Chapter 993: The Bird That Lives Three Times

Enkrid stuck his head out the window and looked at the scenery, and at the Imperial road the carriage was racing along.

‘Big and wide.’

It was three times wider than Border Guard’s Safe Road. A maintained road laid with stone slabs.

Here and there, he saw cracked places or spots in need of repair, but that much damage was only natural.

Rather, he was surprised there were so few broken places. What that meant was clear.

‘It means people come out regularly to maintain it.’

Moreover.

‘There isn’t even the fishy stink of monsters.’

The scenery itself was different from the continent, where attacks by monsters and beast monsters were everyday occurrences. Far off, he saw a few people riding donkeys come and go, then recede into the distance.

“Donkey merchants. They take time itself as their companion and travel at leisure, so they usually carry metal crafts.”

Apparently, they were also called art merchants.

The answer to the question of how peaceful the Empire was walked far away, riding a donkey.

Enkrid nodded at Seriana’s explanation, but his gaze remained outside the window.

The Margrave was the Knight of the Steel Gate. Once they crossed the gate he guarded, they met the Imperial road, and that meant this was Imperial territory from here on.

Far away, birds flew in flocks, and beneath them, herds of four-legged beasts ran.

Dust rose, gathered like clouds, then scattered. After passing over the uneven road and leaving the mountain range behind, what appeared was an open plain.

It was terrain where the horizon could be seen, where the rising and setting of the sun were plain to the eye.

In one sense, it felt refreshing. In another, bleak.

Among it all, birds, beasts, donkey merchants, and all sorts of things came into view, so it was not boring. Still, the same scenery did continue on too long.

Crang was also looking around with interest. In truth, everyone from the continent was the same. The priest who had come from the Empire seemed tired; he soon fell fast asleep and began snoring. The carriage shook so little that sleeping while leaning against the wall seemed easy enough.

“How many more days must we travel?”

The head of the Royal Guard asked. He had been tense the entire time, though he was somewhat better now.

The surroundings being wide open meant anyone approaching would be easy to see, and since the same scenery had continued for days, it might be a little dull, but it did not feel dangerous.

That did not mean he had relaxed completely and let his guard down.

“We’ll have to go on like this for fifteen days.”

Seriana answered. Her expression looked much more at ease as well. This was the Empire, so for her, she had returned from a foreign country to a familiar place.

“The Empire truly is vast.”

Enkrid agreed with what Seriana had said before.

“It is too lonely a place for our honeymoon.”

Shinar threw out a joke that would not land anyway. She had probably cut in because it seemed Enkrid was talking with Seriana.

Seriana was used to it by now, so she let the fairy’s words go in one ear and out the other as she said,

“It is vast. This place is called the Manur Plain. Manur is a cow driven by a god, and they say it stepped on this land over and over to flatten it.”

It was hard to even measure how wide the land was. In the far distance, Enkrid saw a straight line. That was the horizon. The point where sky and earth met.

The sun of today was just beginning to sink. The long sunset shone over the world. The golden plain was not an area where anything in particular was being cultivated.

It was strange that there was not a single city in such a wide place.

“Are we deliberately avoiding cities?”

This time, Crang asked. It was not because he particularly wanted anything, but because of the attitude Seriana had shown until now. Whenever she did something, she had subtly revealed an intention, but now she was showing nothing at all.

“No, Your Majesty. If we continue straight like this, we will stop at two more cities. One is an agricultural city called Manur, named after the plain, and past that is a trade city called Federas.”

“How many cities are there in the Empire?”

“There are ten major cities built along the Imperial road. That is why, as the country with ten gates, the Empire’s national name is Tigrid.”

A single city was itself the power of a nation.

In a land overrun by monsters and bandits, cities and walls protected people by their very existence.

And the Empire had ten cities, each one larger than Border Guard.

“It is shameful to say, but aside from those ten cities, among the small and medium-sized free cities, there are some where criminals run rampant.”

Seriana said it calmly. Her attitude before meeting Count Coty and her attitude now were subtly different.

It was because she felt at ease. So whatever they asked, answers came back.

“I cannot guide you to such places, so we will camp often. I ask your understanding.”

“I find it nothing but enjoyable.”

Crang received her words with a bright smile, and Seriana smiled back. Like that, they ran across the dull plain with two carriages and several horses.

Every night, Enkrid spent time on trivial jokes and sparring with Valmung, and after two days had passed, he mainly crossed hands with Rem.

“Well, that’s an interesting story.”

He told Rem about Enovatio, purity, and the like, and Rem listened as if it were no great matter.

“I get the gist of it.”

“You do?”

A genius was still a genius, it seemed.

Enkrid leaned in with the posture of someone ready to listen closely. He sheathed his sword, gathered both hands, and stared straight at him. Rem was used to that attitude, so he continued what he had been saying.

“Ah, it’s nothing impressive. It just reminded me of a bird famous in the West.”

That was interesting in its own way. Rem was not an outstanding minstrel, but Western stories themselves were appealing.

Western culture, such as Darkmorning, Harup pup, Maji, and the lucky fish, was all based on interesting stories.

“Tell me.”

“You’re strangely fond of hearing these kinds of stories.”

Even as Rem said that, he obediently opened his mouth. Valmung, who had come over at some point, was also listening.

Perhaps it was a trait of people whose work was wandering the continent, but such people usually valued a minstrel met on the road more than gold. Valmung was the same.

Officially, his position was dispatched knight, and what he mainly did was catch fugitives and wander the continent. It suited him, but of course the existence of a minstrel who broke up the boredom along the way was important to him as well.

Not only him, but Seriana, whose hobby was devouring books and knowledge, also came closer, and several Royal Guards showed interest too.

Somehow, Rem ended up in the storyteller’s place around the campfire, but he felt no burden.

He was not trying to delight anyone’s ears. It was just a story that came out as he spoke.

Those who wanted to listen would listen, and those who did not could do as they pleased.

“In the West, there’s a bird that lives three times if it’s lucky.”

“And if it’s unlucky, it lives once?”

Enkrid added a response that brought out the flavor of the story. If left alone, Rem would skip over detailed explanations.

“Well, something like that. At first, that bird can’t even fly properly and lives by running around on the ground. That’s because its feathers grow in hard and all wrong.”

“I think I’ve heard of that. Isn’t it the story of a cursed bird?”

This time, Valmung added something.

“There is one fable like that. They say it tried to fly toward the sun, and all its feathers burned away, so they became hard, stiff feathers.”

Rem answered smoothly and continued the story.

“That’s why its name is the ‘Scorched Bird.’”

The Scorched Bird lived by running along the ground. It avoided monsters, beast monsters, and wild beasts, pecked at insects, stole drops of dew, and survived like that. After five years passed, it shed its feathers as if molting.

“Surviving itself is agony, but anyway, once five years pass after it’s born, new feathers grow.”

It was not enough to simply spend five years. There was one condition: it had to run very hard. The more the Scorched Bird ran, the more the feathers stuck to its body fell away, and if even one of those feathers remained, then when the new feathers grew, the old feather would dig into its flesh and kill it.

At any rate, once all the feathers fell away and new feathers sprouted from the body of the bird, now left with only skin, it could fly from then on.

There was another arduous process of learning how to fly anew, but in any case, it was reborn as a bird that flew through the sky.

“A bird that comes to fly that way lives ten years, and during those ten years, now it learns how to make its body light.”

It could fly, but it was slow, and because its body was heavy, it could not fly high. If an eagle found it, it would often be eaten, and on the ground, if it carelessly approached the water’s edge, it would be eaten by a crocodile or the like.

It endured those ten years, grinding through them. How? By flapping its heavy wings.

The bird that endured like that molted once more.

“How fascinating, even though it is not a snake. Is it a real creature?”

Seriana the scholar asked. It was not suspicion, but a natural question.

“Of course.”

Rem answered and finished the story.

“The bird that grows its third feathers becomes faster than any bird in the world.”

It then flew higher than eagles and became a bird that flew longer than any other flying creature in the sky.

The bird that lived three times was what later developed into the divine beast Angry Bird.

“Enovatio, pouring everything you have into being born anew. This bird is what that story reminded me of. Story’s over!”

Enkrid nodded. It was an interesting story. Perhaps because of that, each night, everyone began to unpack their own bundles of stories.

One of the Royal Guards brought up a story about ghosts that came out of a graveyard, but every reaction was lukewarm.

“If an evil spirit deceives people, then it should be exterminated.”

Seeing everyone nod at Riervan’s words, it was obvious why their reactions were lukewarm.

Why would anyone be terrified at the sight of an evil spirit?

There was no ordinary person among those gathered here. Even the priest who had come with them from the Empire only laughed good-naturedly. The woman who had come as Seriana’s maid wore a calm expression too.

She was a maid serving an executor in the Empire. She was also a noble. Not one with any great power, however.

Other than the time spent gathering in the evening and listening to stories, and the time spent moving, Enkrid held his sword and swung it almost all the time.

Whenever he rested, he trained, and he swung the sword very slowly. Because it was slow, it was precise, and because it was precise, every motion was exact.

The shifting of his body’s center of gravity, the faint tremor of his muscles, even the flow of his breathing—every single thing was slow.

Merely watching it was training that helped considerably. Enkrid devoted himself regardless of whether anyone watched him or not.

It was the conclusion he had reached after mulling over the bird story Rem had told him. He was checking everything he possessed and recalling it properly once more, one by one.

To some, it would be tedious just to think about, but not to Enkrid. To him, this was pleasure and joy. So he simply did it. Without hesitation or worry, he began swinging his sword. Calmly, and very slowly.

‘He really is a strange human.’

Rem thought as he leaned his shoulder against the carriage with his arms crossed and watched Enkrid. There was nothing to be surprised about anymore, but that human was certainly special, one might say.

‘Rather than talent.’

He was simply diligent. He put what he had thought over carefully into practice. In that process, there was none of the hesitation ordinary people commonly had. Sometimes, after doing that, his skill would suddenly and visibly increase one day. There were still many parts Rem could not understand, but no one in the world knew everything.

‘That would be a god.’

Moreover, the gods spoken of in the West were not perfect beings either. They, too, were beings who gave up what had to be given up and made decisions and choices for everyone.

Rem shook off his idle thoughts and lifted his shoulder from the carriage. When someone was doing that nearby, it made his own body itch for no reason. It was not the time to be lazing around. Rem, too, stood off to one side, axe in hand, and sank into thought.

The things he had to do going forward, methods of using at once the divine beasts he had gained through instantaneous changes in nature, and so on—he, too, recalled and inspected what was his.

It was something being done in the middle of the camp, where everyone could see. What Enkrid was doing was visible to Jaxon’s eyes as well.

‘As if reassembling nerves and senses one by one.’

Even while keeping one part of his attention on guard against the female assassin who had come along as the driver, he examined Enkrid’s training in detail.

‘Is it the method of drawing a perfect trajectory?’

It was something a painter had once said. That it was good to draw quickly, but when he had to draw slowly, the perfect line he envisioned came out.

When applied to swordsmanship, it was easy to understand. Sense sometimes lied, so now and then, by slowly examining and recalling each piece, one established the instincts that had fallen out of order.

“So please kill me after I draw just this. Inspiration has struck, and it would be a waste to die right now.”

That painter had been an assassination target. He had piled up so much debt that a creditor had formed malice and commissioned the job.

Jaxon had not killed him. Recalling what he had heard and learned from him was helpful to Jaxon as well.

The commission had not been fulfilled, but the man’s debt disappeared. It was a good thing for both the one who had requested it and the painter.

Afterward, that painter gained a patron, and within a few years, he became the most famous painter in a trade city.

As the number of nobles and merchant groups who rushed to buy one of his paintings increased, he became wealthy, but whether just before death or after becoming famous, he did not change as a person.

‘A dream.’

He was simply someone whose entire purpose was to paint and express something inside himself. It had happened before Jaxon met the captain.

‘Even then, I was soft.’

His master had constantly called him a soft bastard, and now he understood what those words meant.

If he had not been soft, that assassin woman loitering nearby would already have been a corpse.

“He really is handsome. He looks wonderful when he’s thinking.”

The woman murmured. Jaxon heard all of it, but ignored her and looked at Enkrid.

‘Reestablishing sense.’

What Enkrid was doing now was something Jaxon himself had done a few times in ordinary times. However, the current captain was digging deeper than that.

‘Maximizing the body’s coordination.’

That was Audin’s method.

Of course, it was not as though Jaxon himself could not do it, but handling the body itself was indeed the fanatic bear beastman’s specialty.

Each muscle helped the others and advanced toward the desired end.

There was no sound of the blade cutting the air. It was a blade falling from above to below, very slowly.

It was so slow that anyone watching might feel frustrated. Naturally, to those with eyes to see, only its greatness was visible.

It was something he accomplished without even the faintest tremor in his arm muscles.

Even though he spent the entire night on a single swing of the sword, he focused only on that one cut.

‘Making the unconscious conscious.’

In ordinary fighting, one could not fight while calculating every single thing. Even if thought accelerated, the techniques ingrained unconsciously into the body would come out.

The captain now was refining that unconscious realm.

Enovatio, was it? That training method was the path.

It was truly remarkable. He had once been a man without even a speck of talent, and now, the moment he obtained a new concept, he dug into it.

That might not be the exact path, but he began walking it first. That was what mattered.

‘Me too.’

Jaxon quietly engraved Enkrid’s training method into his mind. What the captain was doing now seemed likely to become a highly effective training method for him as well.

After repeating the same day, tedious enough to bore anyone, several times, morning came.

Thud-thud-thud.

The sound of hooves was heard, and a tremor was felt. Then an armed unit approached.