Glancing at the fallen body, Ning couldn’t help but tremble.

  As a cultivator with heightened senses, it took him only a moment to realize that the “senior sister” lying on the ground had no breath, no qi circulation, no spiritual fluctuation at all.

  In simpler terms, she wasn’t alive.

  He had walked into a weapon shop, talked to the saleswoman, and she promptly collapsed.

  Having watched plenty of detective shows in his previous life, Ning knew exactly how this story usually went.

  The one who discovered the body was always the prime suspect. Even worse, he was the only person in the shop.

  He was cooked. In this unreasonable world, even a little suspicion was enough to get him in trouble.

  His thoughts spiraled.

  'Was this a setup? A revenge plot? Should he bury the body? Where would he even bury the body? Should he flee the sect? Could he even flee the sect?!'

  Just as he imagined sixty-seven different scenarios ending with his wrongful execution by the Law Enforcement Hall, someone entered.

  Ning froze.

  Because the person who walked in… looked exactly like the “dead” senior sister.

  His mind supplied the only logical conclusion:

  Twins?!

  But that theory died instantly when the newcomer walked over expressionlessly, grabbed the “corpse” by the ankle, lifted it like a sack of rice, and stuffed it into her storage bag without the slightest hesitation.

  Ning stared, horrified beyond measure.

  Then the newcomer spoke.

  “…This. Puppet.”

  Her voice was flat. Her expression did not shift even half a millimeter.

  Ning blinked. “P… puppet?”

  The truth struck him instantly.

  The cheerful, hyperactive, dangerously enthusiastic senior sister from earlier… wasn’t real.

  A puppet refiner. One of the many professions in this world. It involved building a puppet and controlling it to perform tasks.

  Looking back, Ning realized he really hadn’t felt body warmth when being dragged by her. But then again, it was difficult to focus on details while dealing with such a whirlwind of chaos.

  Now that he understood the situation, Ning let out a long sigh. He wanted to give the real senior sister a piece of his mind.

  Did she know how terrifying it was to have someone drop dead mid-conversation?

  But the moment he sensed the faint Foundation Establishment pressure emanating from her, all desire to complain evaporated.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  While puppets were quite handy, cultivators required a spiritual sense to operate them. Moreover, operating the puppet with such ease showed that the senior sister had outclassed his spiritual achievement by an entire realm.

  Alas. In this world, those with the bigger fist had the bigger right.

  While Ning was still having melodramatic thoughts, the real senior sister, Ling Yao, spoke.

  “Junior Brother. Your… weapon?”

  “Yes.” After everything that happened, he only wanted to buy a weapon and leave as quickly as possible.

  She stared at him for three long seconds. “Look.”

  Unlike the puppet, who had been terrifyingly energetic, the real Ling Yao was the complete opposite.

  Stone-faced. Quiet. Minimalistic in speech to the point of concern.

  Truly, an unsuitable personality for a shopkeeper. No wonder she relied on puppets to run the front.

  Though… the puppet was likely configured based on her own inner thoughts, so was that the personality that this real senior sister wanted to exhibit?

  “Hm?” Senior Sister Ling Yao suddenly glanced at him.

  Such sharp instincts!

  Ning just tilted his head innocently. He even blinked innocently, too.

  If the senior sister had found out something, she didn't say, but led him across the store. He followed her quietly through the rows of swords, spears, sabers, and hammers.

  Ling Yao stood silently beside him like a guardian statue, waiting for him to choose so she could return to whatever ascetic activity she did in the back.

  Ning’s eyes scanned the racks. His gaze landed on a simple yet elegant bow hanging in the corner.

  Dark, polished wood streaked with faint cerulean lines. Subtle, refined, not flashy.

  He stepped closer and tested its flexibility.

  “Senior Sister… this bow?”

  She blinked once, slowly. “…Good.”

  “Does it have any special properties?”

  “…Shoots. Straight.”

  Ning took a very deep breath to steady himself.

  “…How much is it?”

  “150 spirit stones.”

  A fair price. Azureback Beast Spine Wood was flexible, resilient, and an excellent conductor of spiritual energy. A proper first-tier low-grade weapon.

  “Can I get a discount?” Ning asked with his best puppy-dog eyes.

  Ling Yao nodded… then shook her head. “…No. But ten arrows free.”

  Ning nodded. “Alright.”

  She handed him the bow without flourish, without a single word of salesmanship, simply placing it in his arms like she was giving him a broom.

  Then she pointed toward the door.

  “…Go.”

  Ning blinked. “…Go?”

  “…Puppet needs repair.”

  “…Ah.”

  He bowed politely, despite her lack of reaction, and stepped outside.

  Only after leaving the shop did he exhale deeply.

  “Truly, the people in this sect are way too diverse when they are not facing the protagonist.” Ning sighed, glancing at the abruptly closed door.

  ...

  Weapons

  From the moment early humans picked up a pointy stick and declared, “Hey, hitting things is easier with this,” civilization began its long march toward dominance. Tools shaped history, kingdoms, and wars.

  Even in a world where people could shoot fireballs from their palms and punch boulders into dust, a simple weapon proved more effective.

  After a year, Ning had finally reached the point where he could possess one of his own. After all, using bare fists was for protagonists blessed with plot armor.

  He was not one of them.

  In this world, weapon users generally fall into two groups:

  Sword users

  Everyone else

  Swords, of course, included anything vaguely sword-shaped, three meters long, curved like a banana, or simply rod-like. The only requirement was the wielder’s attitude.

  A perfect example was the sect leader, whose philosophy was “shattering ten thousand laws with a single sword.” Sword in hand, sword in heart, sword in soul.

  They lived by the sword, breathed by the sword, and rumor had it, slept hugging their swords like beloved spouses.

  Their devotion was terrifying. Their attack power, even more so.

  But Ning?

  Ning was self-aware.

  He liked a shiny metal sword as much as any guy, but he didn't love it deeply enough to dedicate his entire existence to it. He was a pragmatist. He used whatever worked, martial arts, spells, weapons if necessary.

  After much consideration, he chose the bow.

  Long range. Low risk. High practicality.

  But the true reason?

  He realized he had accidentally assembled the perfect toolkit for a very specific archetype:

  The inevitable end-point of every Skyrim playthrough.

  The stealth archer.

  His Turtle Breathing Technique concealed his presence.

  His Shadow Steps allowed silent movement.

  Add a bow and arrows?

  Perfect synergy.

  To top it all off, he had successfully extracted a mild poison from Poison Lilies, strong enough to torment early-stage beasts.

  Long-range attacks.

  Concealed positioning.

  Poisoned arrows.

  All in all, not bad, if he had to say so himself.

  ...

  Thanks for reading~