Chapter 78

Six hundred meters away, on a hill.

The cold wind howled, creating a sound akin to a woman's soft cries. Weathered sand and tiny stones covered the surface of the hill, and with the gusts of wind, they flowed like liquid, slowly shifting under the force. In the center of this flow, a large black rock stood, unmoving.

On this rock, a massive crossbow, over the length of a man, was anchored. The quarrels in the slots resembled knight's lances in both thickness and length, their silver tips gleaming with a chilling light that sent a shiver down the spine.

Richard placed his hand on the great crossbow, squinting as he watched the distant "black dot"—the target he intended to strike. In the next moment, he took a deep breath, mentally calculating the distance, the drop, and the wind speed, adjusting the crossbow accordingly.

His hand moved to the series of cranks on the side of the machine, quickly turning them over a dozen times. The crossbow's direction and elevation began to change.

Adjustment. Re-adjustment. Continual refinement.

A few minutes later, Richard stopped, nodding in satisfaction.

He placed his finger on the trigger, slowly applying pressure.

Whoosh!

The quarrel shot out like a streak of black light, carrying with it unmatched force, instantly vanishing into the distance. After a hundred meters, it became a blur of afterimages, its speed too fast for an average person to track.

Then...

In the valley below, Count William continued to ponder, still trying to figure out the cause of the ambush he hadn't detected. Suddenly, he heard the faintest sound—almost like the rush of a quarrel slicing through the air. Instinctively, his body jerked, his senses alert to impending danger. He twisted sharply, diving behind a nearby rock.

At the same moment, Edward, too, reacted.

The two of them, almost in sync, ducked behind the rocks, and the soldiers around them looked on, confused.

"What just happened?" one of them asked, utterly perplexed.

In reality, nothing had occurred.

A full half-minute passed before Count William, his face darkening, stood up from behind the rock. He glanced at the confused soldiers and felt his face burn with embarrassment. He quickly turned toward Edward and snapped, "What was that all about? You startled me half to death! I thought we were under attack!"

Edward stood, unable to respond, feeling the sting of humiliation. Just like William, he had instinctively dodged out of the way, believing danger was imminent. But when nothing happened, he felt his dignity slip away, even more so because he had to take the blame for William's actions.

"He's the one who panicked," Edward thought bitterly, "and now I'm the one who looks like a fool." He ground his teeth in frustration. "It would serve him right if there was an actual attack, and I could see him fall." However, outwardly, Edward kept a respectful demeanor, lowering his head and apologizing, "Uncle, I was too tense, and that's why…"

"Forget it," William muttered, brushing him off. He waved his hand in dismissal and began to scan the surroundings, continuing to ponder the strange feeling of danger and trying to understand its source.

Six hundred meters away, on the hill.

Richard's eyes narrowed as he looked at the long quarrel embedded in the far hillside, his expression unchanged.

The previous shot had not struck anyone, nor had it even come close to being seen by Count William. It wasn't a miss; it was a deliberate test shot, a final adjustment before making the real attempt.

The reality of long-range weaponry was far more complex than it seemed in movies. In films, characters could easily take out targets from hundreds of meters away with a sniper rifle. In truth, even the best snipers cannot guarantee hitting a target at such a distance. It's not only about a moving target but also the influence of external environmental factors, as well as the mechanical tolerance of the weapon itself.

The world isn't like the virtual games—there are no weapons that are 100% accurate. Even the highest-quality firearms have significant tolerances. That's why, before firearms are shipped out for use, they undergo a crucial process called "zeroing"—where shots are fired to adjust the sights and fine-tune the weapon's accuracy until it meets the standards.

When a firearm is disassembled and reassembled, it typically requires re-zeroing to ensure accuracy. The movies where a hitman assembles a sniper rifle in moments and effortlessly eliminates a target miles away—those scenes are pure fiction.

Richard's crossbow, while meticulously crafted by the skilled artisan Mark, was subject to similar real-world variables. The materials and manufacturing quality of the current world meant that slight deviations were inevitable.

These deviations were acceptable at distances of two to three hundred meters, but at six hundred meters, even a small miscalculation could result in a miss by several dozen centimeters—or even more.

A perfectly prepared gift was meaningless if it wasn't delivered with precision.

Thus, Richard took the time to test the shot.

Watching the quarrel embedded in the hillside three hundred meters away, Richard quickly calculated the error, inputting the data into the pre-established error equation to determine the deviation at six hundred meters.

With a click, a new, long quarrel was carefully loaded into the crossbow's slot. Richard then spun the crank again, adjusting the aim.

Creak, creak, creak…

The crossbow's direction and elevation were recalibrated, ensuring the most accurate aim for the final shot.

Without any unnecessary hesitation, Richard squinted, his finger gently pressing the trigger again.

This time, the quarrel shot out, a forceful and unstoppable projectile racing toward its target six hundred meters away.

Whoosh!

In the valley below, Count William suddenly looked up, feeling an even stronger sense of danger than before. His body tensed as his hairs stood on end, his instinct screaming at him to move.

"Damn it!"

He cursed under his breath, about to turn and dodge again, but before the thought could fully form, he saw a massive, exaggerated quarrel hurtling toward him in the air.

Dodge!

He twisted his body with all his might, but before he could react further, the quarrel was already upon him. Without mercy, it pierced through his chest with a sickening thunk, and less than a millisecond later, the tip of the quarrel emerged from his back, embedding itself deep into the ground nearly half a meter below the surface.

Count William was pinned to the earth, a victim of Richard's unerring aim.