murder. Killing. Homicide.

The act of taking another human's life has many names in society. No matter what name is given, it is a crime. It is immoral. And even if morality were completely ignored, the act of removing another member of society is, in most cases, a detriment to that said society. Ending another life is inherently abominable to humans, and even if the act were one hundred percent justified, it will often leave the killer traumatized by the experience.

In many comics, whenever a hero kills a villain, it's the moment they become a villain. It is seen as a turning point for the character – their fall to the dark side.

These were just some of the thoughts running through my head as I sat on the grass, staring at the ground, reflecting on my feelings about what had happened that night.

I killed not just one, but three people. Logically, I knew it was self-defense. They tried to kill me, so I killed them. It was justified, and in many countries, it could even be considered legal. Hell, it could even be argued that I was in a situation comparable to a war zone, making the laws of war apply, in which case I simply killed enemy combatants.

Even if I got past the fact that I killed them, the way I did it couldn't be ignored, however. I didn't think about the ferocity of my actions during the fight, but upon seeing the corpses, it couldn't be clearer how brutal I had been. Especially with Fatal Shot... I immobilized him and just kept stabbing him repeatedly with arrows until he finally stopped moving. It was a classic example of excessive force.

The acts of brutality could perhaps be explained by my inexperience in combat, the adrenaline pumping through me as I fought, and my enhanced instincts taking over, but what I couldn't explain was how I felt while doing it... and afterward. I didn't feel anything when I killed them. It was as if I were simply checking off three items on a list as I ended their lives, one by one.

After the fight, the only thing I felt was euphoria. I had never felt better. More alive. The relief, the sense of superiority, and the overwhelming feeling of "winning" were so intense, so addictive. If this feeling was due to my enhanced instincts, as I suspected... that meant my basic instinct, my core being, enjoyed killing.

No, that's wrong, I corrected myself. I didn't feel any pleasure in killing the badgers, and I didn't feel any particularly strong emotion after the big boar. I only felt contentment afterward. I didn't like the simple act of killing... I liked the hunt. The challenge of the kill. I liked the feeling of defeating my enemy.

I was never the confrontational or aggressive type; in fact, I made an effort to avoid conflict whenever possible. But I liked challenges. I liked pushing myself to the limit and trying to improve. Putting my whole being into something and fighting for the top. That's how I got so good at archery. That's how I graduated as one of the best in the class. Not because I was particularly smart, but because I liked seeing the number on my test score go up, so I pushed myself to make that happen.

I remembered one of my teachers describing me as "driven" and "ambitious." I wasn't sure if I agreed with either of those terms, but I liked choosing tough fights and coming out on top. What people misunderstood, however, was that it wasn't because of the reward of the challenge. I did it for the challenge itself. The outcome wasn't necessarily relevant.

That's how I felt about the fight that, in the end, resulted in the death of three human beings as well. I felt that the outcome, their deaths, was ultimately irrelevant. It was the process of the fight that was my goal, not the deaths of the three. It was just the inevitable result of a life-or-death battle.

And that was the core of my problem. After reflecting on my emotions and summing it all up, I concluded that I simply didn't care much. Whether they were humans or beasts, in the end, they were just challenges to be overcome. The only feeling of remorse or regret I've ever had so far in this tutorial was when Abigail got hurt.

Even so, I knew I thought it was more her fault than mine. A part of me hated feeling that way, but when I thought about the situation, I just couldn't find anyone else to blame except her.

She shouldn't have tripped in the first place. As a spellcaster, she could have at least tried to use the Mana Barrier that all spellcasters knew they had. Freezing right after tripping certainly didn't help her chances either. If she hadn't, rolling out of the way of the charge would have been more than possible.

If all else failed, she could have at least prevented one member from being trampled so they could fix him with a potion, like they did with the other leg. In other words, if I were in her place during the fight, I wouldn't have ended up losing a leg.

But it happened, and now she was just a burden. Me and everyone else in the group were aware of this, but no one really wanted to express it. Leaving her behind wasn't any different from letting her die. None of us wanted that on our conscience, and no one wanted to leave a colleague and a friend behind. Not even me, despite my frustration with her. But at the same time, I knew it couldn't stay this way forever.

I finally realized I didn't fit in with the group, probably a little late in hindsight. They were corporate workers, civilians in every sense of the word. The only fight any of them had ever been in was sports like boxing. I doubted any of the group had ever been in a bar fight or anything like that, except for one person.

Xavier stood out. He was determined and strong even before the tutorial. He handled his shield and sword well, and he didn't hesitate to attack. The man had the eyes and demeanor of a fighter and was undoubtedly the strongest person in the group, except for me, but he was tied to Lucas. Comparing my disorganized group of office workers to those I had killed was like night and day.

Though still amateurs with their weapons, the ambushers who attacked us were far from being novices in combat. They had a plan of attack, a very good one in my opinion, and they had the courage to fight. They had the guts to watch a group of 10 with just three people. Their hope was probably to kill them quickly before they had time to wake up the others. Then, they would proceed to wipe out the entire camp before we could organize a counterattack.

Their levels also spoke to their proficiency. They dared to hunt beasts or other humans to gain their levels, meaning they had been fighting most of the time since entering the tutorial. They just had the bad luck of encountering me as a lookout. If it had been anyone else, the chances are that most of the group would be dead by now.

...

1700 Words