Han Zhu had served as the vilge chief for over 20 years. In all that time, he had never encountered something so terrifying—something that should have remained unknown. Even when he traveled in his younger days, seeking to improve his cultivation but ultimately getting stuck at Second Arc: Inner Expansion, he had never heard of such a thing.

  "Hmmm... why has this misfortune suddenly fallen upon us? Have we done something to deserve this? Oh, heavens, is this retribution for my past actions?" he murmured to himself, rubbing his temples.

  From a distance, he saw Han Zhe approaching with his son. The sight unsettled him. Han Zhe was not a man easily shaken, yet there was a stiffness in his walk, a hesitation in his step. Meanwhile, Han Ye looked exhausted, as if he had been deprived of sleep for days.

  "Han Zhe, why are you here?" Han Zhu asked, straightening his posture.

  "Oh, my son wants to participate in the Archer Sect Selection Test," Han Zhe replied, his voice calm but ced with an undercurrent of something else.

  "Today?"

  "Yes, vilge chief."

  Han Zhu studied Han Ye carefully. The boy’s face was pale, dark circles under his eyes. His breathing was steady but unnatural, as though his body was in turmoil.

  "Then why does your son look like he's been pushed past his limits?" Han Zhu inquired.

  "Ah... He’s been training too hard," Han Zhe answered, a tight-lipped smile forming on his face.

  Han Zhu narrowed his eyes. He wasn’t convinced, but he also knew that Han Zhe wouldn’t reveal the full truth so easily.

  "Alright, be careful," the vilge chief finally said, watching as the father and son duo continued walking.

  As they left the vilge behind, Han Ye remained silent.

  The mark on his hand had vanished—or rather, it had sunk into his flesh, disappearing from sight as if it had never existed. But he could still feel it deep within him. It wasn’t painful, but it felt wrong, like something constantly whispering to him from just beyond his senses.

  And strangely, ever since it disappeared, his body had changed. His strength, his endurance—everything had improved beyond what he could expin. He could feel his muscles were denser, his bones sturdier, his perception sharper.

  "Is this the mark’s doing?" Han Ye clenched his fist.

  Han Zhe cast a gnce at his son. He could see the tension in the boy’s body, the way his shoulders were slightly hunched, how his hand trembled for just a fraction of a second before tightening into a fist.

  "You’re not alright," Han Zhe stated. It wasn’t a question.

  Han Ye let out a slow breath. "I will be."

  Han Zhe sighed. "You should rest, but I know you won’t."

  "I can't," Han Ye admitted. "The moment I close my eyes, I hear something."

  Han Zhe tensed. "What do you hear?"

  Han Ye hesitated. The words were not his own—they echoed in his mind like whispers from another world. He could not understand them, yet they felt familiar.

  "Knowledge must be known. Truth must be seen. What is unknown must be unveiled."

  "I… don’t know," Han Ye finally said. "It’s just whispers, like something is trying to tell me something. But the more I listen, the less I understand."

  Han Zhe’s grip on his sword tightened. He had to do something—before it was too te.

  The Archer Sect was one of the smaller sects, but it was well-respected for its discipline and training. Unlike other sects, which focused on brute strength or mystical arts, the Archer Sect emphasized precision, patience, and adaptability.

  A rge field stretched out before them, filled with young cultivators—each hoping to be chosen. Some wielded ordinary bows, while others carried spirit-forged ones, infused with elemental energy.

  A tall, broad-shouldered man stood at the center of the training ground. His presence alone made the weaker cultivators shrink back. This was Elder Meng, a respected master of the sect.

  Han Ye sighed inwardly. This wasn’t his choice.

  At first, he had wanted to enter the sect, but after everything that had happened—the book, the mark, the whispers—he wasn't sure anymore. Yet, his father had insisted.

  "Why do I have to go?" Han Ye had asked.

  Han Zhe had simply replied, "So you can be independent."

  That answer hadn't satisfied him, but he knew arguing was pointless.

  Elder Meng’s sharp gaze swept across the gathered applicants.

  "You all have come here today because you believe you have the talent to join our sect. But belief is not enough. Skill, precision, and discipline—that is what we demand!" his voice rang out.

  The first test was simple: shoot a moving target from 50 meters away.

  One by one, the young archers stepped forward. Some missed entirely, their arrows striking the dirt. Others grazed the target, but only a handful hit their mark cleanly.

  When it was Han Ye’s turn, he felt every gaze upon him. He raised his bow—his breathing steady, his mind focused. But the moment he prepared to fire, something strange happened.

  The mark inside his body pulsed.

  A second vision overpped with reality—he saw all possible paths the arrow could take, the trajectory, the wind resistance, the exact moment to release. It was knowledge beyond normal human limits.

  Thwip!

  The arrow flew—not just hitting the target, but piercing the very center, splitting the previous best shot in two.

  Silence.

  Then, murmurs.

  Even Elder Meng raised an eyebrow.

  Han Ye clenched his hand. He did not know whether to feel proud or afraid.

  The test had only just begun, but something deep within him whispered…

  "This is only the first step."