Chapter 81: Even Sharper Barbs

Kevin realized that the crow’s knack for sarcasm was rather formidable; if it suddenly squawked in the middle of a debate, it could derail his train of thought, spoil the atmosphere, and sap his momentum. He had been full of confidence, ready to speak, but that unexpected interruption nearly made him forget his lines.

Whenever the crow flew in, people instinctively looked at it, listened to its cry, and wondered what it was doing—prompting a momentary mental pause, a drop in wit, and a haze of confusion. Even though Kevin had been its master for quite some time, he was still susceptible to its sudden quips.

“Haha, even your crow won’t help you,” the bearded man mocked.

Kevin forcibly shifted the topic. “Let’s talk about Rex. You must be familiar with the ideals of chivalry, gentlemanly conduct, and the teachings of light, right? You claim Rex isn’t selfish, so let me ask: if a true knight were faced with such circumstances, what would he do?”

The bearded man fell silent.

“Do you think a true knight, just for the sake of replacing a chamber pot, would casually slaughter millions?” Kevin pressed. “Don’t tell me Rex was forced by others—I’ve read the book. No one truly compelled him; it’s just the protagonist’s own conjecture. If someone is a bit stronger, the protagonist sneaks over at night to stab him, simply because he might pose a threat? What logic is that? If someone else has something good, he goes to snatch it—what logic is that?”

“That’s simple! It’s the law of the jungle!” the bearded man retorted. “Might makes right!”

“If the law of the jungle is truly so superior, why doesn’t my country use it?” Kevin countered sharply.

The bearded man: “……”

The crow immediately circled above his head, squawking, “Ah… ah… ah…”

The bearded man instinctively looked up at the crow: “……”

Kevin sneered, “If we really followed the law of the jungle, how would someone like you—a bard—even have a place in society? Yours is the profession least suited to such a law, yet you loudly promote it? You’re digging your own grave!”

“You, you…” The bearded man grew agitated.

“Ah… ah… ah…” The crow kept circling. His thoughts interrupted, the bearded man grew irritated. “Can’t you put your crow away? It’s really annoying!”

“No,” Kevin refused bluntly. “You see, my crow is fair—it even mocked me just now. Since it’s fair, there’s no reason to put it away.”

“Shoo! Shoo!” The bearded man waved his arms, trying to chase the crow off himself. The crow seemed startled and flew back to the counter, but Kevin knew that with its cunning, the crow was only pretending.

“Let’s return to the topic at hand,” Kevin resumed. “Why are you digging your own grave?”

“I…” The bearded man was momentarily dazed. The topic had shifted so quickly—hadn’t they started out discussing the merits and flaws of ‘The Legend of Rex’? How had it turned into self-destruction? Yet everything seemed to flow naturally, leaving him unsure how to respond.

The crow took flight again: “Ah… ah… ah…”

Distracted by the crow’s cries, the bearded man grew more flustered. Meanwhile, Kevin rallied the other patrons to join in the jeering. “What’s going on? A bard needs quick wit and a sharp tongue, but you’ve been dawdling for quite a while now. Do you think you can just recite a book and call yourself a bard? What do you all think?”

“That’s right!” “Why did he stop after only two sentences?” “Too weak!” “Is this what digging your own grave means? Hahaha!” The tavern erupted with laughter. The bearded man’s face flushed red; realizing he couldn’t stay any longer, he bowed his head and left without looking back.

The patrons were still eager for more, having expected a fierce verbal duel, but it had ended in just a few exchanges. Kevin, after all, was somewhat renowned among his peers; the other side had lost nerve before the fight even began—and the crow certainly contributed to that outcome.

Between bards, these debates often weren’t about who was right or wrong. Everyone knew the real reason they promoted ‘The Legend of Rex’ was simply to earn money; there was little profound justification. Yet once challenged, many liked to feign depth, spinning elaborate arguments as if ‘The Legend of Rex’ were a classic. Wasn’t that just asking for trouble?

“Mr. Kevin,” a familiar patron greeted him. “It’s been a while.”

“I was injured recently and needed time to recover,” Kevin replied. “I’m still not fully healed—I can’t speak loudly.”

“You managed to chase him off without raising your voice! Impressive!” someone laughed.

“Ah!” another sighed. “To be fair, that bearded fellow has a rough time. I’ve heard his story three times now. Sometimes, seeing his plight, I give him a little money.”

“That’s why he’s digging his own grave,” Kevin shrugged. “There’s competition even among bards. If he yearns for the rule of the strong, I can only grant his wish. That’s self-destruction.”

The others pondered, some sighing softly. One even wondered aloud, “Why don’t bards cooperate with each other? Wouldn’t a group discussion be more lively?”

Kevin turned to the barkeeper. “What do you think?”

The barkeeper only chuckled, offering no answer. Most taverns were willing to pay for only one bard; if two performed together, perhaps they’d attract more patrons, but the city’s clientele was fixed—more people here meant fewer elsewhere. If other taverns wanted to change the status quo, the proper way would be to hire two bards as well. Eventually, the crowd would balance out, but the tavern would, for no reason, be paying for an extra bard. It was a delicate equilibrium; to change it, one would have to topple the competition and become the dominant tavern, or increase the influx of visitors from outside the city. As things stood, only a few cities—like the capital—had multiple bards performing at once.

Setting aside the defeated bearded man, the patrons soon became fascinated with Kevin’s crow. “That crow is clever! Is it yours?”

“Yes,” Kevin replied. “I raised it. Crows are actually among the smartest birds. Don’t let its black feathers fool you—those superstitions about crows being omens of misfortune are baseless. Crows feed on carrion, so they’re often seen near corpses, which leads people to make associations.”

“Here,” Kevin extended his arm. “Come.”

The crow was still wary of Kevin, hesitating for a moment before finally perching on his arm, giving him some face.

“Barkeeper, bring me a plate of peanuts,” Kevin called.

The barkeeper promptly served them. Kevin took one, shelled it, and tossed it upward. The crow sprang into the air, deftly snatching the peanut mid-flight, swallowing it, and returning to his shoulder.

“Oh!” The patrons were delighted, clamoring for Kevin to do it again. He grabbed ten peanuts, shelled them, and threw them all at once into the air. Truth be told, Kevin had never tried this before and wasn’t sure how skilled the crow was at catching things in flight.

But the crow didn’t move, merely watching as the peanuts fell and rolled across the floor. The patrons murmured among themselves, puzzled.

Suddenly, the crow hopped onto the table and pecked at the peanuts in the plate, cracking the shells effortlessly, then glanced at Kevin as if to scorn him—suggesting, “Why bother with the airborne ones when the ones on the plate are easier?”

“Ha ha ha ha!” Everyone laughed.

“No eating,” Kevin took the plate away. “Go for the ones in the air.”

The crow ignored him, still intent on pecking at the plate. Kevin tried to shoo it away, but the crow dodged his hand with ease, always finding a way to reach the peanuts. Finally, Kevin “lost his temper,” dumping all the peanuts into his pocket and returning the plate to the barkeeper, then taking out a single peanut to shell.

Unable to get any peanuts, the crow reluctantly perched on the counter, swaying idly.

After shelling ten peanuts, Kevin tossed them into the air, but the crow still didn’t budge, watching as they all fell to the floor. It shook its head, exasperated, then slowly hopped down to peck at them one by one.

The patrons laughed. Kevin had intended to give a speech, but his interaction with the crow had piqued everyone’s interest. Of course, it was just a novelty, like watching someone play with a monkey; once the novelty wore off, so did the excitement. But today, the novelty was high, and he couldn’t let the opportunity slip.

Kevin thought for a moment—clearly, the crow couldn’t catch ten peanuts at once. Feeling unable to do so, it likely refused out of pride. If he reduced the number, it might be willing to try.

He shelled two peanuts. “Here, just two this time—catch them.”

The crow responded immediately, swooping out and catching one peanut in its beak, then with a swift flap, changed direction and caught the second. Both peanuts were held side by side in its beak; it landed back on the counter, shook its head, and swallowed them whole.

“Oh!” The crowd applauded, even Kevin was surprised. He realized only then how difficult it was for the crow to catch things in mid-air, limited by only its beak. Imagine a person trying to catch two objects with their mouth—it would be quite an impressive feat.

“Let me try!” a patron at the front stood up and tossed a peanut. The crow caught it with ease, prompting more exclamations. Soon, everyone was eager to participate, throwing all kinds of things toward the crow, until it seemed as if a rain of food had descended on it.

The crow: “……”

The barkeeper’s face darkened; the floor was a mess, and cleaning up would be his job. But the atmosphere was so lively, he dared not interrupt—it was a dilemma.

“My crow has plenty of tricks,” Kevin said, switching programs at the right moment. Although he wasn’t sure what tricks the crow actually had, he believed in its abilities. So he waved his hand and said, “Go on, show everyone some tricks.”

The crow paused, seemingly uncertain. The audience murmured, wondering what it would do. Kevin appeared confident, though he was uneasy inside—not because he doubted the crow’s talents or its comprehension, but because he feared it might refuse out of stubbornness.

After a brief silence, the crow seemed to recall what it should do. It picked up a peanut from the floor, flew into the air, and tossed it upward. Instantly, it looped around and caught the peanut mid-flight. It flew another circle, tossed it again, and caught it. Within the cramped tavern, it looped again and again—tossing and catching its own peanuts.

Once, twice, three times! The patrons stood up, applauding and cheering the crow. Even Kevin, its master, joined in the applause.

Four, five times—finally, the crow executed a splendid tailspin, landing back on the counter, tipping its head back to eat the peanut.

“Wonderful! Amazing!” The tavern erupted in excitement. These common folk had little experience, and seeing something new thrilled them, but to be fair, this crow’s skills surpassed most birds.

“By the way, what’s its name?” someone asked.

“Uh…” Kevin was embarrassed. “I… haven’t named it yet.” He had thought about making up a name, but given the crow’s understanding, if the name displeased it, it would certainly be unhappy. Better to discuss it with the crow later.

“It’s so clever—can it understand human speech?” someone asked, curious.

“Uh… it can understand some,” Kevin replied vaguely.

“Where did you get such a smart crow?” “Did you train it yourself?” “How did you train it? Can I train my dog to do the same?” “What does it eat?” “How long have you had it?” The patrons fired off a barrage of questions, clearly fascinated.

Kevin smiled and answered what he could—such as it mostly ate meat and he hadn’t had it long. He shared some methods he used to test its intelligence, and the patrons felt they’d learned a lot.

With a creak, the door suddenly opened again. The bearded bard returned, bringing six other bards with him. “I’m back!”

Kevin remained calm. “I’ve debated with twenty-six people before; your group is a bit small.”

“Hmph, don’t get cocky,” the bearded man turned to the patrons, “Don’t trust him! Crows are omens of misfortune. He brings his crow here to screech, and soon disaster will befall us all!”

At those words, the patrons all fell silent, clearly sharing similar worries.

Kevin calmly countered, “How can you prove that crows are unlucky?”

“Hmph! Crows are messengers of death. Wherever corpses abound, crows gather, and their presence brings misfortune,” the bearded man declared, “This is universally recognized.”

Kevin scoffed, “Messengers of death? Does death even need messengers? What business would such a messenger have?”

The bearded man was stumped, as were the bards he brought.

The crow promptly flew above their heads, squawking, “Ah… ah… ah…”

The bards: “……”

“Do you understand what the word ‘messenger’ means?” Kevin asked. “A messenger is someone sent by a city-state or nation to another, to negotiate or discuss matters. That person is called a messenger. What do you think the crow’s role as a messenger is? What business does it conduct among humans? Deals? Does death need to send a messenger ahead to negotiate before claiming lives?”

“Ah… ah… ah…” The crow kept circling overhead, the bards staring up, dumbfounded, unable to respond.

“Crows gather where corpses lie—so what? I’ll tell you, there’s another creature present wherever bodies abound, and it’s almost always there: humans!” Kevin said. “Humans are the root of everything! Blaming crows for all sins is human avoidance. Because their calls are harsh and their appearance is black, they’re labeled as omens—such is human hypocrisy!”

“You, you…” The other tried to rebut.

“Ah… ah… ah…” The crow’s cry sounded at just the right moment, and they all instinctively looked up.

Kevin smiled, changing his tone. “You’ve all made the effort to come, but it’s getting late. There are matters at the barracks, so I’ll take my leave. Barkeeper, settle my account.”

The barkeeper immediately came over to help. Kevin took his pay, called the crow, and strolled out of the tavern. The bards watched him like statues, unwilling to speak; if they retorted and Kevin countered, they’d only embarrass themselves. Better to stand quietly as the crow flew over their heads, leaving a trail of “Ah… ah… ah…”

The bards: “……”