I Can Copy And Evolve Talents

Chapter 1221: Enthusiasm of a Crafter

Sael looked at Northern in intense disbelief.

’I just created it.’

’I just created it.’

’I just created it.’

’...’

The words continued to echo in his mind, impossible and real all at once.

’I just created it. I just created it.’

No one. Absolutely no one could ”just” create a Heroic rank item.

And yet...

He gazed at Northern, searching for some hint of deception, some sign of exaggeration. There was none. No need for Northern to lie to him—what would be the point? Which meant Sael had to come to terms with an absurd reality: Northern could apparently create a Heroic rank item in, what, seven minutes?

’Seven minutes.’

Northern, observing the shaken Sage, narrowed his brows with something that might have been concern.

”Do you find it to your dissatisfaction?”

His tone was measured, almost clinical.

”If you give your reviews about it, I’m sure I can fix it. I tried to use the exact structure of your Brown Moon Bow.”

Sael hugged the shadow bow to his chest, turning slightly away from Northern like a child protecting a treasure.

”Eh? Lord Northern, are you serious?”

The words tumbled out breathlessly.

”My dissatisfaction? The last time I’ve been this satisfied was when I had Moon Bow made in Elmiush.”

He pressed the bow closer, marveling at its weight—or rather, the strange absence of weight, as though it existed between shadow and substance.

”And this... it’s even better! I feel like I can see!”

Northern smiled, pleasant and genuine.

’Good. For a moment there, I thought I didn’t get it right.’

”Yeah, that.”

He shifted his stance, settling into explanation like it was the most natural thing in the world.

”My shadow is semi-autonomous, so it has a sense of its own. That’s why I asked you to feed it your essence. As long as there’s a constant flow between you and the bow, you’ll be able to see to a certain degree.”

He drew a short breath.

”Moreover, since the bow is semi-autonomous, I added a little property that would affect your arrows and make them choose their own path—the best path to destructive offense.”

Oblivious to Sael’s mouth widening as color drained from his face, Northern continued.

”That simply means it can turn away and strike somewhere else at the last moment. Or even turn around to strike a vulnerable position you didn’t think of.”

His explanation was methodical, almost academic.

”The bow itself should help you when using it to block attacks.”

He paused.

”Are you okay? Why do you look like that?”

Northern frowned slightly, finally noting the ghostly pallor spreading across Sael’s features.

’Did I mess something up?’

Sael slowly closed his mouth. He looked at the bow in his hands—this impossible, beautiful weapon—then returned his eyes to Northern.

”It’s...” His voice was barely a whisper. ”It’s better than my Moon Bow.”

Northern smiled. Pride stirred in his chest, warm and unfamiliar. He hadn’t even properly learned to build a bow yet, and here was a Sage treating his improvised creation like a relic. The compliment felt... satisfying. Unexpectedly so.

”That’s good, then.” He let the moment settle before adding, ”But it’s all temporary. Since I created it with my shadow, the bow will disappear soon—if my essence depletes or I decide to call back that portion of my shadow.”

Sael’s expression crumbled. He looked dejected, childlike, like someone told the sky would fall tomorrow.

”Ah, I, uh...”

Northern shook his head, curling one corner of his lips upward.

’He really does love his weapon. I’ll try making a real bow with these properties later.’

”Well,” he said aloud, ”that should leave you sufficient to take care of a Devilish Destroyer.”

Sael nodded immediately, eagerly.

”Yes! This is more than sufficient!”

Northern’s smile turned subtle. He folded his arms, glancing around the chamber—dozens of tunnels branching off like veins through stone. The labyrinth pressed in from all sides, dense and disorienting. Of course, only him could clearly see all.

”There are several tunnels and chambers surrounding us right now. Go straight and turn to your left—it’ll lead you to the monster.”

He met Sael’s eyes.

”This place is a labyrinth. I’m not done sorting out the channels myself, so you’ll want to make sure you don’t get lost. Also, try not to get swayed. This particular devil seems to be... well, I think you’ll ace it!”

Sael nodded, attentive as a student before a master.

”Thank you for your belief in me, Lord Northern. I will make sure not to get lost.”

He threw Northern a wide wave—almost comically enthusiastic—and walked deeper into the tunnel, shadow bow gleaming in his hands.

Northern, meanwhile, turned to the wall beside him. Without ceremony, he broke through it with his bare hands, stone crumbling like dried clay. He stepped into another channel and kept walking, leaving behind a Northern-shaped hole in the rock.

Sael continued for a while, footsteps echoing against stone. When he reached the junction Northern had described, he made sure to turn left, just as instructed.

The Devilish Destroyer was waiting somewhere ahead.

The tunnel opened into a cavern.

Sael stopped at the threshold, bow raised, arrow of white light already nocked. Combat instinct—the kind earned through years, not taught in academies. The chamber stretched wide before him. Fifty meters across, maybe more. Stalactites hung from the ceiling like teeth in a stone mouth, each one thick as a man’s torso. Water dripped somewhere in the darkness, invisible but insistent. Echoing. Rhythmic.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

His light arrow pushed back the shadows, carving out a sphere of visibility that moved with him. At the center of that sphere, he could see something.

...Someone.

’A survivor? But Lord Northern didn’t—’

Sael moved forward, careful to keep his arrow trained ahead even as he approached. The light poured across a pale face, and details crystallized—pointed ears, fair skin drawn tight over elegant bones.

’An elf?’

The elf looked up when Sael’s light reached them fully. Relief flooded their features, desperate and raw.

”Help—”

The word died.

Something moved in the darkness beyond his light. Not walked. Not even stalked. Moved. Like oil sliding across water, like smoke given weight and hunger.

Sael’s grip tightened on Northern’s shadow bow.

The weapon responded immediately. Essence flowed between them—his own energy meeting that semi-autonomous awareness—and suddenly his senses sharpened. He could feel it now, the bow teaching him to see differently, to perceive what eyes alone couldn’t catch. The air pressure shifting. The way sound bent around something massive. The cold that came from more than temperature.

And what he saw made his breath catch.

Eight feet of emaciated horror crouched at the cavern’s edge, just beyond his light’s reach. Skeletal limbs too long for its frame, joints bending at angles that suggested additional bones human bodies never possessed. What he’d first thought was skin revealed itself as liquid shadow—constantly dripping, constantly evaporating, like it existed between states of matter. No eyes visible in that elongated skull.

Yet Sael felt its attention lock onto him with predatory precision.

The Penumbral Stalker tilted its head. Slowly. The movement was wrong—too smooth, too serpentine for anything with bones. Like a puppet whose strings pulled differently than flesh and joint should allow.

Then it smiled.

Rows of needle teeth gleamed in the darkness, catching his light and reflecting it back. Like stars in a void. Like promises of pain written in enamel and hunger.

The elf whimpered.

Sael didn’t lower his bow.

’Of course it kept bait alive. This...’

His mind raced through Northern’s explanation. Semi-autonomous arrows. Ability to choose optimal paths. The bow itself could help block attacks—

The Stalker moved.

Fast.