088 Blue Eagle

The winter sunlight was brilliant, and despite the low temperatures, such rare good weather still brought joy to the heart. In Maple Garden, the grand floral grounds had already withered, leaving only a small grove of winter plum trees that retained a trace of vitality. It was the time just before the deepest cold of winter, and the plum trees’ branches were sparse, yet clusters of buds the size of fingertips pushed forth from the limbs, promising that in the coming days, this grove would become a breathtaking sight.

Outside the plum grove, a young man was practicing with a longsword, bare-chested. He repeatedly drilled the most basic sword techniques, again and again, so many times that no one could count them. He was drenched in sweat, beads sliding down his muscular frame, soaking his trousers through. Amidst the cold wind, heat steamed around him, forming a thin mist.

Just as he was wholly absorbed in his training, a sharp cry of an eagle echoed from a nearby building. Instantly, the young man halted, turned, and looked up. Almost at the same moment, a swift shadow darted out from a windowsill, zigzagging through the air before shooting back into the room. The shadow moved so quickly that it was impossible for most to catch a glimpse, but the young man murmured thoughtfully, “Blue Eagle… Tsk, it seems Teresa’s recent closed-door training has really paid off…”

Speaking, Achille furrowed his brow, a mix of admiration and sighs rising in his heart. Four months ago, Pedia had reached the third tier of combat aura, and with enough battle experience could attempt a breakthrough. Just over a month ago, Teresa’s spiritual power had also advanced. Now, among the three siblings, only Achille’s progress lagged. For someone outwardly lazy but inwardly ambitious, this was quite a blow, and so, since winter began, Achille had stopped wandering and instead trained hard at home every day.

This practice had yielded results, and he found himself addicted to the discipline. Interrupted by the eagle’s cry, Achille grabbed a towel from a nearby branch, wiped the sweat from his face and body, stretched his arms to savor the post-exercise comfort, then picked up his sword again, preparing to resume. At that moment, a figure burst into the garden, exclaiming with delight, “Achille! Achille, look! I did it, I succeeded!”

It was Teresa, and following her were two others: a palm-sized golden wolf gleaming with metallic luster and a huge blue eagle nearly a meter long. Achille was familiar with the little wolf, so his gaze shifted quickly to the blue eagle.

The blue eagle, wings spread, measured about a meter across, and from head to claw, about twenty centimeters. Though not large, its eyes burned with a wild, fierce aura that moved any who looked upon it—a true beast.

“Teresa, why does your eagle seem so vicious?” Achille stroked his chin, concerned. “Are you sure you can control it?”

“Relax, relax,” Teresa replied, full of enthusiasm. “As long as you don’t provoke it, the eagle is perfectly well-behaved.”

Achille raised an eyebrow, catching her implication—if he made any move that seemed threatening, would he be attacked?

His curiosity piqued, Achille discreetly lifted his sword and slowly released killing intent.

In an instant, the blue eagle shrieked fiercely, beat its wings, and lunged at him. In a flash, its gleaming talons were already before his eyes.

A metallic clang rang out as the blue eagle was knocked back over a meter. Gray storms gathered in its eyes, and its wings beat powerfully, sending a gale mixed with countless feathers shooting toward Achille. At the same time, the eagle spun and swooped again.

Achille stayed calm, swinging his sword repeatedly, the sound of rapid, crisp impacts filling the air. Soon, metallic feathers resembling fine needles covered the ground before him. Having blocked the hidden weapon attack, Achille decided not to let the blue eagle strike first again. He stomped hard, launching himself like a cannonball straight at the eagle.

A louder clash than before rang out. In midair, where man and eagle met, sparks flew. The next moment, a blue shadow was flung far into the sky, while Achille crashed down to earth with a thunderous boom, dust billowing around him. The blue eagle spun dozens of times before finally stabilizing, hovering shakily and emitting a low, savage cry—clearly dissatisfied with Achille.

Man and eagle squared off again, seemingly ready for a fight to the death. But Teresa rushed into the dust, grabbed Achille’s ear, and twisted hard, forcing him to bend and beg for mercy. At the same time, a surge of intent shot into the eagle, which, mid-dive, suddenly stiffened and fell helplessly to the ground, landing at Teresa’s feet and kicking up another cloud of dust.

“Fight, fight, what’s the point, always brawling, none of you ever give me a moment’s peace!” Teresa scolded, twisting Achille’s ear and stomping on the blue eagle, her fierce words cowing both into submission.

Only when she felt her lesson sufficient did she let go. Achille darted seven or eight meters away, rubbing his ears with a plaintive look, while the blue eagle drooped its proud head, the wildness in its gray eyes subdued, standing docilely on Teresa’s shoulder like a harmless pet.

Achille nodded in relief—Teresa clearly held strong control over her new puppet beast, which was reassuring. After all, no one wanted a ticking time bomb by their side.

☆☆☆

With the blue eagle’s arrival, Teresa’s life returned to its usual rhythm. As the year’s end approached, Saint Alberta Academy had fewer classes, and with Carol urging her to focus on nurturing her spiritual power rather than piling on assignments, Teresa suddenly found herself with ample free time. So, when Benita came to ask her to fulfill a previous promise, Teresa readily agreed.

“Granduncle’s most famous battle was the ‘Sea Pursuit,’ even though it happened forty or fifty years ago, it’s still his pride,” Benita said nostalgically in the gently rocking carriage. “He keeps a long scroll in his study, painted by an officer who fought in that battle. It’s not the work of a master, but Granduncle treasures it. I thought, if I could make a magical tapestry of it for him, it would be just right.”

Teresa looked up from the scroll, winding a strand of Benita’s hair around her finger and sighed, “The painting has grandeur. Breaking it into a triptych isn’t hard, but if you want to make it yourself, I’m afraid it won’t be easy—your precision isn’t enough for full weaving.”

Benita threw her a mischievous wink. “Hehe, those who are capable do more, and I know clever you will find a way—that’s why you dragged me along, right?”

Teresa, not pleased, tugged at Benita’s cheek. “Fine, you’ve got a point. There’s a compromise: mental resonance. I’ve ordered a resonance device in the city, and you’ll have to cover the cost.”

“Money-grubber!” Benita wrinkled her nose and pinched Teresa in return, and the two girls teased each other, full of joy.

Halfway through their journey, the carriage slowed and stopped. Teresa, puzzled, lifted the curtain and saw a checkpoint ahead. “What’s happening? Why is there a checkpoint?”

“Huh? You don’t know?” Benita was surprised at Teresa’s question. “That’s the government hall.”

“So? What about it?” Teresa’s confusion deepened.

Benita felt speechless at Teresa’s obliviousness. “These days are the municipal approval period. Whether your uncle keeps his post as legion commander depends on tonight’s results—haven’t you heard?”

Teresa looked skyward in silence, calculating the dates, and realized that, indeed, it was about now. No wonder she hadn’t seen Amos or Betty at home lately—they must be at their busiest.

Benita found Teresa’s bashful daze adorable and couldn’t resist, using both hands to rub her cheeks, delighting herself.

The girls were playing when the soldiers at the checkpoint suddenly began to withdraw, and people started emerging from the hall—the government meeting had ended.

“There, Teresa, that’s Sal-Hark, Joan’s father,” Benita pointed to a middle-aged man exiting the hall.

Teresa looked over and saw a refined-looking gentleman, whose military uniform did nothing to mask his scholarly demeanor—quite the opposite of Amos.

Benita leaned close, whispering, “Don’t let his gentle appearance fool you, he’s a real old fox—I think your uncle knows this best… Oh, your uncle’s coming out too. I prefer his type of soldier, all rugged and fierce, that’s a real warrior!”

Listening to Benita’s murmurs, Teresa watched as Amos and Sal ignored each other across the crowd, and for the first time clearly realized just how hostile relations between their families truly were… (To be continued)