The night was ink-black. The workshop stood quietly in a corner far from inhabited areas, with only the breeze slipping through gaps in the roof and bringing faint rustling sounds. The workshop had deliberately been built in such a remote location; Ang did not want it to stand out too much and draw excessive attention from outsiders. Therefore, no dedicated patrols had been arranged in normal times. Only the guards made a round each day to check on security. Standing in the shadows, Ang watched the workshop from afar, considering how its security would have to be adjusted in the future—for example, by placing the barracks beside the workshop to improve response speed.
As he pondered, faint footsteps suddenly came from the distance. Ang's gaze locked onto the sound at once. Sure enough, a figure quietly emerged from a corner of the workshop. The person was still wrapped from head to toe, as though blending into the darkness. At that moment, a weak light came from a small house beside the workshop—a craftsman had gotten up in the night, rubbing his bleary eyes as he walked outside.
Seeing this, a ruthless gleam flashed through the black-clad man's eyes. He swiftly approached the craftsman. His palm lifted slightly, and magical energy faintly gathered in the darkness. He seemed to be preparing a lethal strike.
Ang's heart tightened. Without time to think, he swiftly condensed magic power, and a slender arrow of light appeared at his fingertips. Small and pure, it nearly blended into the surrounding moonlight and shadows.
Whoosh!
The arrow of light shot through the air at incredible speed. The black-clad man did not notice the danger closing in at all. Just as the craftsman was about to be attacked, the light arrow struck the man squarely in the shoulder.