“Well, Avela… I can’t say exactly what the problem is,” Dennis muttered, pulling the blanket back over Arin’s still form. “But whatever it is, it’s magical in nature. The symptoms look like extreme malnutrition and exhaustion—far too severe for something that happened in only three days.”

  He stepped back with a troubled expression. “I’ll bring my wife. Maybe she can see something with her magician class that I can’t.”

  “Thank you, Dennis. I just hope everything will be alright…” Avela said, her voice tight.

  “I’d like to say it’ll be fine, but I can’t be sure,” Dennis admitted. “I’ve put him on an IV drip to stabilize his nutrients. Physically, he should recover.”

  He glanced around. “By the way… where’s my brother? He slipped away the moment we arrived.”

  Avela didn’t answer—she simply pointed toward the kitchen with a death glare sharp enough to cut steel.

  Dennis followed her gaze. “He’s… in there?”

  “He’s investigating the thing that put his son in this state instead of worrying about his son,” Avela growled.

  That was all Dennis needed to hear. He quietly backed away, deciding it was far safer to fetch his wife first and then deal with whatever chaos was brewing in the kitchen.

  Arin Wakes

  “…Ugh. Where am I… and why do I feel so weak?”

  Arin blinked groggily up at the ceiling. The room looked vaguely familiar, though it had been transformed into something resembling a makeshift hospital. Even so—he recognized it. Especially the spot above the window frame where he hid his knife.

  “…Mom is going to kill me,” he muttered aloud.

  “I am,” a voice answered instantly.

  Arin shot upright—then immediately regretted it as the room spun. His mother stood beside the bed, arms crossed, face dark as thunder.

  “Now,” she said, “explain. Everything.”

  “Uh—before that… is the bow okay?”

  “Yes, it’s fine,” she snapped.

  “Arin,” his grandfather added from the corner, “answer your mother before you make her even angrier.”

  “Right. Right…” Arin swallowed. “But good to know the bow’s safe. Thanks, Grandpa.”

  He pulled up his status window, wincing as the glowing text appeared.

  Status Log

  Created: Twilight Yew Recurve Bow (Uncommon)

  Experience gained.

  Profession: Bowyer – Stage increase (+0.2)

  Stat point gained: +1 Free Point

  Bowcraft (Inferior) → Bowcraft (Uncommon)

  Combines stringcraft, limb shaping, and material knowledge to create a complete bow. Allows fine-tuning for balance and performance. Gains effectiveness from wisdom.

  Exceeded expected performance at current stage, successfully crafting an Uncommon-rarity bow. Grants easier crafting of bows below Uncommon rarity.

  The Explanation

  “Well… I know what happened.” Arin glanced up at his mother, whose expression clearly said hurry up.

  “It’s partly my own fault,” he admitted. “When my skill upgraded, I got a huge flood of information. And… I crafted something two full rarities above my skill level. That puts enormous strain on the soul.”

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  Avela’s eyes narrowed, but she let him continue.

  “Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem if I were at a higher stage—or if my Bowcraft skill was closer in rarity. But it wasn’t. The bow actually forced a portion of my soul into itself to create the necessary pathways. If I’d been any weaker, my soul would’ve just… given up.”

  The room went silent.

  “But the only reason it worked at all was because of the materials,” Arin said quickly. “I got the main wood from a tree that gave it willingly.”

  “That reminds me—Grandpa!” Arin perked up. “I found an amazing tree in the forest. Already Uncommon rarity! Perfect bow wood! We should avoid cutting down too many trees in that area—who knows what else might be growing there? And with the right professions and mana, we can regenerate the branches!” or even what could be growing in the whole forrest i say we need not scout it out more to see what we are working with.

  “If what you say is true, it would be a waste not to protect it,” Karl muttered, his eyes shining. “I’ll bring it up in the next meeting… after you show me where it is. You said it was a magical yew? Could make incredible longbows—”

  “He’s not going anywhere until he finishes explaining how stupid he was,” Avela snapped.

  “Right. Um. So… the Twilight Yew’s leaves gather mana. In an enclosed space, they created a high-mana concentration. My resources kept regenerating, so I could keep crafting. But the soul strain kept building. At the final moment, when the bow reached Uncommon rarity, it demanded more soul than my skills could guide properly. So the process became extremely inefficient, and it used way too much of my soul.”

  He scratched his cheek awkwardly. “Usually you get that soul portion back as experience, but since it took so much… I passed out so my soul could heal.”

  Arin ended his explanation looking rather proud—expecting praise.

  Instead, he noticed everyone had taken a step back. Even little Tilly, who usually clung to their mother, had retreated behind Karl.

  Avela’s expression looked moments away from explosion.

  “Arin,” she said, voice trembling with fury, “are you an absolute idiot? You almost died—and you’re proud of it?! The only reason you survived at all is because of your physique!”

  He hadn’t been conscious to see it, but while he was asleep, the vines growing along the side of the house had crept through the window and wrapped gently around him, pouring what looked like healing mana into his body. Naturally, this had terrified the family—until they realized it meant Arin likely possessed a rare Physique.

  Not that the news made Avela any less furious, given the grim rumors circulating in recent months.

  “…My physique?” Arin blinked.