Strange Seabirds

In the days that followed, Moro never showed himself again. Irene and Alan began practicing the Triangle Guidance Technique, while Angel immersed himself in the train of thought behind the problems Jon had assigned.

Moro had said that knowledge was the most important thing to a wizard. Angel did not know whether the knowledge Jon taught would be useful, but he knew it could enlighten the mind and keep his horizons from being confined to the drudgery before his eyes.

Useful or useless—Angel did not care.

Angel wrote furiously, and page after page of complex formulas and numbers became yesterday's drafts. Every day, Angel found new approaches to the problems. From molecules and atoms to magnetic fields and wavebands, different perspectives brought him different surprises.

As time passed, Angel knew he was drawing closer and closer to the right answer.

That day, Angel set down his quill and rubbed his temples. His mind had been running at high speed for nearly half a month. He had solved more and more problems and was getting ever closer to the final answer, with only the last ten questions remaining. But the unbroken concentration was becoming too much for his head to bear. Especially that morning, when he had even experienced tinnitus and blackouts in his vision. His body was already sounding the alarm.

No matter how eager Angel was for the answers, he still stopped.

.

He was fourteen that year, still in puberty. If a moment of recklessness disrupted the balance within his body and caused abnormalities during the most important stage of his life, he would have nowhere to cry afterward.

He had heard Jon say before that, because of his lifestyle habits during puberty, he had fallen seriously ill. Afterward, his height had stopped at 165 centimeters. Angel did not know whether his mentor was telling the truth or merely making excuses, but better to believe it than not, wasn't it?

Angel yawned, stretched his arms, and straightened his legs. He glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. It was exactly two in the afternoon.

Clocks were not commonly seen on the Fringe Islands, or the Old Earth Continent. Even Pat Manor had still used hourglasses back then, but on the Prosperous Continent, clocks had long been familiar to the general public.

He pushed open the round cover set into the wooden wall, and Angel was immediately greeted by the damp, fishy scent of the sea.

That round wooden cover was the ship's window. The middle-deck cabins of the Bauhinia had windows like this for ventilation, but the rooms on the lower deck did not receive such treatment.

The sun shone brightly, and the rippling sea made his eyes ache. Outside air flowed against the stuffy room. Angel paid no mind to that faint fishy smell, lazily closing his eyes as the soft, warm sea breeze brushed over him, his thoughts drifting wildly in all directions.

Angel recalled the beauty of his childhood: his parents' love, his brothers' care, his mentor's teachings, and then the green years when he had immersed himself day and night in the ocean of knowledge. His memories always made him smile unconsciously. When he left Pat Manor, he had taken nothing with him. Only these memories could stay with him for a lifetime.

Angel had decided to follow Moro to the Prosperous Continent and become a wizard not only to save his mentor. Deep down, he also harbored a faint desire to revive his family. On the Old Earth Continent, even wizard apprentices received treatment far beyond that of imperial kin and nobles.

Moro had once said that a formal wizard's lifespan started at five hundred years, and if one broke through further, even a thousand years would not be difficult. Angel had no extravagant hope of guarding his family for a millennium. If, for at least a hundred years, his relatives within three generations could prosper without end, that would already be enough.

The sea outside was calm, and Angel was in the mood to relax. He simply took a bag of tea from his luggage.

The bag contained Morning Dew After Rain. Back then, Angel had divided all the Morning Dew After Rain in the manor into two portions. One portion had gone to Moro, while he had brought the rest with him.

Angel did not particularly enjoy this slightly bitter tea, but he remembered Moro saying that these tea leaves counted as low-grade magical plants. Since he was about to step into the unfathomable world of wizards, drinking some from time to time should be beneficial, shouldn't it?

As Angel savored his tea, warmth lingered at the corners of his eyes and his lips curved faintly upward. Even with no one around, every movement he made, every detail—even the straightness of his back as he lifted his teacup—appeared exceptionally elegant. This noble bearing had clearly been buried deep in his bones. Coupled with the refinement of Jon's years of poetry and books, Angel possessed an added measure of gentle elegance. The blend of those temperaments made his entire person radiate a captivating charm.

"Well, it would be even better if I were a little older and my face a little more mature." Angel muttered to himself in the mirror.

He drained the cup in one go. As always, aside from bitterness, Morning Dew After Rain brought Angel the taste of grass leaves. It was not unpleasant, but neither was it especially good.

As for the effects of the magical plant that Moro had mentioned, they probably had nothing to do with him.

Chirp-chirp—

Just as Angel was lost in thought over the flavors of the tea, a birdcall came from outside the window, followed by the flutter of wings.

Angel looked up and saw a strange seabird of unknown origin perched on the windowsill.

.

The seabird was roughly the size of two palms. Its feathers were mottled gray and brown, its claws red, its pointed beak orange, and its eyes a ghostly green. All of that still matched the basic characteristics of a seabird, but the reason Angel found it strange was that it was actually wearing accessories!

It wore a tall white hat on its head and had a blue-and-white bib tied around its neck, with a reflective pattern on the bib. What caught Angel's eye most was the little blue satchel slung across the seabird's body. It looked like a carrier pigeon postman straight out of a fairy tale.

The seabird chirped continuously, its ghostly green eyes fixed on Angel as if it were conversing with him.

Angel laughed heartily. His eyes rolled, and seeing that there was no one else in the room, his youthful nature gained the upper hand again. Pursing his lips, he began speaking to the seabird in a convincing imitation.

The seabird chirped once.

Angel smiled. "You're saying your name is Chirp? How interesting. Who's your owner? They even dressed you up so stylishly!"

The seabird narrowed its eyes and chirped disdainfully.

Angel extended a slender finger and lightly tapped the seabird's little head. "I call you stylish, and your tail immediately sticks up for me."

Hearing Angel's words, the seabird cocked its head and wanted to fly away. But after hesitating for a while, it stayed, turning back and chirping repeatedly as though it wanted something.

Angel did not notice at all and continued teasing the bird cheerfully. While doing so, he discovered that the blue satchel on the seabird also bore the same pattern as its bib.

The pattern seemed to be a crest. At its center was a purple-haired woman with enormous curls, so plump that several folds of flesh piled up on her face. She had fiery red lips, a delicate nose, seductive eye makeup, and a mole on her chin. Without all that fat, she would certainly have been a ravishing beauty. Unfortunately, fair skin could hide a hundred flaws, but fat ruined everything. On either side of the pattern, a dining knife and fork crossed.

It looked rather peculiar. What could it mean? Could it be a family crest? Angel smiled. If it really was a family crest, then this family certainly had a big heart.

If it was not a family crest, what was it? Angel did not understand, but neither did he seek to get to the bottom of it. The moment the question surfaced in his mind, he shook it off and left it behind.

Though curiosity was the first virtue of a learner, he preferred to use his curiosity in the pursuit of truth.

Angel also noticed that the seabird's little satchel was bulging, so there had to be something inside. But he did not reach out to take it. Taking something without asking in front of its owner was not something he could do, even if the owner of that little bag was a seabird.

The seabird was still chirping, but Angel and it were talking past each other. It seemed quite dejected, pacing anxiously back and forth along the windowsill.

"Little Chirp, why did you come here? Are you hungry, or thirsty?"

When the seabird heard the name "Little Chirp," it practically wanted to roll its eyes at Angel. But upon hearing the question that followed, its eyes lit up. It nodded rapidly, its little head bobbing like a bird pecking rice.

"So you're hungry. How clever—you even know how to find food for yourself." Angel pulled out a food bag from the drawer and took out a flatbread. As he broke it into pieces, he muttered, "I wonder who your owner is, to have trained you so obediently. You can even understand human speech and know how to respond."

Angel looked out the window at the boundless sea. "There aren't any islands nearby... Could you be raised by one of the extraordinary people living on the top deck of the Bauhinia?"