บท 683: Operation

Rather than the scimitar in his hand, Azheba much preferred to use a bow. He had a strange supposition that a saber might hurt him while a bow and arrow would not.

He still remembered how excited he was to receive his first little bow at the age of five. He didn't let go of it even when he ate or slept. In just three days, the tents were riddled with arrow-holes. He destroyed his mother's favorite clothes and the servants covered their butts while telling on him. But his father only laughed, took him in his arms, and proclaimed, "This is my son, the marksman of the prairie!"

Remembering the scene in the past, a faint smile appeared on his face. When he grew up, he had become a marksman. Unfortunately, ever since he had left his family and come to the Royal Court, the title had been worthless.

When he noticed that Liman was staring at him quizzically, Azheba put away his smile and whispered, "Nothing. I'm just being absent-minded."