Emma held her breath and darted out from around the corner.
An arrow shot out, striking the young soldier squarely in the forehead.
"Huh? I haven't even tried yet, so why'd you fall down?"
The older soldier let out a drunken hiccup, his eyes half-open as he watched the young soldier fall stiffly before him.
The alcohol had numbed his brain, preventing him from processing what had happened. Then, he felt something splash onto his face.
He touched it with his finger.
"Hey? You youngsters have no manners. You can't hold your liquor, so you spit on me...? Huh? Why is this spit red…?"
He didn't get to finish his sentence. An arrow struck him in the forehead.
His body fell stiffly to the ground.
"This liquor… is really strong. Good… good stuff…"
Emma: "…"
Even though both shots had been beautiful, for some reason, she felt no sense of accomplishment.
But there was no time to dwell on that now.
