Chapter Fourteen: Together Through Life and Death

When Gong Hao rushed to Area 56, he found Andrew already there. On the ground, a servant knelt, pinned beneath the foot of a puppet warrior. It was clear that, at Andrew’s command, the servant’s life would be forfeit.

Andrew did not hesitate to waste resources when it came to maintaining order among the servants; killing one or two to intimidate the rest was acceptable.

“Lord Andrew.” Gong Hao hurried over and bowed.

“Grael, you’ve been negligent,” Andrew said, his tone harsh.

Gong Hao’s heart trembled. On the way here, Fink had already told him what had happened.

Area 56 housed around fourteen species of magical beasts, all rare, but the most precious of all were the pair of Flamebirds kept in the aviary. Flamebirds were born with the ability to communicate with magical spirits and could cast various fire spells. As high-level beasts, their bodies were saturated with elemental energy, making their blood a prime ingredient for powerful mana-restoration potions. Such potions were among the most valuable, requiring copious materials; the blood of elemental birds was indispensable. Potions made from Flamebird blood not only helped mages regain their power, but also enhanced their sensitivity to fire elements—a faculty at the very foundation of a mage’s existence. Its value was enormous.

During the Hundred Years’ War, Flamebirds, Frostbirds, and other elemental avians were slaughtered en masse by human alchemists for potion-making. Though fierce and powerful, no magical beast could withstand the organized, resourceful onslaught of human ingenuity.

Afterward, Flamebirds and their kind gradually vanished. Substitute materials were found from other magical beasts, but none matched the efficacy of elemental bird blood, especially in augmenting elemental sensitivity.

Six months ago, Lancelot had returned from the central region of Purgatory Island with a pair of Flamebirds, himself battered and nearly dead. Since then, extracting Flamebird blood for mana-restoration and elemental sensitivity potions had become another major contribution of Purgatory Island to the Empire.

With only one pair of Flamebirds, Heinz ordered special care. Every seven days, blood was drawn from one bird, alternating each week. Thus, blood was taken from each bird once every two weeks—a pace their robust vitality could withstand without danger.

Elemental birds always appeared in pairs, steadfast in their devotion to their mate, faithful unto death. Should one die, the other would not survive alone. Humans had exploited this trait, setting traps to capture them again and again.

No one, however, imagined the depth of their loyalty. When the young servant in charge of Area 56 drew blood, he never suspected that for three whole months, he had been draining the same Flamebird each time.

Now, in the tall aviary, the bird subjected to repeated bloodletting could hold out no longer. It collapsed in the cage, fiery wings dull and lifeless, its vitality ebbing away. Its mate, a female Flamebird, stood sorrowfully by, letting out plaintive cries.

Her eyes brimmed with grief.

“Eje, didn’t I tell you to attach numbered tags to distinguish them?” Gong Hao asked the kneeling servant.

The servant trembled. “I did, but I never thought the bird would switch the tags.”

Anger flared in Gong Hao’s chest. “I told you to use magical tags. Flamebirds are exceptionally intelligent creatures.”

“I…” Poor Eje could never have guessed such cunning. He had thought Gong Hao’s orders were mere formalities, and ignored them. Since the birds looked identical, ordinary people could not tell them apart. Eje’s negligence meant the male always swapped tags and thus, was always the one whose blood was drawn.

Eje now realized why, lately, the aviary was often filled with the sounds of fighting and quarreling between the famed loyal and loving Flamebirds. They didn’t lack affection; they loved each other too much.

But the female clearly could not win against the male, which led to this outcome.

Now, as she watched her dying mate, the female Flamebird let out a furious roar toward the outside of the cage. She spat a jet of flame, striking the magic prison bars, but the attack had no effect whatsoever.

Perhaps knowing her efforts were futile, she gave up, lying down sorrowfully atop her mate’s body.

Gong Hao could even see tears welling in her eyes—those blazing, elemental eyes.

Flamebirds, throughout their lives, shed tears only once, and that was for their mate.

Gong Hao sighed softly. He knew that if the male Flamebird died, the female would not survive either.

Andrew exhaled deeply; though he understood this wasn’t Gong Hao’s fault, he said coldly, “Grael, servants often do not follow instructions completely. They are lazy, cunning, and presumptuous. If you think giving orders means the matter is settled, you are gravely mistaken. In this affair, you bear unavoidable responsibility.”

Another servant, Siser, could not hold back: “Lord, is there no way to save it?”

Andrew shook his head. “Elemental creatures are beyond our ability to heal. We have never researched such things.”

Of course, all they researched was killing, Gong Hao thought bitterly.

Compared to magical beasts capable of such genuine feeling, perhaps humans were the true monsters!

Regardless, the crisis had to be resolved. Gong Hao did not want this to become the reason he would be sent to the valley next month.

He had to save the Flamebird.

But how? If Andrew couldn’t solve it, how could he?

His anxiety grew.

Suddenly, he remembered the Blood Orchid.

A spark lit his eyes. Yes, life finds its own way!

He cried out, “Lord, I have a way to save it.”

Andrew was stunned, delighted. “What is it? Speak quickly!”

Gong Hao gritted his teeth and finally said, “Let it go.”

“Let it go?” Andrew was shocked. But Gong Hao spoke quickly, “We cannot heal it because we do not understand it. But as an intelligent, high-level magical beast, I believe it can heal itself. We all know that wounded beasts often flee to special places; they have a natural sense for sources of life. I’ve read records from the Hundred Years’ War—such things happened not once or twice. Magical beasts would recover and return, sometimes causing great casualties among humans. I believe there must be somewhere on Purgatory Island where it can recover, but it will never tell us. If we release it, it will find its own cure.”

Andrew roared in anger, “But what use is a Flamebird that flies away? I’d rather it die now; at least its blood could be used a few more times. If it flies away, we get nothing!”

Gong Hao replied calmly, “You are right—this is risky. But I am certain it will return.”

“You think it would walk right back into our trap?” Andrew almost laughed. Was this boy mad?

But Gong Hao said, “Yes, it will return, and enter the cage of its own accord.”

“Why?”

“Because inside is what it treasures most—more than its own life—its wife.” Gong Hao pointed to the female Flamebird weeping beside her dying mate.

Andrew fell silent.

He had not expected Gong Hao’s insight to be so keen, grasping the crux of the matter at once. Indeed, even if released, the male Flamebird could never truly leave; it would never abandon its wife.

“And if it cannot heal itself?”

“Then we lose only a small amount of blood from its body—nothing more. Lord, so long as it lives, it brings us endless benefits. If it dies, we can only scavenge its remains. If possible, I believe it is worth the gamble.”

Andrew suddenly realized Gong Hao’s words were not only about the Flamebird, but about himself.

Living life is always more valuable than dead.

He nodded, ever more convinced of the boy’s wisdom.

“Very well, we’ll do as you say. Whether this works or not, Grael, I will not punish you further. If the Flamebird does not return, we’ll accept our misfortune. If it does, I’ll reward you. Think about what you want as a reward.”

“Thank you, Lord. Let’s save it first,” Gong Hao replied, unmoved.

The dying Flamebird was released.

Each day, Gong Hao anxiously awaited news.

Day after day passed—no result.

Even Andrew grew anxious, coming to question Gong Hao whether the bird had died or simply decided not to return.

His worry seemed to have erased his earlier promise not to blame Gong Hao if the bird did not return.

But Gong Hao pointed to the female Flamebird in the cage and answered, “From the moment her mate flew away, she has neither eaten nor drunk, waiting constantly. But the day before yesterday, she suddenly began eating again—I believe her mate had recovered. Today, I even heard her singing, her voice full of joy. I think… her husband is soon to return.”

Andrew was puzzled. “How does she know her husband’s condition?”

Gong Hao replied, “Perhaps their hearts are linked.”

Andrew sighed. “There are so many things in this world we do not understand. Even alchemists cannot comprehend every existence.”

The next day, the male Flamebird returned, healthy and whole.