Using every material at hand, the ballista's range was still insufficient. Perhaps the issue wasn't the kinetic energy stored by the ballista.
But the bolts themselves.
Javelins were designed for mid-range piercing—heavy head, light tail—emphasizing impact and surprise, not flight time.
Chuck needed range and hang time. From the start, javelins were the wrong choice.
His assumption that using existing javelins would save time was flawed.
Realizing this, Chuck's mind cleared.
He unloaded the javelin, shouldered the ballista, and returned to the stone platform.
At home, the women were up and busy. But unlike before, Jiang Qi's room became the center of attention.
Every now and then, someone checked on her. Washed fruit from Yitong sat by her bed, and an extra blanket covered her. She was treated like a little princess.
Chuck felt gratified but not relaxed.
This treatment meant her deteriorating condition was obvious to everyone. Her illness had entered the terminal stage and was accelerating, just as he predicted.
Time was truly running out.
Forget rekindling their romance; even if they had just reunited, Chuck wouldn't let Jiang Qi die in front of him.
Trusting the women to care for her, Chuck threw himself into his goal.
Back at the forging table with tools and javelins, he began modifications.
To improve hang time, he needed to lighten the head to balance the center of gravity and add fletching.
Lacking bird feathers, Chuck opted for thin copper sheets cast and embedded in the tail. Lightening the head meant re-forging.
Firing up the furnace, Chuck worked until noon, modifying all five steel javelins into large "bolts."
Lunch was ready. Seeing him busy, Yitong silently kept his portion warm and watched him leave for the southern beach again.
Setting up the ballista, Chuck placed the coconut shell over 200 meters away this time.
Returning to the ballista, the shell was a tiny dot. Drawing the bow, tension rose.
This was the critical moment. If it failed, he had no other ideas.
Adjust angle, check height. Chuck took a deep breath and pressed the trigger.
The streamlined bolt with three copper fins shot out with a whistle. Speed and angle were visibly improved!
Chuck's heart pounded. He watched the bolt spin through the air, sailing straight past the black dot and landing near the beach edge by the reef.
Ignoring everything else, Chuck sprinted.
Passing the 200m mark, he slowed, counting steps. Reaching the bolt, he picked it up...
His tense face broke into ecstasy.
320 meters!
And this was the first shot without fine-tuning!
With practice and optimal angles, 400 meters wasn't a dream!
Though still far from the legendary ancient range, it met Chuck's standard and neared his ideal!
If he could practice enough to hit accurately at 300+ meters...
Forget the tiger. From now on, any land animal on this island was prey!
Chuck's Island Slayer was finally ready!
...
Though the ballista was done, Chuck remembered to take it step by step.
In the sunny afternoon, he polished telescope lenses on the forging table.
Focus was key. He constantly tested the lenses in the unglued tube, adjusting as needed.
A simple Galilean telescope ideally magnified 8-10x, but with Chuck's mental stats, 3-5x with stable focus was enough.
Yesterday, Julia asked a soul-searching question: "Why not use your phone camera?"
Chuck felt enlightened initially, but testing revealed the phone screen didn't magnify as imagined and negated his keen perception.
His brain needed direct visual input. Digital zoom just made things blurry.
So he just needed a vision-enhancing tool.
Soon, lenses were done. Conservative polishing yielded about 4x magnification with minimal impurities.
All tools ready.
Next: practice, or rehearsal.
But this damn island loved opposing him at critical moments.
2 PM: clear skies turned dark. Clouds gathered over the sea.
2:30 PM: rain poured down.
Ten minutes later, women scrambled to bring everything inside. The rain became the heaviest storm yet, mixed with gale-force winds.
The sunny island plunged into night-like darkness.
Chuck stood by the window, watching the 45-degree rain, his face darker than the sky.
He had ignored the weather after days of sunshine.
The island's weather was fickle.
This rain came at the worst time...
Based on patterns, it would last at least a day or two.
He looked at the storage room.
Jiang Qi lay quietly, but her pale face and furrowed brows signaled her critical condition.
Chuck clenched his fists and brows.
No frustration or regret, only anger at the island.
Unlike Momo or Valentina, he had anticipated this, planned ahead, and executed methodically.
Yet he still ended up here.
His fists clenched tighter, nails digging into flesh.
The island always did this—pouring cold water when things looked smooth, forcing him to scramble.
As if... some existence watched him, just to mess with him.
If his old theory about this being a survival game world was true...
Was this existence the game admin?
Chuck sighed and shook his head. Too bizarre even for him.
But the damn weather was undeniably blocking him.
Chuck exhaled, a fire burning in his eyes.
Heavy rain, sure. But if some existence thought this would make him sit and stare helplessly...
They underestimated him.
Chuck grabbed his iron axe and tools from the wall, strapped them on, and walked to the door.
Julia, cleaning the table, widened her eyes. "Darling?! It's raining! Where are you going?"
"Don't worry. I'll be back before dark. Rest and take care of Jiang Qi."
Without further words, Chuck pushed open the door and stepped into the dense rain curtain without looking back.
...
He couldn't practice aiming in the rain, but the ballista and telescope were ready.
Step three remained unfinished.
He would travel to the western tropical jungle in the storm and clear an escape route to the plains outskirts.
Once the rain stopped, all conditions for killing the tiger would be met.
The only issue: no time to practice aiming.
This wasn't about being a simp. As a harem protagonist, Chuck's conviction was to protect his women. If one died before him, he failed and didn't deserve their love.
So if Jiang Qi's life hung by a thread and couldn't wait a day, Chuck would brave the storm to face the tiger, practice be damned.
With this resolve, soaked Chuck marched steadily towards the west.
Heavy rain just meant a long cold shower for his superhuman body.
It took half an hour to cross the stone beach and redwood forest, usually a ten-minute trip. He reached the tropical jungle.
Trees blocked some wind and rain, speeding him up slightly, but the muddy ground made every step harder. Occasionally, water accumulated in the canopy dumped on him like a water bomb.
Crossing the jungle, he reached the plains outskirts, looking at the lake hundreds of meters away.
Rain obscured most of his vision, but he could tell the animal herds were gone, likely hiding in nearby bushes.
No sign of the tiger. Chuck didn't dawdle. He drew his knife and axe, turned back, and walked slowly along his path.
His hand began swinging the knife continuously.
His target was a clearing about 300 meters from the jungle edge—the spot where he found mulberries and silkworms. With the mulberry trees dug up, it was a flat, open space surrounded by tall trees, like a skylight in the forest.
That would be Valentina's rendezvous point. Chuck needed to clear branches and thorns all the way there, creating a safe running path.
Finally, he would set a trap there strong enough to hold the big cat!