993. The Bird That Lives Three Times
Encred leaned his head out the window and gazed at the scenery along the Imperial Road where the carriage was traveling.
It is big and wide.
It is a road three times wider than a border guard’s safety lane. It is a well-maintained road paved with flagstones.
Occasionally, I saw broken sections or parts that needed repair, but that level of damage was to be expected.
In fact, I was surprised that there were so few broken parts. What that implies is…
Do you mean someone comes out periodically to manage it?
Moreover.
There isn’t even a hint of the fishy smell of monsters.
The scenery is different from the continent where attacks by monsters and beasts are a daily occurrence. In the distance, a few people riding donkeys appeared and then disappeared.
“So you are donkey merchants. Since they travel leisurely with time as their companion, they usually carry metal crafts.”
So, they say they are also called art merchants.
The answer to the question of how peaceful the Empire is lay in the figure walking far away on a donkey.
Enkrid nodded at Seriana’s explanation, yet he kept his gaze fixed on the window.
The Margrave was a Knight of the Iron Gate; beyond the gate he guarded lay the Imperial Highway, which meant that from here on, it was Imperial territory.
In the distance, flocks of birds flew by, while herds of four-legged beasts ran beneath them.
Dust rose, clumping and dispersing like clouds. After passing the bumpy road and leaving the mountain range, what came into view was a wide-open plain.
It was a landscape where the horizon was visible, and the sunrise and sunset were clearly visible.
In a way, it was refreshing; in another, it felt vast and desolate.
Through it, birds, beasts, donkey merchants, and all sorts of other things caught his eye, so it wasn’t boring. Though, it was still a scene that was all too the same.
Krang was also looking around with keen interest. In fact, everyone who had come from the continent was the same. The priest from the Empire seemed exhausted, as he quickly fell fast asleep and snored. The carriage was so stable that he could have easily slept leaning against the wall.
How many more days do we have to go?
The head of the Royal Guard asked. He had been on edge the whole time, but he felt a little better now.
The fact that the surroundings were wide open meant that anyone approaching was easily visible, and while the same scenery had been there for days, making it a bit boring, he didn’t feel any danger.
Not that he had let his guard down or let his guard down completely, though.
We have to keep going like this for another 15 days.
Seriana replied. Her expression also looked much more at ease. Since this was the Empire, for her, it was like returning to a familiar place from a foreign land.
The empire is truly vast.
Encred agreed with what Seriana had said earlier.
It’s too lonely to come here for our honeymoon.
Sinar cracked a joke that wouldn’t even work. He likely butted in because it seemed like they were talking to Seriana.
Seriana, now accustomed to it, let the fairy’s words go in one ear and out the other.
It is vast. This place is called the Plain of Manur. They say Manur is an ox driven by the gods that trampled this land over and over again to flatten it out.
It was hard to even gauge how vast the land was. Far in the distance, a straight line appeared in Encred’s field of vision. That was the horizon. The point where the sky and the earth meet.
Today’s sun was just beginning to set. The longing glow illuminated the world. The golden plains were not exactly an area for cultivating anything.
It was strange that there wasn’t a single city in such a vast place.
“Are you deliberately not stopping by the city?”
This time, Krang asked. It wasn’t because he had anything specific in mind, but because of the attitude Seriana had shown so far. She was someone who used to subtly reveal her intentions whenever she did something, yet now she wasn’t showing anything at all.
“That is not the case, Your Highness. If we continue straight ahead, we will pass through two more cities. One is an agricultural city named Manur, after the plains, and beyond that lies a trading city called Fedras.”
“How many cities are there in the Empire?”
“There are a total of ten major cities built along the road. That is why the Empire is called ‘Tigrid,’ meaning a nation with ten gates.”
A single city is the power of the nation.
In a land overrun by monsters and bandits, cities and walls serve to protect the people in themselves.
The Empire consisted of ten cities, each larger than a border guard.
“It is a shameful story, but in addition to the ten cities, there are also small and medium-sized free cities where criminals run rampant.”
Seriana spoke calmly. Her attitude was subtly different from before meeting Count Coty.
It was because she felt at ease. As a result, she answered whatever was asked.
“I cannot lead you to such places, so we camp often. Please understand.”
“It is simply enjoyable.”
Krang smiled back at the remark added with a big grin. And so, they rode across the boring plains with two carriages and a few horses.
Encrid spent every night telling silly jokes and sparring with Balmung, but after two days, he mainly spent time with Rem.
Well, that’s an interesting story.
I told Rem about things I had heard regarding renewal and purity, but he took it lightly.
“I roughly know what it is.”
“You know?”
“Is a genius truly a genius?”
Encred leaned in to listen intently. He sheathed his sword, clasped his hands together, and stared straight ahead. Rem, accustomed to this attitude, continued speaking.
“Oh, it’s nothing special. It’s just that a famous bird from the West came to mind.”
This was an intriguing story in its own way. Although Rem was not an outstanding bard, Western stories themselves were appealing.
Western culture, such as the Dawn, the Harp Puppy, and the Marge and the Luckfish, was entirely based on interesting tales.
“Tell me.”
“You strangely like hearing stories like this.”
Even as he said that, Rem obediently opened his mouth. Balmung, who had approached him before he knew it, was also listening intently.
Perhaps it was a characteristic of those whose profession was wandering the continent; such people usually valued a minstrel they met on the road more highly than gold. It was the same for Balmung.
Officially, his rank was a dispatched knight, and his main duties involved capturing fugitives or roaming the continent. Although it was work suited to his aptitude, it was only natural that the presence of a minstrel to break the boredom in between was important to him as well.
Furthermore, Seriana, whose hobby was indulging in books and knowledge, had approached, and several Royal Guards had also shown interest.
Somehow, Rem had become the storyteller around the campfire, but he felt no burden whatsoever.
It wasn’t an attempt to please anyone’s ears; it was just a story that came out naturally.
Those who wanted to listen would listen, and those who didn’t could just ignore it.
“In the West, there is a bird that lives three times if it is lucky.”
“If it is unlucky, it lives only once?”
Encred added interjections to liven up the story. If left alone, he would skip the detailed explanation anyway.
“Well, something like that. At first, that bird can’t even fly properly and lives by hopping around on the ground, because its feathers are stiff and a mess.”
“I’ve heard of that. Isn’t that the story of the cursed bird?”
This time, Balmung added.
“There is a fable like that, though. They say it flew toward the sun and all its feathers burned up, turning into hard, stiff feathers.”
Rem answered gently and continued the story.
“That’s why it’s called a ‘scorched bird,’ after all.”
The scorched bird lives by hopping on the ground. It survives by pecking at insects and stealing dew to avoid monsters, demon beasts, and wild beasts, and after five years have passed, it sheds its feathers as if molting.
“Just surviving is a chore, but anyway, after five years of being born, new feathers grow.”
It is not simply a matter of spending five years. There is one condition: one must run very hard. As the scorched bird runs, the feathers attached to its body fall off; if even a single feather remains, the original feather digs into the flesh when new ones grow, causing the bird to die.
In any case, once all the feathers have fallen off and only the skin remains, new feathers sprout from the bird’s body, and then it can fly.
There is the arduous process of learning how to fly anew, but in any case, it was like being born as a bird that soars in the sky.
The bird that learns to fly like that lives for ten years, and during those ten years, it learns how to make its body light.
It can fly, but it is slow, and because its body is heavy, it cannot fly high. If it gets caught by eagles, it is often eaten, and even on land, if it carelessly approaches the water’s edge, it is devoured by crocodiles.
It endures, painstakingly, for ten years. How? By flapping its heavy wings.
Having endured like that, the bird molts once again.
It’s fascinating, considering it’s not a snake. Is it a real creature?
Scholar Seriana asked. It was not a suspicion, but a natural question.
“of course.”
Rem answered and finished the story.
The bird that grows a third feather becomes faster than any other bird in the world.
In this way, it becomes a bird that flies higher than an eagle and flies longer than any other bird in the sky.
The angry bird was the bird that evolved from the three-times-living bird into a kidney.
“Renewal, pouring everything into being born anew—that was the story of how this bird rose. The end of the story!”
Encred nodded. It was an interesting story. Perhaps this served as the catalyst, as everyone began sharing their stories every night.
One of the Royal Guards brought up a story about a ghost coming out of a graveyard, but everyone’s reaction was indifferent.
If an evil spirit is possessing people, you have to exorcise it.
Seeing everyone nod in agreement at Learvan’s words, it was obvious why they had been so indifferent.
Why would anyone be terrified at the sight of an evil spirit?
There is not a single ordinary person among those gathered here. Even the priest who came from the Empire simply chuckled. The woman who accompanied them as Seriana’s maid also wore a stoic expression.
She is a maid serving an Executor in the Empire. She is a noble, too, though not one who wields immense power.
Except for gathering to listen to stories in the evenings or when moving around, Encreed spent almost all his time holding and swinging his sword.
He engaged in training whenever he had a break, swinging his sword very slowly. While slow, his movements were precise, and
every single one of them was as precise as his technique. From the shifting of his center of gravity and the subtle tremors of his muscles to the flow of his breath, everything was slow.
Just watching that was a considerably helpful form of training. Encreed was fully devoted, regardless of who was watching him.
It was a conclusion reached after mulling over the story about the bird that Rem had told him. It was about verifying everything he possessed and reflecting on it correctly, one by one.
For some, the mere thought of it was tedious, but for Encred, it was not. To him, it was a source of pleasure and joy. So he just did it. Without hesitation or deliberation, he began to swing his sword. Calmly and very slowly.
He’s a strange person, anyway.
Leaning against the carriage with his arms crossed, Rem looked at Encred and thought. It wasn’t surprising anymore, but I suppose that man was certainly special.
Rather than talent.
He is simply diligent. He diligently puts his thoughts into action. In the process, he shows none of the hesitation that ordinary people typically exhibit. Sometimes, one day, his skills would suddenly improve significantly. There are still many aspects I do not understand, but no one in the world knows everything.
That’s a god.
Moreover, the gods discussed in the West are not even perfect beings. They, too, are beings who make decisions and choices for the sake of everyone, giving up what they must give up.
Rem shook off his distracting thoughts and lifted his shoulder from the carriage. Having someone act like that next to him made his body tingle for no reason. It was not right to just sit around doing nothing. Rem also sat to one side, gripping his axe, lost in thought.
He reviewed and checked his own methods—the tasks ahead, the technique of simultaneously using the divine power gained through instantaneous nature transformation, and so on. This was
the kind of behavior one would engage in right in the middle of a campsite, where everyone could see. Encred’s actions were visible even to Saxon’s eyes.
As if reassembling nerves and senses one by one.
He kept one side of his mind on guard against the female assassin who had followed as a coachman, while scrutinizing every detail of Enkrid’s training.
Is it the way to draw a perfect trajectory?
A painter once said this: while drawing quickly is good, one must draw slowly to produce the perfect line one envisions.
It was easy to understand when applied to swordsmanship. Since the senses sometimes lie, one must occasionally take the time to examine and reflect on each detail to re-establish a scattered intuition.
So let’s just finish drawing this and then kill him. It would be a waste to die right now when inspiration has just struck.
The painter was a target for assassination. He was so heavily in debt that a creditor had commissioned him out of malice.
Saxony did not kill him. Reflecting on what he had heard and learned from him proved beneficial to him as well.
Although the commission was not carried out, his debt vanished. It was a win-win for both the commissioner and the painter.
Afterward, the painter gained a patron, and within a few years, he became the most famous artist in the trading city.
He grew wealthier as the number of nobles and merchant guilds vying to buy a single one of his paintings increased, yet he did not change as a person, whether right before his death or after he became famous.
‘dream.’
He was a person for whom simply drawing pictures to express something inside him was all there was. This was before he met the Captain.
I backed down even then.
My master used to call me a softie all the time, and now I understand what he meant.
If I hadn’t been soft, that female assassin loitering around would already be a corpse.
“As expected, you’re handsome. You look cool when you’re deep in thought.”
The woman muttered. Saxon heard everything, but ignored it and looked at Encred.
Re-establishing the senses.
What Encred is doing right now is something he himself has done a few times before. However, the current commander has dug deeper than that.
Maximize body coordination.
That is Audin’s way.
Of course, it is not that Saxon himself could do it, but handling the body is indeed the specialty of a fanatical bear shapeshifter.
Every single muscle assists one another to move toward its intended target.
There is no sound of the blade cutting through the air. It is a blade that falls very slowly from top to bottom. It
was so slow that it was frustrating to watch. Naturally, to those with discerning eyes, it was nothing but awe-inspiring. It was
accomplished without even the slightest tremor in the arm muscles.
Even though he spent the entire night swinging the sword once, he focuses solely on that single stroke.
Consciousness of the unconscious.
In normal combat, you cannot fight while calculating every single detail. Even if you accelerate your thinking, skills ingrained in your body unconsciously emerge.
The current captain was refining that realm of the unconscious.
Was it called renewal? That training method was the very path.
It was truly remarkable. He was a person who lacked not a speck of talent, yet now, as soon as he grasps a new concept, he digs into it.
It might not be the precise path, but he starts walking. That was the important thing.
‘me too.’
Saxon quietly imprinted Enkrid’s training method in his mind. It seemed that what the captain was doing now would be a very effective training method for him.
It was a morning he had greeted after repeating the exact same day over and over again, to the point of being tedious.
Dududu.
The sound of horses’ hooves was heard and a vibration was felt, and an armed unit approached.
