Lord of myriad systems

blue eyes last respect

Charles eyed the flame-feathered chicken sprawled on the ground, its once-majestic orange plumage now singed and stripped, leaving it embarrassingly bare. A glint of pride flickered in his eyes as he stepped forward, arms crossed.

“Look at that,” he said, turning to Old Man Kent with a smug grin. “Tell me I’m not a genius for catching this feathery bastard with my petrification skill. If I hadn’t, we’d be mourning lost meat right now instead of planning dinner. I practically saved this batch of premium poultry.”

Old Man Kent crossed his arms, his expression unreadable beneath the brim of his dusty hat. “You’re out here bragging about poultry preservation, when we still haven’t discussed the emotional trauma I endured being dragged into that ridiculous battle,” he said flatly. “That chicken looked into my soul, Charles. I propose a renegotiation of shares. Fifty-fifty.”

He said it with mock gravity, but his eyes narrowed slightly, testing to see just how far Charles would bend.

To his surprise, Charles shrugged without hesitation. “Deal. But you’re grilling it yourself. Your grill, your firewood, your spices. I’m just here to eat.”

A moment of silence passed between them before Old Man Kent let out a low chuckle. “You’re a menace.”

“And you're a freeloader who wants to get more than the owner” Charlie smirked. “Our old deal or nothing.” He said extending his hand to the old man.

“You're bullying an old man, but I'd be magnanimous enough to forgive you. Quick, bring out the ingredients, let's grill this bastard.”

Charlie sang happily, as he grilled the chicken part by part with renewed energy.

Kent stood a few paces away, brushing feathers off his singed beard. “You call that 30%?” He stared at the chicken carcass—burned, beheaded, and still faintly steaming.

“You can have the crispy parts,” Charlie grinned, tossing him a cooked drumstick.

The old man sighed and took a bite. “Still delicious. Fine, deal’s a deal.”

Just then, a new alert chimed in Charlie’s mind.

[You've been cursed numerous times by some purple ranked beasts, Seeker's points +20.]

Charles was surprised. Who the hell was cursing me in the middle of nowhere? He wondered.

Soon, he heard faint voices approaching from a distance. Reacting quickly, he signaled to the old man—who was still chewing loudly—to stay silent. Without hesitation, he retrieved the grill and the chicken back into his system store. The old man’s eyes widened in surprise as the items vanished into thin air, but he wisely kept quiet, sensing the tension in the air as the intruders drew closer.

“I can’t mistake this scent… It’s so familiar, I’ve grown accustomed to it,” said the blue-eyed fox, sniffing the air with practiced ease. “That bastard really knows how to hide. But this time, I’ll drag him out and claim that bounty.”

Charles tensed the moment he recognized the voices—those of his former saviors—but instead of panicking, he smirked and waited for them to arrive. Lo and behold, it was those four wild beasts, with the fox leading the pack as usual.

When they reached the spot where he had grilled the chicken, they halted. The group sniffed the air in unison, alert and cautious. Then, a strange glint flickered in the fox’s blue eyes.

“General Flamefeathers is dead,” the fox declared suddenly, licking a greasy patch of earth. “No doubt about it. Judging by the taste and texture of the meat, he was roasted recently—and that can only mean one thing.”

The fox’s expression darkened as he licked a few bits of meat that had fallen from Old Man Kent’s mouth earlier. “His killer is still nearby. We’ve just walked into a trap.”

"Welcome, my dear friends from afar! Hahaha! It's truly a pleasure to see you again. How's the battlefield treating you?" Charlie strolled out from his hiding place, a chicken wing in hand, casually munching on it as he approached the group—completely unfazed.

The fox narrowed his eyes but said nothing. He had heard of this young human’s exploits in the recent battle. Charlie wasn’t known to act recklessly—at least, not without a plan.

“We're doing fine, just fine,” the fox replied with a grin that didn't reach his eyes. “We missed you, so we thought we’d drop by—old friends catching up, you know? Reminiscing about the good old days.”

“Then perhaps you'll treat us to a meal while we chat about the past?” the blue-eyed one chimed in, smiling faintly.

Charlie raised an eyebrow and gestured to the chicken in his hand. “You mean him? You’re not a very good subordinate, are you? Can’t even recognize your master after death? He came looking for trouble—so I turned him into a barbecue. You’re not planning to follow in his footsteps, are you?”

The fox shivered as his suspicions were confirmed. He was struck speechless—the scrawny kid who had nearly died just days ago was now casually munching on none other than the legendary General Flame Feathers. His gaze locked onto the chicken wing, mouth watering at the thought of how delicious it must taste. The tantalizing aroma drifted to his nose, stirring a primal hunger within him. He inhaled deeply, torn between maintaining his composure and begging for a piece of the fallen general.

Behind him, the black ape eyed the wing with barely concealed longing, fingers twitching with the urge to snatch it from Charlie’s grasp. The little snake and the brown bear were no different, each silently wrestling with temptation. Yet none dared make a move—they all waited for their unofficial leader, the blue-eyed fox, to act first.

"For old times' sake, we'd like to request the general's body back," Blue-Eyes said, then paused awkwardly. "If you can't provide all the parts… a few oily ones would be fine—if you don’t mind."

"Fine," Charles replied, smirking. "I'll give you a chance to pay your last respects. The old man would be more than happy to donate five percent of his share to charity—"

He was cut off mid-sentence as Old Man Kent leapt down from the tree he’d been hiding in, glaring furiously.