Entertainment: Starting as a Succubus, Taking Hollywood by Storm-Chapter 452 - 451: Martin’s Archery—Awe and Admiration

To be honest, after quickly skimming through his memory of "Kate Middleton," Martin felt that this woman wasn't necessarily pursuing a relationship with William out of love—it was more about becoming "Princess Kate."

Or rather, it was an obsession.

After all, what truly loving wife could remain so calm and composed in the face of her husband's repeated infidelities?

But in a way, Kate might actually be the ideal wife in the eyes of many men. That kind of borderline inhuman tolerance was extremely rare.

Martin shifted his gaze away from Kate without a hint of emotion.

The group made their way to the stables to select their hunting horses.

On the way, Harry leaned in close and whispered, "Martin, you know what? I find Kate kind of scary. I always feel like there's something off about her... The way she looks at William... it's like she's—uh—stalking prey."

Martin raised an eyebrow.

This kid had surprisingly sharp instincts.

Because in a way, William was Kate's prey.

But Martin simply said, "You're overthinking it."

His tone was the kind adults use when trying to reassure children—making Harry roll his eyes in exasperation.

Martin picked out a beautiful white stallion. With one smooth, effortless motion, he leaped onto the saddle, his movements graceful and fluid.

His skill instantly drew everyone's attention.

Even Kate—who usually only had eyes for William—couldn't help but steal a glance.

A young nobleman named Caddell Grey exclaimed in admiration, "That was incredible! The technique, the posture—so smooth! You must ride often, Martin."

Martin casually hung his compound bow on the saddle's hook and smiled. "I own a ranch in Australia with a fine stable of horses. You guys should come visit sometime."

"Can we hunt there?"

"If you enjoy hunting kangaroos."

(PS: Due to their overwhelming population, kangaroo hunting is legal in Australia—but requires a hunting permit.)

Woof, woof, woof!

A pack of hunting hounds flushed a massive red deer out of the forest.

It was a magnificent stag—tall, muscular, its deep brown coat speckled with white, and atop its head, a set of six-pointed antlers.

Panicked by the dogs, the stag bolted toward the group at full speed.

Its instincts told it that horses weren't a threat.

But it failed to account for the humans riding them.

Kate, being the least experienced rider, had fallen behind.

William, staying close to keep an eye on her, was riding beside her.

"The stag's a fine trophy," William noted. "But it's fast—won't be easy to hit."

Bang!

Before he even finished speaking, gunshots rang out.

Prince Harry and a few other noblemen had fired—but missed.

Red deer were once used as cavalry mounts in Europe.

These creatures were nearly as tall as Mongolian warhorses and could outrun many breeds.

But they were easily spooked, which was why they were eventually abandoned for use in battle.

Now, after the gunshots, the already frightened stag panicked further—picking up even more speed.

And it was charging directly at William and Kate.

"Shit!" William's face drained of color.

Due to the narrowing path, the terrified stag had no choice but to plow straight toward them—its massive antlers lowered in defense.

William instinctively raised his gun, trying to aim—but it was too late.

"Hold on tight!" he shouted to Kate.

Kate was already frozen in terror.

If it weren't for years of rigid aristocratic etiquette training, she probably would've screamed.

The monstrous deer was barreling toward them.

Even their horses were panicking—snorting, pawing at the ground, moments away from rearing.

And then—

Fwip!

A single arrow shot through the air like a meteor.

It struck precisely at the stag's rear neck, the tip piercing straight through its eye socket.

One-shot kill.

The stag collapsed instantly—not even managing a death cry.

It tumbled, kicking up dust as it rolled violently before coming to a dead stop.

Silence.

One of the noblemen gasped.

Seeing such an impeccable display of archery in real life—compared to watching it on TV—was an entirely different experience.

There was something about cold weapons—bows, swords—that made kills seem more primal, more visceral than guns.

"Holy hell," Prince Harry muttered in awe.

Kate, still pale, cast Martin a look of undisguised astonishment.

Then, as if realizing something, she forcefully suppressed the feeling.

"No! I'm destined to be a princess!"

Martin casually rode forward, glancing down at the massive stag's lifeless body. "So... do we just leave it here?"

William, still in shock at Martin's marksmanship, inspected the perfectly placed arrow wound before replying, "Yeah... The servants will collect it later."

"Got it," Martin nodded nonchalantly.

The hunting expedition continued until dusk, and by the end, the group had plenty to show for it.

Most of the kills?

Taken down by arrows.

At the start of the hunt, the noblemen had been curious about Martin—he was a rich man, a movie star.

By the end?

They were awestruck.

Humans have always revered strength.

That night's dinner featured the day's spoils.

The finest cuts from the stag had been expertly prepared by the estate's chef, filling the room with mouthwatering aromas.

Martin took a bite of the succulent venison and smirked.

"Huh. Guess England does have decent chefs. Not all of them are making abominations."

Prince Harry burst into laughter. "No, no, Martin—you're mistaken. The chef here? He's French."

Martin blinked.

Then, with a grin, he shrugged. "Alright, scratch what I just said."

After spending five days in England, Martin returned to New York.

But instead of heading straight back to the set, he attended a very exclusive party—hosted by none other than Rupert Murdoch and his wife.

His invitation?

Handwritten by Murdoch himself—a rare gesture of sincerity.

For years, Murdoch had made it a habit to personally handwrite invitations for his most important guests.

Originally, this was just a sign of respect.

But after he became a media mogul, his handwritten invitations became status symbols.

People boasted about receiving one.

"You got a handwritten invite from Rupert? I got one too!"

Westerners were very direct about flaunting their status.

Though—there was a distinction between how white and Black people bragged.

White people?

They didn't boast about how much money they had.

They bragged about how expensive their lifestyle was.

"Oh, Joey just got into private school—so expensive."

"We just renovated—cost a fortune."

"You won't believe how much we spent in Hawaii."

Black people?

They bragged about the exact amount of money they spent.

"This Cadillac? 80 grand."

"My grandma's house? Half a mil."

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"This chain? One mil."