Chapter 3
[Seriously, what awful weather. I’ve never seen a storm this bad.]
Crack.
[Did you see the cabbage rolling around like it was threatening people? The field’s a mess. It’ll be a pain to clean up later.]
Snap, crackle.
[Garet?]
[…]
Garet was staring fixedly at one spot, not even hearing the Galloway eagle calling out to him.
That spot was the perch where the eagle sat.
The slender perch, meant for crows, was creaking dangerously under the weight of the massive Galloway eagle as it ruffled its wings to dry them.
Creaaak.
[Zen, I appreciate the golden fence piece, but the perch—]
[Oh, don’t mention it. That dazzling gold gleaming in the sun reminded me of you.]
[Um, I don’t know where you picked it up, but the perch—]
[Didn’t pick it up, I smashed it. A pair of beavers living nearby kept complaining that it blinded them every time they came out to build a house. It was the perfect excuse.]
[Uh-huh…]
Garet trailed off, unable to even put his plea—“Please get off my perch”—into his beak, his eyes unfocused.
[I rammed into it full speed and it just broke without resistance. I mean, have you ever seen something shiny and sturdy at the same time? I haven’t.]
Chattering on, whether talking to himself or Garet, Zen continued with a proud look:
[Anyway, I’ll give it to you as a gift. It’d look perfect stuck in your precious tomato field.]
[…]
Garet imagined someone stumbling upon the gold ornament in his tomato field and reporting Lizzy for vandalism and theft. Then, a wrongly accused Lizzy would point to the Galloway eagle as the real culprit.
[…Thanks!]
There was no point in arguing—this simple-minded eagle wouldn’t care either way.
While Garet still stared desperately at the screaming perch, Zen’s sharp gaze turned toward the man lying motionless on the table.
[By the way, who’s this guy?]
[…Huh? Oh, I found him collapsed in my tomato field. Looks like he was attacked by Morgillen.]
[Morgillen? That blue oak mold?]
[Yeah.]
Garet nodded.
[Good grief. What did he do to deserve such a brutal poison?]
[My thoughts exactly.]
[Do you know who he is?]
[No way to tell. He didn’t have anything to identify him. Judging by his clothes, though, I don’t think he’s an ordinary hunter.]
[His clothes?]
At Zen’s curious question, Garet looked over calmly.
[Ah—his former clothes.]
Garet’s black eyes dropped to the floor.
Following his gaze, Zen spotted a shredded leather outfit lying in tatters.
[Is that…?]
[Yep, Arngentum buffalo hide.]
Known for its toughness, Arngentum buffalo hide was among the most expensive leathers, costing more than 50 gold per yard—something only the wealthiest of nobles could afford. Garet had overheard the town’s tailor bragging about it once.
[So that makes him either filthy rich, super high-status, or maybe both—]
[Wow, impressive. Even I can’t tear that.]
Zen muttered, ignoring Garet’s marveling at his own deduction skills.
[Wait, what do you mean you can’t tear it?]
Garet’s expression shifted oddly. After all, Zen was nearly twice the size of a normal eagle. Was there really any leather he couldn’t tear?
But Zen just shrugged seriously.
[I can’t. Do you know how many Galloway eagles have died trying to hunt Arngentum buffalo? Their hide is nearly claw-proof.]
[…]
At that, Garet’s eyes naturally drifted to Lizzy, still absorbed in her book.
He had seen her rip it apart like it was nothing.
[If she could tear buffalo hide like that, she could probably take down a live one without much trouble.]
[…]
The eagle’s offhand comment carried no particular weight.
But unfortunately for Garet, the memory of being potentially ripped apart by Lizzy Atkins flashed vividly through his little crow brain.
Just then—
“Found it!”
Lizzy shouted, holding up a book thicker than a brick. The crow flinched and covered his head with a wing.
[Help me!]
“…”
Lizzy briefly wondered if she had ever needed to kill that bird—but quickly pushed the thought aside.
More important things were at hand.
“I found the cure for Morgillen.”
[Really?!]
Zen asked in disbelief.
“Yeah, I knew I’d read it somewhere! Look here—‘Mix the venom of the oak snake that lives in blue oak trees, roots of valerian (mouse-urine variety), ferns gathered on a Friday, and unbloomed hemlock, with a drop of druid blood to detoxify Morgillen.’ It’s all written here!”
[That doesn’t sound too hard. Why haven’t humans figured it out, then?]
[…Because those ingredients are impossible for humans to get.]
Garet replied as he finally lowered his wings.
Oak snakes lived high in the trees and were lightning-fast, making them difficult to catch. The mouse-urine valerian only grew in extremely rough, specific environments.
And even if someone did manage to collect those, normal humans couldn’t make the antidote anyway.
Because the core ingredient wasn’t the snake venom or the valerian.
[Druid blood, huh… Morgillen must be seriously nasty.]
Zen tilted his head and asked:
[Why? Druid blood just looks like normal red blood.]
[…But it’s not the same.]
—You must always be careful with druid blood, Garet. If it enters a human body, it can stir up massive whirlpools of magic.
Garet recalled Lizzy telling him that long ago, as she pricked her finger with a needle over a giant iron cauldron.
A single drop of blood had turned the potion inside into a completely different color.
“This book even says—‘Though the detoxified patients survived, some experienced severe side effects, a few of which were fatal.’”
[Hmm…]
[Hrrrrmm…]
Both birds sighed heavily, wings propping up their chins.
It was a tough decision.
The man’s wounds had darkened even more while they were searching for the cure.
And Lizzy’s “killer but also literally killer” herbal paste had clearly reached its limit—blood was starting to trickle from the deeper cuts again.
The man would die in three or four hours.
Just as Morgillen intended.
“…”
Lizzy sat by the hearth with a grim face, just like the birds.
If it were a regular remedy, she would have made it in a heartbeat—but her body recoiled at the thought of using her own blood.
Even without digging into Lizzy Atkins’ memories, this aversion was instinctive for any druid.
Druid blood held tremendous magical power.
Human history was full of those who sought it, and that’s why druids—once revered—had vanished into the deep forests.
“And this ‘severe side effect’… no one even knows what it is.”
No matter how much she searched, the book had no further details.
In short, the man had two options: die now, or live with possibly fatal side effects.
“…”
[…]
[…]
Only the sound of the raging storm and the steady crackling of the hearth filled the cabin.
The druid and her two avian companions finally made a decision—when the largest wound on the man’s body burst into a fountain of crimson blood.
Pshhh!
“Ahhh!! Go catch an oak snake—fast!!”
—Assassin! There’s an assassin!
A voice thundered in his head, along with a skull-splitting headache.
—Get to the manor!
He remembered trying to orient himself toward the manor through the blinding downpour.
Even as he rode, countless bolts pierced or grazed his body.
He had faced assassins before, and he had suffered wounds like this more than once—but this time was different.
Where the bolts struck, his body burned, as if set on fire.
The cause was obvious.
Poison.
His vision blurred.
He had lost too much blood.
“I wasn’t even supposed to be out hunting…”
A too-late regret surged in his chest.
—We should cancel the hunt. It’s going to rain.
That morning, the sky was already dark.
Thick clouds were rolling in from the Galloway Mountains.
But his advisors had disagreed.
—It’s just a passing shower. There was no rain in the forecast.
—We’ve already released the deer. Let’s just catch one quickly and return. We’ll be back before the rain starts—it hasn’t even reached Galloway yet.
—The knight commander is with us; it won’t take long.
They had served faithfully even before he became the Duke.
So he trusted them.
He believed they would never lead him to his death—especially after all they did to protect him when he was young.
But the rain had started soon after the hunt began, falling harder and harder.
Every time he chased a deer, wind gusts caused branches to lash at his face and hands.
—It’s time to return…!
The knight commander’s voice barely reached him through the storm.
He nodded and pulled his reins.
Whistle!
Then—searing pain bloomed in his shoulder.
Looking down, he saw a red-fletched bolt embedded in him.
—My lord!!
“Gah—!”
Cyrus Blanchard shot up in bed as the knight commander’s voice echoed in his ears.
His pale, razor-sharp face was drenched in sweat. His wide eyes glinted strangely in the morning light.
Squinting against the brightness, he grabbed the thing that had slipped off his shoulders.
A patchwork blanket.
Wait—a blanket?
Confused, he looked around.
It was a small cabin.
Two hearths with giant iron cauldrons, shelves lined with dusty glass jars…
Frowning deeply, Cyrus’s eyes caught on something.
A fragile, worn perch.
Perch.
Bird.
Crow.
“…”
The words lined up in his head—and with them came an unbelievable memory that crashed over him like a wave.
—Don’t! You lunatic, if you keep doing that—!
—Honestly, it’s always the drowning ones shouting about bags.
—…You could die, you know.
“…It wasn’t a dream?”
Just as Cyrus murmured, outside the cabin came a voice.
Polite, composed—and absolutely furious.
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t drag people here without so much as a warning, Ms. Atkins.”
