Charlemagne completely forgot about his other two rewards as he ordered Bridget to hop on, then took to the air. The Kine Dungeon had given him some decent gains, true, but ever since he had run across the mosquito, he hadn’t been focused on what was really important: siring more children. His efforts so far had not yielded a single living chick, much to his disappointment.

  The rooster’s innate stubbornness had kept him from realizing that his efforts to test every single chicken egg he could find was misguided. What he really needed was to find another farm that was stuffed to the brim with hens. Once he had done that, he could just kick back and start living his best rooster life. Eventually, with enough proximity to the hens, their eggs would become fertile and his baby chicks would hatch. He had done enough fighting and eating for the time being: it was time to spend some quality time with the ladies.

  Having determined his next course of action, Charlemagne soared high into the air. As he slowly circled upward, a pair of African harrier-hawks rose into the air after him. The rooster, not wishing to be delayed, simply sped up, continuing to gain altitude until the individual trees morphed into a mottled green carpet that spread out beneath him. His eyes, which were originally designed to grant him a wide field of vision rather than binocular vision, had been altered somewhat by his evolutions, but there was always a trade-off. Unlike true birds of prey, the rooster was unable to make out the finer details on the ground. That is, without the aid of magic.

  Mana from his Ember Core found its way to his eyes, greatly sharpening his vision and allowing him to focus on any spot along the horizon with almost perfect clarity. There was only one problem with this level of magnification: it was going to take him forever to closely examine every likely spot for a group of chickens to hang out. The rooster allowed his mind to largely shut off as he slowly scanned the ground, hoping to spot signs of large scale chicken habitation.

  As the minutes ticked by without him finding anything but a few stray hens, as well as the odd rooster, he started wondering if he should just start going for the single hens, despite the immense distances between each one. Maybe he could figure out a way to put them all in the same place?

  A sudden change in the wind broke his concentration and alerted him to an imminent attack. The rooster’s battle instincts kicked into gear, and he immediately dove to gain speed while banking sharply to the left, causing his attacker to overshoot. As a flash of brown and white flashed by, the rooster realized that it was one of the two harrier-hawks he had evaded earlier. It must have been desperate for food, since it was attacking another bird well over ten times its own mass. But the motivation for the attack was of no concern to the rooster. There was only one thought on Charlemagne’s mind: hadn’t there been two hawks?

  As it turned out, the second hawk managed to correct its dive in time to strike a glancing blow, its outstretched claw slamming into the side of Charlemagne’s head as he rolled with the attack. The rooster was annoyed at the blow but proud he had counted accurately.

  “Bawk,” he yelled to Bridget.

  “On it, boss!” the mosquito yelled as she detached herself from her hiding place within the rooster’s feathers and buzzed off at a speed that belied her tiny size. The sound of her wings faded away quickly as she struck out on her own to chase down the first hawk.

  Not particularly caring whether or not his Party member could handle one of their opponents on her own, Charlemagne set sights on the bird that had struck him. His feathers had completely negated any damage from the attack, but that hardly mattered to the rooster. He was going to have his revenge.

  Charlemagne pushed his flight skills to the limit, aiming to catch up to the harrier-hawk. The other bird, realizing that the attack had failed, was still plummeting toward the ground in an attempt to escape. But for some reason, even though he was bigger and stronger than the hawk, Charlemagne simply couldn’t gain any ground. Against his Flight skill’s advice, he even flapped his wings, trying to accelerate as he plunged from the sky. That, of course, did not work so well. He was angry that his new ability he’d gained from the Bald Bull wasn’t activating. He thought back to the message that the squiggles had given him.

  So if what he was doing right now wasn’t running or flying, what exactly was he doing? As the ground slowly grew larger, the rooster had all the time in the world to ponder his dilemma. On land, if he wanted to go faster, he simply empowered his legs with mana and ran harder. In the air, he could go higher faster when he pumped mana into his wings. But his wings weren’t needed for falling, in fact, he didn’t really have any body part that corresponded with that particular ability. He knew that he was missing something, but his bird brain was struggling to identify what that something might be.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  The bird’s thoughts, roughly translated, went something like this.

  I can run fast with mana, because my legs push off the ground. I can fly fast with wings, because my wings push against something in the air. But falling must be different than running or flying, because there is nothing to push off of. Is that why the squiggles won’t make me faster the longer I fall? Can I go faster if I use a skill? Well, I could make ground in the air with mana, like I did in the fight against the very strong human, but I am faster using my wings in the air than I am with my legs on the ground.

  I could turn around and make a big ball of mana go into the air, but then I wouldn’t be able to see where I was going. But I don’t need the mana to come out of my mouth, right? When I fought the giant cow, I made the mana go between my feet. So if I push mana out from my backside, I’ll go the other way. But why? Why does it happen like that? And why is it that I am falling as fast as that tiny, stupid bird? I am much bigger. I am much stronger. I should be falling faster. That is stupid. Eggs not hatching is stupid...Very strong human that blew itself up and killed all my chicks is stupid…TINY BIRD IS STUPID. EAT TINY BIRD! DIE!! DIE!!!! BAWWWWWWWKK!!”

  Charlemagne’s internal monologue veered rather close to discovering some fundamental truths about the way the world worked, but his unyielding rage took the driver’s seat at an inopportune time. The only thing that the rooster gleaned from his intensive thinking session was that he that he could make himself go faster. So, without considering the consequences, he reached into his Ember Core and began forcing mana out and away from his body. Although the acceleration felt insignificant, it was enough for him to start slowly gaining ground on the harrier hawk, which had pulled in its wings and was diving headfirst towards the forest below. Following suit, Charlemagne tucked his wings closer to his body, which increased his speed yet again.

  Second by second, the paragon of roosters closed in on the hawk, until only a few body lengths separated the pair. Charlemagne was pleased at his newfound ability to fall slightly faster. That is, until his prey did something completely unexpected.

  The hawk decelerated further and turned sharply, taking it far out of Charlemagne’s path. The rooster, unable to adjust his own trajectory fast enough, flashed past the other bird. By the time that Charlemagne had turned back around, the hawk had regained much of its earlier lead and was rising steadily.

  Charlemagne’s internal monologue now sounded something like this:

  CHEATER! COWARD!! I WILL EAT YOUR ENTIRE CORPSE!! DIE!!! DIE!!! DIE!!!! BAWWWRARRRRRRK!!!! RAAWWWRARRRRRRK!!!!! BAWWWWWWWK!!!!

  Needless to say, the rooster’s anger was getting the better of him again. But that didn’t mean that Charlemagne was out of options. Far from it. Returning to his tried-and-true method of dealing with ranged threats, mana from his Ember Core roared into his throat, coalescing into a barely controlled ball of roiling power.

  “Buck-kawk!!!!” he cried as an enormous ball of glowing blue energy tinged with yellow streaked out and slammed into the harrier-hawk before exploding. Feathers flew everywhere as the unfortunate bird shrieked in agony. Then, it plummeted from the sky once again, its charred and partially denuded corpse smoking as it fell.

  Charlemagne wouldn’t have bothered to track down the body, but he had sworn to himself that he was going to eat the harrier hawk. So, he noted where the body fell and headed that way, wondering idly if Bridget had managed to finish off her opponent.

  Charlemagne landed with a thump, a hop, and a smaller thump, overshooting the harrier hawk’s remnants as he did. Several large lizards, which had been nibbling at the overcooked corpse, vacated the area at top speed. The rooster ignored the fleeing scavengers and took a bite from the hawk’s chest area. The meat was surprisingly juicy and flavorful, but otherwise yielded no benefit.

  After finishing his snack, the rooster looked up to the sky and gave the chicken equivalent of a long sigh. He was right back where he had started, with no more information about where to find hens than before. Perhaps it was time to do something different. Maybe…just maybe…Charlemagne needed some help.

  Sirius, the Red Fang, and her minions were just north of Malanville when a new directive arrived from their deity, Canius.

  “All right, listen up,” the Azawakh barked at her subordinates. “We’ve got a new quest from Dog. We need to head south and kill a giant chicken, then take it to Lagos.”

  “Awww,” whined Scourge, Sirius’ second in command. “I was looking forward to trackin’ down that human traitor. Ain’t nothin’ better than huntin’ a hunter.”

  “I’m sure we’ll get our chance, so stop your bellyaching. You heard what the Alpha said. This mission is from Dog himself, so lay off questioning orders,” demanded Cyclone, who coveted Scourge’s position almost as much as he coveted Sirius.

  “I ain’t questioning nothin’,” Scourge snarled as he whirled upon the slightly smaller dog. “I just want to catch a traitor is all. And I don’t havta remind you that Dog is Brett’s best friend, so there ain’t nothin wrong with being a bit broken up over it. Run your mouth again, I dare ya!”

  Cyclone’s muscles coiled, and for a moment it looked as if a fight would break out then and there between the two males, who, like their Alpha, were from the breed Azawakh. The pair was more or less evenly matched, which meant that the fight would not be a short one.

  “Silence!” Sirius demanded, her voice brooking no disobedience. Cyclone relaxed his muscles and pretended to be intensely interested in a small pile of droppings they group had passed a few moments before.

  Turning to face the far off ocean to the south, the Red Fang sighed. It was like herding cats when dealing with all these egotistical idiots that formed her pack, and Scourge and Cyclone were the worst when it came to infighting. The only reason she hadn’t killed those two was that they had never yet failed to take down a target.