Chapter Seventy-Seven: The Strange Species That Slipped In

December 1st arrived, and the weather had long since turned cold. Though the plains around Saka City stretched as far as the eye could see, not a blade of grass grew through the winter; the land transformed into a barren wilderness. Scattered cattle and sheep, heads bowed, foraged for the last sparse patches of yellowing grass. The once-lush fields had been shorn clean, waiting for new shoots to emerge with the coming spring. In this season, winter was forever synonymous with withering and decline.

Every year, the veterans chose this day to retire—a custom that had lasted for decades, and a time that was always a headache for every army. By early November, those nearing retirement would already have stopped working, and as their departure drew near, no one felt right about asking them to do more. Discipline among the departing veterans naturally grew lax; training held little meaning for them, and they were rarely assigned sentry duty or other tasks. As long as they managed to show up for morning drills, that was enough. Everyone understood—after all, each person would one day retire; to be made to work up until the very end would sour anyone’s mood.

Of course, understanding aside, the veterans’ behavior inevitably rubbed off on others, making the entire camp somewhat slack. Nearly every camp with retiring veterans saw the same, except for Kevin’s, as he was the only one there.

This was the day the veterans officially departed. According to regulations, they were to remove their uniforms and surrender their swords, shields, and other personal equipment. Many retiring soldiers felt a pang at this rule—their swords and shields had been faithful companions through their years of service, mementos to cherish in the years ahead. There had been many suggestions to do away with the rule, since the army hardly lacked for weapons.

But the law was clear, though not without loopholes. If a soldier had earned merits or a title of nobility, the state would grant the right to bear arms appropriate to their rank. Otherwise, they could buy their own—though offensive weapons such as swords and spears remained strictly forbidden, defensive equipment like shields and armor could be kept for a small fee, as a keepsake.

Some of the older horses were also retired. Wealthy soldiers could take their horses home, for cavalrymen often formed deep bonds with their mounts. If left unclaimed, the aging horses were transferred to logistics or commercial units.

As yet, no parrots had been retired, and the law had not caught up to the prospect. No one quite knew what to do with a parrot after its service. With intelligence, parrots could commit crimes of considerable cunning—how would they be punished? The same as humans? That seemed unlikely.

The key problem was that there was no surefire way to distinguish an intelligent parrot from an ordinary one. Simply put, a clever parrot could feign ignorance; if it played its part well, there was no way for humans to tell the difference. In truth, even people could feign stupidity to great effect.

At dawn, Kevin finally decided to take his crow outside. After so many days together, the bird had grown attached—surely it wouldn’t fly away at the first opportunity? With that thought, Kevin didn’t bother to tether the crow’s leg. If it did fly off the moment the door opened, he’d have raised it for nothing, but it was hardly a disaster.

As soon as the door swung open, the crow shot out like an arrow, wheeling swiftly through the air before settling atop the barracks, cawing gleefully: “Ah, ah, ah, ah…”

Kevin was not surprised—after all, the crow had been cooped up indoors for some time. Even people become excited when first stepping outside; the question was whether it would return.

“Where’s that crow coming from?” A parrot swooped down, landing beside the crow. “Where’d you come from?”

Kevin called up from below, voice weak from his lingering injury: “It’s mine. I’m raising it.”

“Is that so? You know, no birds other than ours are permitted to fly over the camp. If an enemy familiar appeared, what then?”

“Um… come back, don’t wander off!” Kevin called, pulling out a piece of meat as a lure. If the crow ignored him now, it might truly be mistaken for an enemy familiar—crows were not rare, and the Thunder Knights enforced rules with an iron fist.

Fortunately, this time the crow’s wits returned. It swooped down from the camp roof and landed on Kevin’s hand, pecking at the meat. The parrot, seeing the crow was indeed Kevin’s familiar, said nothing more and flew off to resume its patrol.

“Don’t wander off!” Kevin warned. “And don’t make a racket. People find your calls unlucky, especially with so many veterans retiring today—don’t cause trouble.”

The crow paid no heed, alighting on Kevin’s shoulder for a moment before taking flight again, this time soaring over the wall and out of sight.

Kevin wanted to call after it, but his chest ached; he could only shake his head and hope the bird would return.

The camp by now was crawling with retired veterans in civilian clothes, looking for all the world like a crowd of townsfolk had wandered in. The old soldiers strolled the grounds, saying a final farewell to the place where they had risked their lives for years. Many chatted with comrades who would remain behind. Some were lonely, some were sad, some even wept—but none were smiling. Partings were always filled with reluctance and pain. Though in these peaceful times there had been few chances to face death together, they had trained and toiled side-by-side for years, and that bond weighed heavily. Naturally, there were those who had never gotten along, or who had longed to leave and finally saw their chance, but even their joy was muted in the prevailing sadness.

Kevin wandered over to the repair shop, glancing about for his crow, but to no avail. He went to chat with Old Tert, the forty-five-year-old veteran who, yet again, had not retired this year.

Seeing rookies more than twenty years his junior begin to retire, Old Tert was understandably melancholy. When Kevin found him, he was sitting on the steps drinking alone, looking rather forlorn. Strictly speaking, daytime drinking was not allowed in camp without a banquet, but he was so old that the rule was quietly ignored.

Kevin chatted with him a while—after all, Tert had helped Kevin sort out the five sets of load-bearing wheels for his catapult, and Kevin owed him thanks. Tert had heard the rumors about Kevin, such as the story of him single-handedly dueling two sixth-rank Smithda masters—tales that tended to grow exaggerated in the telling, and Kevin made a point of clearing them up. Smithda had yet to pay the agreed hundred thousand gold coins, it seemed—instead, they offered thirty thousand up front, with the rest in installments. Loubauler’s kingdom agreed to this, but insisted that all payments be made before releasing the prisoners, refusing any offer to free one after fifty thousand.

Tert scorned this, and he had little love for Smithda, though he’d never been there—he’d heard enough. Kevin, having been kidnapped by Smithda masters himself, was none too fond of them either, but tried to be fair and sought to find some merit. At least, Kevin recalled meeting one Smithda native with a dazzling, infectious smile—so much so that he’d painted the man and used the image on his novel’s cover. No matter his distaste for their country, he had to admit there were qualities worth respecting.

Afterwards, Kevin left the repair shop and, passing the mess hall, finally spotted his crow. The bird was in the midst of a ferocious attack on a pug. The little dog, kept by the mess hall for amusement, had never been trained nor possessed any special abilities; it simply lazed its days away, gnawing on leftover bones, basking in the sun by day and the moon by night.

Yet today, the pug had met its match. The crow was tugging madly at its tail. The dog spun in circles, trying to catch the crow, but the bird was quicker, darting around with every turn, never losing its grip on the tail. The poor pug alternated between spinning forward and backward, barking and yowling in frustration, all to no avail.

“Come back!” Kevin called, producing another piece of meat, but this time the crow ignored him.

Looking down, Kevin noticed a bowl on the ground, filled with meat—far more than he held in his hand. Was the crow after the dog’s food?

Thinking quickly, Kevin picked up the bowl and weighed it in his hand, trying to lure the crow. Sure enough, the bird’s attention shifted; it abandoned the pug and flew straight to Kevin, pecking contentedly at the meat in the bowl. The pug, panting, eyed Kevin warily, not daring to approach.

Suddenly, a soldier emerged from the mess hall and saluted. “Sir, may I have the dog’s bowl back?”

Kevin, a bit embarrassed, handed it over. To his surprise, the crow hopped onto the soldier’s hand and began pecking at the meat as if nothing had happened. The soldier looked confused, uncertain what to do.

Kevin, exasperated, took the bowl back. As expected, the crow returned to his hand. The soldier could only stare.

Finally, Kevin lost patience and shooed the crow away, handing the bowl back. “Take it. If the crow comes around again, just chase it off.”

“Yes, sir,” the soldier replied, retreating quickly into the mess with the bowl, beckoning the pug inside and closing the door. The crow flew in circles overhead before settling again on Kevin’s shoulder.

“You’re quite the menace, aren’t you? Picking fights with dogs now?” Kevin said, turning to the crow.

The crow was unmoved.

“All right, maybe I’ll register you for a match, let you take on a parrot. Any objections?” Kevin asked.

The crow gave no sign.

“I’ll sign you up, provided you don’t run off again. Of course, whether they accept you is not up to me. Do you understand?” Kevin continued.

Still no reaction. Kevin nodded, and headed toward the communications office. He wasn’t hoping for the crow to mate with a parrot—he was simply curious to see how formidable his bird truly was. So far, it had never lost a fight, dispatching every opponent with ease, not losing a single feather—its strength was unfathomable.

On the way, the crow seemed to understand Kevin’s words, hopping from one shoulder to the other but never flying off. Kevin found this oddly suspicious.

“Um… is this the parrot match registration?” Kevin inquired after asking around, finally arriving beneath a large tree. Dozens of parrots perched among the branches—Kevin couldn’t tell one from another.

“Yes, right here,” one parrot, seemingly the leader, flew down. “Sir, how can I help you?”

“Can my pet enter the contest?” Kevin asked directly.

“Let it come itself,” the parrot replied. “All parrots who wish to compete sign up on their own—no need for owners to bring them.”

At this, the other parrots erupted in laughter. “Ha! Needs its master to bring it?” “Truly a pet!” “Wait, that’s not even a parrot…”

Kevin explained, “It’s not a parrot, it has no intelligence and can’t come on its own. But it’s a strong fighter—I want to see just how strong.”

He spoke honestly, but it sounded like a challenge. The parrots burst into a commotion. “A mere crow dares to challenge us?” “Come on, one-on-one!” “Come over here, I’ll fight you with one wing tied…”

Kevin looked to his crow, but it simply stood there, unmoved.

“Fine,” the leader agreed, “but even if the crow wins, it has no right to mate with a parrot. At most, it can participate as a friendly match or an exhibition bout—you’re not a parrot, after all.”

“Very well,” Kevin agreed, surprised at how smoothly things had gone.

“After lunch, the parrot matches will begin. There’ll be a crowd to watch—an event for the retiring veterans. Bring your crow then,” said the leader.

“All right.” Kevin still had questions, but left them unasked. He simply wanted to see the crow’s limits.

By afternoon, a crowd had gathered at the training grounds. Kevin arrived with his crow. Across the field, a huge net had been strung, its ropes anchored to the city wall. In truth, the net’s mesh was so wide that even a person could crawl through; it merely marked the boundaries, like the edge of a ring—if a bird left the net, it lost. Aerial combat for birds required an aerial stage. The net was crowded with parrots, a black, chattering throng—at least a thousand, making this a major event in the parrot world. Below, their owners cheered them on.

When Kevin arrived, two parrots were already dueling in the air, circling and beating their wings furiously. The air was filled with the shouts of their kin: “Get him, get him!” “Use your downdraft, idiot!” “Why is this fight taking so long?” “Crush him!” “With skills like that, I’d never marry you…”

Kevin asked those nearby and learned the parrot battles had begun days before, organized by the parrots themselves; today was the final. Otherwise, with so many parrots, it would have taken weeks to pick the challengers.

After the finals, there might be other events—perhaps the champion would take on random challengers, or some private grudges would be settled. Intelligent creatures inevitably developed animosities, and here was a chance to resolve them. These were known as “friendly matches,” and Kevin’s crow would have its chance then.

“Understand? Don’t rush in and start fighting now!” Kevin warned the crow. “If you break the rules, every parrot here will gang up on you—got it?”

The crow was quiet. Kevin wondered if the sheer number of parrots had intimidated it.

“Hey, you!” A parrot flew down to address the crow. “Go stand on that section of the net—you’re here for the exhibition match.”

The crow said nothing.

“Sigh, what a bother, no intelligence at all!” the parrot squawked. “Hey, birds! Give him a lift!”

Immediately, a dozen parrots swooped down. Kevin ducked instinctively; by the time he looked up, his crow had been escorted up to the net. Amid the sea of parrots, the black crow stood out, drawing astonished looks from the others.

“A strange species has slipped in,” one parrot muttered.

“It doesn’t match our style,” said another.

“Hey, buddy,” a third chattered at the crow, “if you want to fit in, at least dye your feathers. Don’t think we’re colorblind.”

The crow remained silent, seeming tense amid the unfamiliar company.