Lament of the Slave

Chapter 135: Miros

When feathers, as hard as steel and as sharp as the keenest blades, flew in all directions with the speed of a bolt fired from a crossbow, Deckard shifted leisurely and avoided every single one heading at him. The mother mossbear to my right, on the other hand, didn't bother to move at all. Those feathers that caused nasty injuries to her young ones didn't pierce her moss-covered fur whatsoever.

Me? Even though I was now covered in fur like her, still had the moss on my head and [Wrought Hide] among my skills, had no faith in my own hide to resist the feathers in the same way. For crying out loud, that skill was only level two! Or used to be.

So, not confident enough to face the feathers, I did my best to avoid them and fend them off with my barrier. Honestly, it was pretty frustrating how much effort I had to put in compared to those two, so I wouldn't end up with feathers sticking out of my body and bleeding.

I was good at it, though.

Well, I mean good at dodging and deflecting attacks with my barrier. That and the fact that I didn't need the help of either Deckard or the massive beast standing next to me gave me some pride.

And as for the attacker? The northern eagle fared much better than I expected. I mistakenly thought that once it was pulled to the ground and outside of his domain, where winged creatures like him reigned like the mossbears ruled the woods, the fight would end quickly. It didn't and the mossbears, despite their numerical advantage, struggled to kill the feathered weasel.

Was it necessary to call the eagle that?

No! The eagle deserved it, though.

Was it shocking that it fared fairly well on the ground?

Not really!

What the mossbears were fighting was a level six hundred beast. The young ones even had trouble getting through its feathers, let alone striking deeper blows. If anything, they acted as weights, holding the eagle down while the older individuals struggled to tear the beast apart.

Shrieks and roars echoed through the ruined part of the woods as the two sides fought. Anger, rage, defiance, arrogance, and pride; there was so much in those cries reaching my ears that I had trouble making it all out. And the same was true for their presences, battling for dominance that pressured my instincts.

Mossbears did not take well to the destroyed woods and the bird's presence in it at all. The northern eagle, proud and arrogant as it was, was enraged that they even dared to touch it.

"You mud-wading weasels! Stop this instant or risk wrath of Zeew!" the eagle screeched.

Before I saw the beast fight the mossbears, I considered the air blast the most dangerous weapon in its arsenal. Now I saw it was its claws and beak. The beak in particular, which the winged beast used to tear chunks of flesh from the moss-covered furballs.

One peck, and I'd be done. No doubt!

"Deckard, who's Zeew?"

"W-what the...why do you ask?"

"The weas...ehm; the eagle has mentioned the name several times."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "I keep forgetting you understand the beasts' speech."

And I kept forgetting that what he heard was just shrieks and roars, no words behind them.

"It screams that if they don't stop, it's gonna piss off Zeew."

"Well, if I had to guess, it would be the one that stayed up there," he said, nodding his head to the skies.

Raising my eyes, I looked at the shadow of the bird, which had not moved from its place during the whole time. Was it Zeew? If so, did the one who fought the mossbear have a name too? No, I didn't think so. The eagle would have already made his name known in his pride if it had. It was just one of the nameless beasts.