Chapter 78: Stop Pretending

The sudden appearance of a crow on the netting only caused a minor commotion among the parrots. Hardly anyone below paid attention; from below, all one could see was a mass of black shapes, and with the parrots themselves being so vibrantly colored, the whole scene was a riot of hues. It was no wonder few noticed an extra crow had joined. Everyone’s eyes remained fixed on the two parrots dueling in the air.

They circled, pecked at each other, circled again, and pecked some more. An outsider only saw the spectacle, and Kevin was certainly an outsider in this regard, joining in the excitement with little understanding. Sometimes he could barely tell which parrot held the advantage, but after a few rapid exchanges, Kevin found himself unable to distinguish one from the other—utterly lost, unsure who was on the offensive and who had turned the tables. He simply joined the crowd in their cheers, nodding enthusiastically.

Kevin guessed many around him felt the same. After all, most people suffered from “face blindness” when it came to parrots; unless one had particularly distinctive plumage, they were nearly impossible to tell apart, and their calls sounded much alike.

Amidst the frenzy, one parrot finally plummeted from the sky. It tried to spread its wings and glide, but the other dove swiftly and struck it down to the ground. The crowd erupted in shouts and applause. By parrot contest rules, hitting the ground meant defeat. These battles rarely resulted in harm and were relatively safe.

“The General! The General is here!” Someone shouted, and in an instant, silence fell. Everyone straightened up, including every parrot, all turning their heads slightly in search of the General. Even the retired soldiers dressed as civilians retained this tradition.

The General arrived with his aides, entering from the field’s entrance. Today, he appeared quite amiable—after all, it was a special day. As the regiment commander, it was necessary to communicate with the lower ranks from time to time, though as a general, he had long since grown numb to sending off hundreds or even thousands each year. His appearance was, ultimately, a formal gesture.

“General!” The field resounded with a unified salute; even at times like this, military etiquette was not neglected.

The General returned the salute. “Very well. Carry on.”

Suddenly, a crow swooped into the arena, circled twice, and let out a series of cries: “Ah… ah… ah… ah...”

The crowd fell silent.

The General merely glanced up, fully aware that only one person in the camp kept a crow. He scanned the crowd, and Kevin, instinctively, tried to hide behind others. Not seeing Kevin, the General said nothing, only nodding again. “Continue.”

One of the leading parrots hurriedly flew down. “Ahem, next will be the semi-final match between Parrot 654846 and 485751. Applause, everyone!”

Thunderous applause erupted at once; in the army, when applause was called for, it was always thunderous—especially with the General watching. Kevin sighed; not only did he suffer from “face blindness” with parrots, but also “name blindness”—who could remember such numbers? But he understood the necessity: too many parrots underwent training at once, and it was unreasonable for trainers to come up with thousands of names. Once assigned, a number became a parrot’s only and lifelong name—never duplicated or confused. Compared to wracking one’s brains for human names, or letting the parrots name themselves (which often resulted in duplicates and confusion), numbers were more practical. Of course, owners could give their own nicknames, but those could not be used in formal events.

Two more parrots flew down, while another, seemingly the referee, announced, “Begin!”

The two parrots immediately began circling and maneuvering, seeking an opening to attack. Kevin watched for a while but could make no sense of it; he couldn’t even tell which was which. He was more concerned that his crow might jump in and cause trouble. With the General present, Kevin fervently hoped the crow would stay quiet and not make an appearance. Testing the crow’s fighting abilities could wait for another day.

This bout was over quickly; the difference in strength was obvious, and one parrot soon fell to the ground, the other declared the victor amid applause.

“Well done! Congratulations to Parrot 485751 for the victory!” the leading parrot announced, winning another round of applause. “Now the final four have been determined, and the most thrilling moment is upon us—the two strongest parrots will compete for the crown.”

Although the lead parrot did its best to hype the atmosphere, when two ordinary-looking parrots descended for the final, the excitement seemed to wane. Among humans, a champion’s entrance at least involved flamboyant attire and sharp gazes; with parrots, every “champion” looked much the same. The applause below was mostly out of courtesy, but with the enthusiasm of the troops, even polite applause was thunderous.

The two strongest parrots seemed evenly matched, circling each other for ages without tiring or falling. Kevin grew curious—what happened if it was a tie? Would there be a judge’s decision? Or… would both mate with the same parrot?

But the impasse broke when one parrot suddenly flapped its wings with force, soared high, and unleashed a blade of wind straight at its opponent.

The crowd gasped in disbelief. Magic! The parrot had learned magic? On reflection, it wasn’t impossible for an intelligent creature to master human spells.

The other parrot was clearly shocked, dodging hastily and losing a few feathers. Then, the magical parrot pressed its advantage, diving from above and raking its claws across its opponent’s back, sending it plummeting. In quick succession, it unleashed two more wind blades.

Another collective outcry—many wanted to intervene, but it was too late. The wind blades struck, and though the parrot seemed only whipped by a lash and accelerated its fall, it landed squarely on the straw.

The match was decided, but this time, no one applauded. The “blunt wind blade” was a variant spell—while wind blades were usually razor-sharp and deadly, this version, developed for sparring, had minimal lethality but greatly increased knockback. It could still be decisive in combat.

Undoubtedly, a mage capable of wielding the blunt wind blade was no novice; at minimum, a second- or third-tier mage—and this was only a parrot.

Kevin glanced at the General’s face; the General was expressionless, his thoughts unreadable. There were stories of crows so gifted they had been rejected for self-teaching magic. Now that a parrot prodigy had emerged, what would those in power do?

“Well! Congratulations to our Parrot 485751, champion of the parrot tournament!” The lead parrot reappeared as the defeated parrot picked itself up and flew to the side.

“Let’s also congratulate Parrot 485751’s owner, our Chief Communications Officer, Colonel Stina. Let’s give her a warm welcome!” The lead parrot continued to stoke the mood. Upon learning the champion belonged to a colonel, the crowd voiced their admiration—no wonder it was so impressive. Kevin clapped mechanically. Colonel Stina, one of the General’s daughters, was already in her forties.

Colonel Stina merely stepped forward, nodded at the crowd, and withdrew. Though the parrot was hers, she left the competition to the birds themselves.

The lead parrot spoke again. “Though the champion is decided, today is a special gathering, coinciding with the retirement of our veterans. We have arranged several friendly matches. Our champion parrot, despite several bouts, remains lively, and his magic today marks a milestone for parrot-kind.”

“Come now, parrots! Challenge the champion! Learn from him! Witness his prowess! Such opportunities are rare!” The lead parrot rallied the others.

The parrots glanced around. One immediately flew out. “Very well! I challenge you!”

The lead parrot organized the match with a few jests, and the champion parrot easily defeated the challenger using only standard tactics. Kevin still couldn’t distinguish which was the champion. He even suspected that if the parrots conspired to fool the humans, it wouldn’t be hard.

“Oh, splendid! Our challenger was valiant,” the lead parrot announced, “but alas, was no match. Anyone else wish to try?”

This time, silence fell among the parrots. The champion had fought his way up from among them; they knew their own limits. If they hoped to see some more magic but the champion refused to use it, the challenge lost its appeal—no one wanted a one-sided defeat.

The awkward lull made the lead parrot glance around. “Ah, but do we not have a crow friend among us?”

“Yes, yes!” The parrots seized on this, playfully nudging the crow forward. “Go on, what are you waiting for?” “It’s not even intelligent; does it know the rules?” “What could it possibly do? It’ll be knocked out in a single blow.” “Doesn’t matter, just a time-filler.” …

Their chatter reached Kevin’s ears, and as the crow’s owner, he felt a twinge of displeasure. The crow, now somewhat flustered, looked back several times, but the parrots herded it forward.

“Our crow friend is rather shy, it seems! Ha ha!” the lead parrot quipped, knowing full well the crow couldn’t understand.

“But since you’re here, let’s have a little practice,” the lead parrot said, nodding to the champion, who promptly returned to the netting.

The champion parrot wasted no time, swooping straight at the crow. The crow, clearly terrified, tried to flee—Kevin had never seen it so rattled; even facing six magpies at home, it had always been calm, and sometimes the aggressor. But here…

Kevin couldn’t blame it; animals had an innate fear of magic. A creature with magic was no mere animal, but a magical beast. Against one, ordinary animals could only flee.

The champion parrot twisted in pursuit, quickly closing the gap. Parrots were faster than crows, and in moments, the champion was upon the crow, claws extended. But the crow folded its wings and dropped in a straight dive, dodging the attack, then flapped to regain altitude.

“Oh?” The watching parrots were surprised. “It knows acrobatic flight maneuvers?” “Must be its owner’s training.” “Impressive—this is worth watching.” …

The champion parrot then folded its wings and dove, quickly catching up. The crow, sensing the wind at its back, let out a series of desperate cries.

The parrot was undeterred, reaching with its claws again, but this time the crow flipped over, talons up, meeting the parrot’s grasp. The two birds crashed to the ground together—Kevin and the crowd alike gasped in surprise.

“Ahem,” the lead parrot announced, “clearly our crow friend landed first, but for facing the champion and fighting like that, it’s already an impressive feat.”

Applause broke out; no one had expected a crow to perform so well—a pleasant surprise. Others were unsurprised; a pet’s strength reflected its owner’s training. But Kevin felt this crow was perhaps a bit too strong.

“Brother Crow,” the lead parrot drew closer, “though you lost, you still toppled the champion. Any words?”

“Ah… ah… ah…” the crow replied.

“Though you say so, I have no idea what you mean,” the lead parrot laughed. “Care for another round?”

“Ah… ah… ah…” the crow called again.

“Then let’s go again,” the lead parrot decided unilaterally.

Kevin was taken aback; the crow was only meant to be a guest, not the main attraction. But behind the parrots were their owners, and the previous match had clearly drawn their attention—they insisted on another bout.

“Very well, let’s begin!” The lead parrot took off, and the champion parrot dived again.

This time, the crow stood still on the ground. Technically, it had already lost by landing, but the champion insisted on continuing—were the rules no longer being followed? Kevin took a step forward, but with the noise around him, he couldn’t call the crow back.

From above, the champion parrot unleashed two wind blades at the crow, who watched them come but did not move. The blades struck, sending the crow tumbling painfully across the ground.

This left the champion parrot in an awkward spot; the crow, after all, wasn’t intelligent and couldn’t respond as expected.

Kevin hurried forward, scooped up his crow, and left in haste. He didn’t care how others viewed him, even with the General present; as long as the General said nothing, Kevin paid him no mind—this wasn’t the General’s event.

Kevin went straight to the camp priest to have the crow examined. After being assured the bird was fine, he finally relaxed. But he was deeply displeased with the parrots’ behavior. Even a blunt wind blade could be dangerous to a bird’s body, though harmless to a human. The champion parrot had avoided using magic against other birds, likely out of concern for their safety.

But when it came to the crow, the champion had attacked without hesitation. Did they think so little of Kevin’s pet? Was it because it was his, they didn’t care?

Back in his room, Kevin gave the crow two pieces of meat, gently stroking it. “You’ve worked hard.”

The crow, seeing the meat, seemed revived, hopping up to peck at it cheerfully. It truly appeared unharmed.

“Next time, remember not to show off, all right? See what happens—you got hurt.” Kevin gave it a quiet lesson, though it probably didn’t understand.

“Never mind, I’m going out for a walk. Stay here.” He set out some grain and left.

He wandered the camp, replaying the recent fight in his mind, growing more and more puzzled. Something about it felt off. He couldn’t read their expressions or understand their tactics, but Kevin had survived a few life-or-death scrapes himself, and his instincts rarely failed him.

When the opponent used the wind blade in the second round, the crow had simply stood still. Was it paralyzed with fear? It didn’t seem so; a frightened animal would tremble, its legs would go weak—but the crow had stood motionless, like a statue. It felt more like it was bracing itself to endure the blow.

Kevin shook his head, wondering if he was overthinking it. If it really were the latter, then the crow’s intelligence would rival his own—a chilling thought. Perhaps he simply didn’t understand crows well enough.

He wandered until dusk, when the camp held a bonfire party—inviting all the veterans to dance, play games, and drink. The festivities were lively, and everyone was in high spirits.

Kevin couldn’t escape the activities. Whether games or toasts, each team participated as a unit, and Kevin’s was the only team with one member. He had to face every other team’s toasts. Though he didn’t know many people, there were many teams, and he couldn’t refuse. Kevin, though often in taverns, rarely drank much himself, but the culture here was heavy on spirits, and he couldn’t beg off. By the end, he had a pounding headache, and that was even after excusing himself due to his injuries.

Then came the games—each team sent someone to the field to compete in various contests. Kevin was alone, so everyone pushed him out. Whether one-on-one, male versus female, or a chaotic melee, he was toppled every time, to the crowd’s delight. The atmosphere was genuinely joyful. After the bonfire, the old soldiers could finally depart, bidding farewell to their military lives.

When the party ended, it was already late at night. Kevin, aching from the games and reeking of alcohol, collapsed into bed and fell asleep at once.

He slept until the middle of the night, when he suddenly awoke for reasons unknown. Moonlight streamed through the window, and there, on the windowsill, the crow stood—quietly reading a book.

Kevin lay frozen in bed, eyes fixed on the scene, trying hard to determine whether he was drunk or dreaming—but it was neither. Cold sweat broke out across his back.

The crow was completely absorbed in the book. After a moment, it reached out with one claw to try to turn the page. Glancing casually at Kevin, it saw his eyes open.

The crow paused, then began pecking at the book as if searching for insects.

“Stop pretending!” Kevin sat up. “Who are you, really?”