Monastery Hill, Western Side
It was pitch dark at the foothills on the western side, and the three Saint Candidates found themselves trapped, the slope of the hill rising close at their backs. Even with the aid of magic, climbing the steep face behind them would take time and preparation.
Again, the deep, feral sound came. It wasn't loud, as if it had no intent to frighten. It was a sound drawn from deep within, a low growl rising from animal's belly. Yet it was enough to send a chill through the men’s spines, their hands tightening around the hilts of their swords.
“Brother,” the youngest recruit muttered, unable to keep his calm any longer.
“What is that?” the second brother squinted into the darkness, straining to make out a shape. His usual carefree tone was gone, replaced by caution.
“Hold still. Don’t run. There’s no wild beast in this part of the region. I’m certain of it,” the first brother said, his voice strained. His night sight could not make out the shape clearly, but it was there beyond the tall grass, moving or stalking. He was similarly afraid, yet he knew that turning their backs on an unknown presence would be an even greater folly.
They heard the rustling of grass. The low, heavy thumping. The beast’s presence grew larger with each passing moment. Still obscured by the vegetation and tall grass, but there was no mistake. It was coming for them.
The brothers gritted their teeth. Sweat beaded on their brows. Yet they did not draw their swords, knowing it would only hinder any attempt to climb back up, and they did not want to lose a good blade.
“What should we do?” the second brother asked, afraid they would act too late.
The third gulped, his hand trembling, ready to flee. He fixed the surroundings in his mind, careful not to stumble over the human bones scattered nearby.
The large beast moved closer.
Intimidated, the three took steps back.
Faster than they expected, the grass before them began to part. It was only a few steps away.
The brothers’ nerves were strained to the limit. Their muscles tightened.
Then something large sprang out from the tall grass. They gasped when they saw a huge bill, a goose-like neck, and a massive body.
“Honk,” it sounded softly.
Only then did they see it clearly.
“A duck?” the second brother blurted out in disbelief.
Immediately, a collective sigh escaped them.
The older brother suddenly had an idea. “It’s a lone one. A lone, fat duck.”
Quickly, the second brother turned to him. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
A sly grin spread across his lips. “We don’t even need to venture out. We can butcher it here and be back before nightfall with enough meat for those pesky Candidates.”
“But it’s huge,” the youngest muttered.
The second brother turned to him. “The three of us can handle it. We’ll leave the head and the legs if we can’t haul it back up.”
The youngest remained unconvinced. “B-but the bones? The skulls?”
Only then did the two pause and look around again at the scattered remains. There was no mistaking it. Despite the missing jaw, one was clearly a human skull.
“It must be the poor's burial place. No wonder nobody uses this path,” the second brother said, grasping for a reasonable explanation.
“Or maybe the locals use this place as a heartbroken cliff,” the first brother suggested.
His second brother chuckled, the tension and fear ebbing away. “Brother, you’re so romantic.”
They all chuckled, the tension draining from them.
Meanwhile, the duck, seemingly satisfied with its curiosity, began to turn and step away.
“I-it’s moving away,” the youngest exclaimed.
“It’s not completely dumb. Now that it has seen us, it fears us,” the second brother said, hastily giving chase.
The older brother followed. “Must be runaway livestock. Just our luck.”
“Praise the Living Saint." The second brother drew his blade. “Come on, duck. It’s time to receive your blessing.”
The older brother drew his blade as well. The three rushed through the tall grass, chasing after the lone duck. Big as it was, it was not easy to outrun the beast.
But they were not Saint Candidates for nothing. The two instinctively let more magic flow from the vessel within them, granting strength and endurance beyond ordinary men. They pressed on with controlled breaths and sure footing.
While the two were preoccupied with chasing and trying to corner the duck, the youngest caught sight of an orb of light in the distance. “Brother,” he called, “look. Fire.”
The two glanced, but the older brother was quick to dismiss it. “It’s the Lord’s patrol. They’re far from us.”
The youngest nodded and resumed the chase.
In the pitch darkness of night, guided only by their vision of blurry gray and black, the three pressed on through tall grass that swayed violently as they trampled forward. It was not without risk, as jagged edges and loose rocks lay scattered around them.
Finally, the second brother closed the distance enough to reach out and grasp the duck’s tail. But the duck managed to wrench itself free, losing only a few feathers in the struggle.
“Why, you,” the second brother cursed as his chance to swing his sword slipped away. Despite its size, the duck was agile and fast on its feet.
“Keep at it. It’s moving into a dead end,” the first brother encouraged, sweating but relieved that the chase would soon be over.
The duck slowed and came to a stop, cornered against the cliff wall. It gave a weak “honk” as it turned around, as if realizing its mistake.
The three surrounded it.
“Don’t let it get away,” the first brother said from the left.
The second brother stood in the center, leveling his sword, while the youngest stood on the right with his sword ready.
“Careful, it has powerful legs.”
“I’ll be quick,” the second brother said as he stepped forward, trying to line up a clean swing at the beast’s neck. He had never slain a duck before, but it was not his first time butchering an animal.
Before he could leap, there came the sound of rustling from behind them and from their flank.
“Honk.”
“Honk.”
Two more shapes emerged from the tall grass.
“More ducks?” the first brother said, confused, unwilling to believe these were merely dumb animals gathering here to be slaughtered.
“Can’t be greedy. This one is enough.” The second brother leaped. His sword flashed. He had trained with the blade and trusted his skill.
Thunk!
His eyes went wide. His blade was blocked by the massive bill.
The sword actually bit into the bill, leaving small but visible damage, yet the duck did not yield. Instead, the blackness of its eyes stared back at the man. By instinct alone, he tightened his grip on the sword as he landed.
He gritted his teeth. He knew a counter was coming.
The duck rushed him. He expected to see it, to read the movement, or at least to pull away. Instead, all he saw was a blur of bill and feathers.
“Gah!”
Air was knocked from his lungs, and a sharp pulse of pain surged. Before he knew it, he was on the ground, lying amid the grass, his head narrowly missing a boulder. The impact may have cracked a rib.
“Brother!” The older one was too shocked to react.
The second brother tried to rise, forcing his body to obey. Pain answered instead, locking him in place. And then it was too late. A thick, webbed foot crashed down and pressed him into the ground.
He groaned.
The older brother rushed in, only to be struck back by another duck, forced to fight for his own life.
Blood seeped from the corner of the fallen man’s mouth as his arms strained uselessly against the massive foot crushing his body. He shouted to his brothers, “Go, go away!”
As he cried out, the creature suddenly spread its wings, wide and powerful. It flapped them violently and puffed out its chest. The man knew a deafening roar was about to tear through the night. Yet no roar came. Instead, at the last moment, the beast turned its head slightly to one side, then looked back down at its captive and spoke softly, almost gently, as if in mockery.
“Honk.”
As his brother fought for their lives, understanding dawned on him. The human bones. And why the creature had led them here. These ducks had never been the prey. They had always been the hunter.
“They got us. We were baited here,” he cried. “Go! Go toward the fire you saw earlier. Their handler must be there.”
“Hold on, I'll save you!” the older man shouted as he twisted aside, narrowly evading a swift kick that nearly sent him to the ground.
“Go!” the second brother urged. His strength finally ebbed away. His Saint Candidate strength was no match for a beast that weighed more than a warhorse.
As if sensing that his resistance had largely stopped, the beast lifted its foot and began its attack. It pecked at him as if he were nothing more than an insect. The man’s robe was torn and shredded. Only after he was bruised and mangled beyond resistance was he lifted again, pressed between the powerful bill, and swallowed alive.
His other brother fared no better. Despite knowing where to flee, he had no chance. None at all. Two of the beasts flanked him, not rushing, merely toying with him. After falling again and again, his limbs were scratched and bleeding in many places. The pain grew unbearable. Worse, his stamina reached its limit. Soon, his strength no longer mattered.
Feeling iron in his mouth, he spat to the side and brandished his sword in defiance, only to find it wavering.
Unimpressed, one of the ducks charged. Its size and speed made resistance futile. He blocked the powerful kick, but was driven hard against the cliff face.
“Urgh!”
Sand and loose dirt were everywhere as he fell. He coughed, yet could do nothing but lie where he fell, mangled and gasping for breath. He had nothing left to give. It felt as if he had been kicked and thrashed repeatedly by a horse. Blood ran into the corners of his eyes from repeated falls and scrapes against sharp pebbles. His dark robes had split apart, and even the tunic he wore beneath as a disguise was torn and partly stripped away.
Soon, the pecking began. Clothes and small chunks of flesh were torn away mercilessly, and all he could do was scream.
In his final act, even with an arm crushed and his body wracked with pain, he dutifully clutched the bag of gold entrusted to him. He would not allow the Lord’s men to seize the Saint’s money.
The duck did not care. The body was lifted and eaten alive, gold and all.
As the rotted stench filled his lungs inside the creature’s stomach, he vomited, and his thoughts returned to a warning spoken by one of the few survivors of the rebellion. The man had been haggard, his face thin and leathery, his eyes yellow and wild, his voice trembling as he spoke. “Beware the Lord’s war ducks.”
No one had listened. The warning had been dismissed as the ravings of cowards and lunatics.
Deprived of air and crushed by the powerful stomach muscles, his mind wandered. He hallucinated praise from his mentor, or perhaps from the Saint herself. His muscles spasmed, and his consciousness faded.
The two older brothers no longer made a sound, leaving only the youngest, who ran with all his might. He ran without looking back. Fear drove his legs as much as magic did.
But disaster struck. Another duck, the fourth, barred his way.
His teeth now clenched hard, eyes weeping from sheer panic. Still, he could not stop.
Amazingly, the beast did not move and simply let him pass, for reasons unknown.
The youngest did not slow. There was no time to think.
Despite his lungs burning, legs aching, breath ragged, and drool spilling from his lips, he ran. Pain tore at his sides. At last, he saw a firelit camp to his right. Dozens of men lay sleeping around the embers. He rushed forward, closing the distance in a feverish charge, and crashed into the edge of the camp with brutal force.
“What the fuck!” a guard shouted, jerking upright and leveling his spear at the intruder.
“Who is that?” another demanded.
A third man drew his sword as he finally understood what had burst into their camp. “An intruder!”
“Oi, oi, it’s a child,” a calmer voice said.
Even then, they did not lower their guard. “He’s wearing a robe. Get him.”
Before they could act, the boy pleaded, “Please help. The ducks. The ducks are killing us.”
They turned to one another in confusion.
The group leader turned to a rider. “Check your steed.”
“Aye,” the four riders replied. One reached for a lantern, muttering, “But they’re smart. They never cause trouble.”
“I fear the tethers are loose,” the group leader clarified, then turned to his men-at-arms. “Bring the shields. Something isn’t right.”
“Isn’t that great?” one rider joked. “The ducks attacking smugglers all by themselves,” prompted a brief ripple of chuckles.
“They never wander...” another rider said, but his voice trailed off.
He did not need to look toward the trees where the ducks had been secured for the night. One stood innocently some distance away from where it should have been resting.
Soon, they made a grim discovery. The Lord’s quiet concern to his staff had proven true. These creatures were far smarter than their riders had ever assumed.
...
Garrison Camp
Early in the morning, inside the command cabin, the vice received an urgent report from one of the duck riders.
“They what?” the camp vice blurted out after hearing half the report.
“The ducks, Sir. They likely learned they would not be allowed to eat the enemies,” the rider said. “So they quietly staged an ambush and never let anyone know there was an attack.” His eyes were reddened, his expression still marked by disbelief.
“Not a noise at all?” the vice inquired, his voice heavy with concern.
“None, Sir.” The rider shook his head, his nervousness plain to see.
The vice exhaled deeply and turned to his staff, who stood in silence. The news landed like a blow from nowhere.
The ducks were meant to raise an alarm. It was a trait of common ducks to sound a ceaseless honk whenever an intruder approached in the night. Yet the war ducks were a different breed and behaved far differently.
As the questioning deepened, they learned of a previous incident in which the four ducks were barred from feeding on captured men. That was likely the reason they hatched a plan. At night, instead of raising a warning when they encountered smugglers, they remained silent, driving or baiting the smugglers farther from the guards. They then feasted on them at a secure location, where not even screams would reach their sleeping riders.
Worse, if this attack was any indication, at least two of the four had developed a taste for human flesh.
And there were ninety of them.
“Keep this tight. Nobody is to learn of this before Sir Harold returns,” the vice commander ordered. His men bowed their heads in acknowledgement.
“One more thing, Sir,” the rider added nervously.
The vice commander raised one eyebrow sharply. “Yes?”
“The one who survived, a boy, said he was traveling with two older men.”
One of the staff, clad in red brigandine, asked, “Smugglers. What about them?”
The rider turned and answered, “They are not mere smugglers. Those three are Saint Candidates."
“By the Ageless,” one of the officer muttered.
The command cabin broke into a low murmur.
***
Lansius
The vast skies and endless stretches of land, blanketed in autumn leaves, spread out in all directions beneath them. Forests burned in shades of amber and rust, while unfallowed fields were already fading toward winter. Lansius stood aboard the Dawn’s inherited airship, feeling the calm breeze from the ventilation window against his face as it carried him through the air for the first time.
Claire was learning to command this airship, guided closely by its veteran pilot and the machinist. Because the vessel possessed a working engine with true propulsion in the form of two wooden propellers, it did not require a mage. Yet among Lansius’ House, Claire remained the one with the most experience.
It had been months since she last took to the sky, and Lansius could see how thrilled she was to be among the clouds again.
He felt much the same. High in the air, the sky felt vast and liberating. As they rose higher, the land resolved into color and pattern, broad sweeps of orange and red, distant mountain ranges rising like dark spines, and rivers gleaming below like lines of pearls.
When they passed through low-hanging clouds, it felt as though they were entering the realm of the gods.
Lansius truly enjoyed traveling by airship. There was no grinding of carriage axles in need of thick tallow grease, no constant jolt of uneven roads, and none of the ever-present smell of dung. He had long grown accustomed to such odor, yet he had never imagined that traveling without it could feel so liberating.
While carriages were good, even the finest of them were never free of such smells.
Moreover, the airship naturally provided shade from the sun overhead while allowing a constant, refreshing cool breeze along the deck. Flying far above the treetops, the air was clear and untouched by the filth and stench that clung to even the most well traveled roads.
In this world, this was the latest innovation and, so far, incomparable to any other means of transportation that existed.
With the available space, only slight vibrations, and most of the noise confined to the engine room, the passengers could rest and sleep in relative comfort. There were amenities aboard as well. They even had rooms and a galley where meals could be prepared and shared.
Without a doubt, to Lansius, this was the era’s equivalent of a luxury liner.
A journey fit for a king.
For the first time, Lansius felt that he had truly crossed some boundary.
“Is this really all right?” he asked Lady Ella, who stood beside him at the observation window, flanking the gondola to either side.
“Of course, My Lord. We have agreed on this,” the red-haired young lady replied. She did not know his true thoughts.
Lansius snorted softly, a thin smile touching his lips. “But I feel as though I am taking Lord Avery’s finest vessel.”
“That is not true, My Lord. Grandfather still has the Bat, and it is a newer design.”
Lansius had heard of that particular airship. Utilitarian in form, it applied everything they had learned from airship construction and enlarged it for war. It did not seek beauty, speed, or range. It optimized itself to carry destruction.
He turned his gaze through the glass observation panel. The land below stretched on almost without end.
How absurd...
Lansius thought about the power his title wielded.
Everything below, the plains, the forests, dozens of cities, and tens of towns, was governed by his House. Millions of souls were his subjects. To see the extent of his rule from the sky like this was mind-boggling.
His domain only came to a halt where it shared a border with another province.
To the east, Edessa Province.
To the west, Elandia.
But to the south lay the Great Plains of Lowlandia, his own homeland.
The weight on his shoulders only grew heavier. They were his people, and it was his duty to protect them. With everything he held, he would use his power to raise the lives of as many as he could.
He knew that peace, like good weather, would never last long.
Gripping the handrail, Lansius knew he could not afford to relax. His power was only beginning to take root, and it was far from secure. Stray even a little, and another fracture would open. If he failed, millions would suffer, and hundreds of thousands would die.
But there was hope.
Not given, but shaped by their own hands, paid in blood. The Shogunate was not for show. It would thrive. It would endure. It would survive.
But one thought lingered in his mind. Genghis Khan, after the unification of Mongolia, had never intended to wage another war. Too much blood had already been shed. Yet when his envoys were slain, and their faces tattooed in mockery, he unleashed the greatest horde the world had ever seen.
With his own rise to power, Lansius knew he would face a similar question. He asked himself what he would do, and he found no answer.
Still, he could guess the answer of his people. They would demand justice, and he would deliver it in a way that the next generation would learn from their mothers that the cost of folly and hubris was utter destruction.
***
PS: Big rainy season here, and influenza A is spreading everywhere. 🤧
I hope the chapter is satisfying to read. I hope it's not too brutal. 😅
The Monastery arc will continue until conclusion.
The chapter image shows Lansius on the airship’s "observation deck". This is possible if the elven sail covering is removed or rolled back. It works well for sightseeing, though at higher altitude it would be far too windy to leave such a large opening exposed.
As always, gratitude for your awesome support! 💎💖🦆