A rare magical miracle in the world-Chapter 795 - 473: Can You Pull It Out? (Seeking Monthly Votes)

Chapter 795: Chapter 473: Can You Pull It Out? (Seeking Monthly Votes)

He was called Saros, son of Emperor Id Halar, grandson of Aoouhustide.

Saros had no fixed abode since childhood, traveling everywhere with his father and elder brother. He didn’t know who his mother was, nor had he ever seen her.

Because his father had passed away when he was very young, from the time Saros had memories, his elder brother took on the heavy burden of the family, protecting him and taking care of him like a parent.

His elder brother was not a strong man, he was frail and sickly from childhood.

In the Yatun Clan, such physical weakness was very rare.

But Saros deeply respected his elder brother, for it was he, despite his frailty, who made every effort to raise him.

Although life was hard, and could even be called poor, Saros cherished those times very much.

When he recalled his childhood, what stood out in Saros’s memory was not the hardship, but the warmth.

The years of dependency on his elder brother were Saros’s most precious treasure.

“Tweet!”

In the dense forest, two arrows struck the eyes of a Red Lion with bright scarlet curly hair.

In winter, it was called Silver Mane, but in summer, people called it the Scarlet Curly Hair, a very ferocious beast almost at the apex of all monsters, a tyrant among them.

However, now it was struggling and wailing in agony because its eyes had been pierced, completely losing its sense of direction, crashing around blindly.

Saros stood on a tree, completely concealing his presence.

Not until the Scarlet Curly Hair fell to the ground and lay still.

“Too foolish.”

The boy, only 13 years old, drew a longbow taller than himself—he saw right through the Red Lion’s act of playing dead.

“Tweet tweet!”

So, two more arrows followed, striking precisely where the previous ones had hit.

They crashed into the rear ends of the earlier arrows, shattering them, and once again buried themselves in the Red Lion’s eyes, which lay grounded.

“Roar!!”

The agonized wailing erupted once more, its ruse exposed; the boy had no intention of confronting it head-on.

He had time; as a hunter, what he had in abundance was patience.

“Hang in there.”

“Let’s see who dies first,” the boy thought to himself.

The young boy wouldn’t eat anything, nor would he move a muscle; he wouldn’t let the Red Lion smell his scent, or hear any loud sounds. Based on his knowledge of the Red Lion, even if the arrows had truly entered its skull, it would not die for a good half day.

As expected, under his meticulous plan, the Red Lion finally died.

And the boy skinned its hide, returning to the village where he lived with his elder brother, like a hero, a person destined for greatness, about whom only the bards sing.

“The Red Lion!”

“It’s really the Red Lion!”

“Saros, Saros hunted down the Red Lion!!”

Incredible, yet it felt inevitable; Saros was only 9 years old, but he had undoubtedly become the finest hunter in the mountain village.

“Saros!!!”

“Celebrate, we must celebrate, this is the Red Lion that only the great heroes of legend can defeat!”

The boy was already the most sought-after talent in the village, and now he had simply done what someone of his identity and ability should do, but he was welcomed and worshipped by everyone.

If it is only the power of one person, that is a mighty person, not a hero.

Saros was young, yet he already exhibited some traits of a leader. He often helped villagers in difficulty, and every winter, Saros would share the spoils of his hunts so they could have a peaceful winter.

Over time, the mere 13-year-old boy had become the most respected person in the mountain village. Everyone trusted him, and they all relied on him.

“Brother! Brother, I’m back!”

The relationship between Saros and his older brother was extremely close. He hunted the Scarlet Curly Hair because he had heard that its red mane in the summer could improve one’s physical constitution.

For this fur, Saros had gone without sleep for several days. Counting the time spent planning, it totaled an entire month.

But it was all worthwhile. As long as his brother could get better, no matter how hard or tiring, Saros didn’t care.

“Brother?”

Yet upon entering, Saros noticed a change in his brother’s complexion, somewhat different from usual.

He furrowed his brows, seemingly pondering something so deeply that he hadn’t even noticed his brother shouting in the yard.

“You’re back?”

His brother looked toward Saros, hesitating to speak, but he was fully aware of his brother’s intelligence and ability. Hiding anything was pointless: “The conscription is coming up.”

“What?”

In the days of Saros’s absence, his brother had been observing the comings and goings in the mountain village and he noticed something off with the mood of the merchants.

Though often sickly, his brother was far from foolish—on the contrary, he was smart enough to detect problems through subtle clues.

In addition, his brother had inherited a vast collection of books from their father. Some had been taken by their father or were damaged, but only his brother had read all of their contents—a feat even Saros couldn’t match.

“Conscription? To our village?”

Saros entertained the thought of fleeing with his brother, but this village had been his home for nearly ten years, holding a lifetime of memories. How could they simply leave?

Moreover, a person must be responsible.

Especially Saros—he found it hard to contemplate leaving his fellow villagers behind to flee solely with his brother.

“Every household must send one man, our family…”

“I’ll go!”

Saros was resolute as he said, “Brother, your body can’t handle war. If it’s me, I won’t die!”

The young Saros was brimming with passion. Curious and hopeful about the future, and confident in his own abilities, Saros was convinced that he was destined for an extraordinary life.

His vision of a bright future assured him that he would not perish on the battlefield—he would not die!

“I am still your brother.”

It was precisely because Saros had more potential that his brother couldn’t let him fall in battle: “You don’t understand the power of miracles. On the battlefield, it’s not just mortals like us. There are Miracle Citizens, and their strength is beyond your imagination.”

His brother going to war meant certain death—there was almost no chance of survival.

But if it meant paving a path for his brother, protecting him with his own life, his brother felt it was his greatest value: “Let me shine just once too.”

‘Not just once.’

‘It’s been more than once already!’

Saros saw the deep respect for his brother, and all the hardships he had endured over the years.

To others, his brother might have seemed merely a foil to himself, but without him, where would today’s young prodigy be?

“Shing!”

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Saros drew his sword and thrust it before his brother: “Can you draw it?”

“You can’t even lift a sword, how can you go to battle!”

Those words were a humiliating blow, but to protect his brother, Saros would rather face a rift between them: “Wait for me in the village, I absolutely won’t die in a place like that!”