The Shameless Competition Is About to Begin

Don't look at the mistakes before fixing them.

Newt Scamander explained to Tom, "The cubs hide in their nests deep in the canyon, where adult Thunderbird take turns guarding them, and they rarely come out to move around."

Tom feigned composure and looked away, asking seriously, "So when shall we go see Little Thunderbird?"

"No rush." Newt Scamander waved his hand. "Tom, don't be impulsive. We can't go straight to Thunderbird now; we need permission first."

"Who gave you permission? And there are Auror patrolling here?" Tom raised an eyebrow, looking at him with a puzzled expression.

"It's not Auror, you'll see when you come with me." Newt Scamander didn't explain further, and turned the broom at a 45-degree angle.

It flew off in another direction, and Tom had no choice but to reluctantly follow.

Not far from the canyon, a cluster of thatched huts appeared on a plain, looking like a village.

The closer the two flew, the more alert the people inside the house became, pointing to the sky and making strange shouts.

Each of them held a spear, wore feather headdresses, and had their faces painted with colorful greasepaint.

"Indigenous people?" Tom recognized them at a glance; they were the ones Christopher Columbus discovered when he found the New World.

Mistaking the the Americas for India and arbitrarily naming the people there "Indians" is a highly discriminatory term.

In fact, long before Christopher Columbus, wizards had discovered the Americas and even had dealings with wizards there.

They were always respectfully referred to as the indigenous people, and this term only became fixed after more immigrants arrived.

"Don't say anything for a while, leave everything to me," Newt Scamander gestured for Tom to follow him down, and then gave him a special instruction.

"They are all good people, just very cautious. I'm making this clear to you beforehand, so you don't do anything rash in a moment of impulse."

Tom gave Newt Scamander a reassuring look and made a zipping motion with his hand near his mouth, meaning he wouldn't say anything out of line.

The entire tribe was surrounded by a fence, with watchtowers at each of the four corners. As soon as the two landed outside the fence, several burly warriors raised their spears, their eyes fierce, ready to hurl them at any moment. Tom completely ignored this hostility, leaving everything to Newt Scamander, while he himself observed the tribe's female warriors with great interest—their faces were truly unappealing, but their figures were undeniably captivating; their bronze skin was oiled, their muscle lines clearly visible, their curves striking, far more alluring than those delicate witches of Britain.

Newt Scamander breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that Tom hadn't gotten angry. He mumbled a string of strange words to the tribe. Soon, several elderly men with canes came out of the tribe. They clearly recognized Newt Scamander. They shouted a few words to the tribespeople behind them, and the warriors immediately put down their spears and bows. Their eyes changed from wary to respectful as they looked at Newt Scamander.

Newt Scamander smiled and stepped forward, hugging the oldest man. The two exchanged a few words in hushed tones. The old men's gazes occasionally fell on Tom, then back to Newt Scamander, before they all nodded. After a while, a woman came over carrying two flower wreaths and handed them to Newt Scamander. Newt Scamander spoke a few more words to the old men before taking the wreaths and returning to Tom's side.

"All done?" Tom asked.

"Okay, put this on." Newt Scamander put the wreath on himself first, then handed another one to Tom. Tom obediently put it on, and the two of them got back on their brooms. The people in the tribe also went back to their houses.

Although he could roughly guess what had happened, Tom still couldn't help but ask, "Tell me, what exactly happened?"

Newt Scamander didn't hide anything and recounted the whole story. "In this protected area, besides Fantastic Beasts, there are three indigenous tribes who all worship the Thunderbird as a totem. When I brought Frank (the Thunderbird he rescued) back, they mistook me for a poacher and almost got into a fight. Luckily, I have a good temper, and even after being caught, I patiently explained myself. Plus, Frank kept being affectionate with me, so they realized it was a misunderstanding. Later, when the protected area was established, I was the one who mediated and prevented the Magical Congress from relocating them. I even put them in charge of protecting the Thunderbird, and they receive a lot of supplies from Congress every year."

He paused, then added, "These tribes have shamans, their sorcerers, who are quite powerful and often catch poachers of Thunderbird. Those poachers aren't handed over to the Magical Congress; they're all used as sacrifices. Bringing you here this time requires going through procedures to get their permission; otherwise, we can't get close to the Thunderbird at all. This wreath is our pass; the warriors guarding the Thunderbird area won't attack us if they see it."

Tom rolled his eyes after hearing this. "Even the natives are so concerned with social niceties, can't they be a little simpler?"

"Stop complaining." Newt Scamander chuckled and patted him on the shoulder. "This wreath will do you good too; the Thunderbird will be friendlier to you when it sees it."

Tom's eyes lit up, and he instantly stopped complaining. "Having connections is great! But if you don't use them, they'll expire!"

An hour later, the two flew to the mountainside and landed slowly. Newt Scamander explained, "We can't fly directly to the Thunderbird from the air; that would be considered trespassing. We have to walk up from here."

At this moment, Newt Scamander made no mention of his "old age and inability to handle stimulation," and his legs were even more nimble than Tom's. Although Tom was physically fit, his short legs were a disadvantage; he was only a little over 1.6 meters tall. For every two steps Newt Scamander, Tom had to take three, shuffling along to keep up with the old man's pace. Tom thought to himself: So your old problem only flares up when you're on a plane?

Not long after we started walking, as we approached the summit, dark clouds suddenly swept over the entire mountain, and the sky instantly darkened.

"Eh--!"

A loud cry pierced the sky, and a Thunderbird, larger than a normal Thunderbird, swooped down towards the two. Seeing the familiar smile on Newt Scamander's face, Tom immediately guessed the bird's identity—it must be Frank.

"That's when the nest's defenses are at their weakest; let's sneak over then."

The two continued on their broomsticks, starting from the South Rim of the Grand Canyon, heading west along the Colorado River, flying over a section of the canyon before turning back.

We stopped in a sheltered mountain hollow, a place with a secluded location yet a wide view, offering a perfect perspective of the entire wilderness and the contours of the canyon.

Newt Scamander opened his briefcase and with a casual wave of his hand, several simple camping gear items appeared out of thin air.

Tents, sleeping bags, and dry rations were all provided, indicating that they had made thorough preparations long ago.

While Newt Scamander was tidying up the camp, Tom, bored, decided to use his Eagle Vision to peer into the depths of the canyon.

Several bird nests, made of twigs and feathers, can be vaguely seen hidden among the cliff walls. They are quite large, at least three meters in diameter.

There were two baby Thunderbird in the nest, peeking out and looking around curiously.

Occasionally, the soft, tender cries of children drifted on the wind, making his heart itch.

Time passed slowly, the sun set in the west, and the sky was dyed red by the evening glow.

The wind on the wilderness gradually cooled down, flocks of birds returned to the forest, and the entire reserve was gradually imbued with a tranquil atmosphere.

Just then, several adult Thunderbird took flight from high above, heading towards the distant mountains and forests, as it was time to go out and forage for food.

"The time has come," Newt Scamander whispered, picking up his small wooden box and gesturing for Tom to follow.

The two kept their bodies low and moved quietly along the edge of the cliff, their steps extremely light, for fear of disturbing the baby Thunderbird in their nest.

Avoiding the rocks and bushes along the way, we soon arrived at the depths of the canyon.

Several huge bird nests, made of dry branches and grass, are scattered on the cliff face, and several fluffy little Thunderbird are perched inside the nests.

Their fur is light white, their wings are not yet fully grown, and they are only about the size of a half-grown child. They are tilting their heads and playing with each other, looking adorable.

Tom's eyes lit up when he saw it, and he was overjoyed.

After watching them flutter around in the nest a few times but unable to fly, Tom knew what was going on.

Its flight speed is definitely very immature. Competing in speed with such a small creature is a sure win, and the mission progress will be guaranteed!

He tried his best to maintain a serious expression, afraid that Newt Scamander would see through his shameless scheme.

"Are these the little guys?"

"That's right." Newt Scamander nodded, his gaze softening as he looked at the cubs in the nest.

"These are all new recruits from last year, just right for short-haul flights, and their speed meets your requirements."

Tom stared at the little Thunderbird with increasing satisfaction, already imagining a contest in his mind.

With just a little effort, I could easily crush these little guys and effortlessly complete the talent challenge.

But the next second, he suddenly remembered something, quietly moved closer to Newt Scamander, and asked in a low voice, "Are they shy around strangers? Won't they get scared and run away if we get too close?"

"Don't worry." Newt Scamander smiled slightly, opened the small wooden box in his hand, which contained a special grain syrup.

"I prepared their favorite food in advance, and I used that as bait so the little guys wouldn't be scared."

As he spoke, Newt Scamander carefully stepped forward, placed the wooden box not far from the bird's nest, and then stepped aside to wait quietly.

A rich, sweet aroma wafted out, immediately attracting several little Thunderbird, who curiously poked their little heads out.

It slowly approached and pecked at the honey in the wooden box, completely unaware of its surroundings.

Tom chuckled inwardly, thinking to himself, "As expected of Newt Scamander, his ability to manipulate Fantastic Beasts is truly masterful."

That's great! No need to go through the trouble of luring them, and no need to worry about being attacked by adult Thunderbird. Everything is ready.

Just then, a faint rumble of thunder came from the distant horizon, indicating that the adult Thunderbird that had gone out to forage were about to return.

"We can't stay any longer, we have to go," Newt Scamander whispered.

The two men returned to their tent and started a fire. They squatted beside the fire, watching the Thunderbird soar through the clouds in the distance.

"Starting tomorrow, we'll deliver food twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening," Newt Scamander, turning the dried meat over the fire.

"When the Thunderbird go out to fly, we follow them."

Tom nodded, recalling the cultivation methods written in Newt Scamander's notes.

Let the Fantastic Beasts get used to your presence and develop a dependence on you, but don't interfere with their wild nature.

When would be a suitable time to start the competition?

"Pick two of the best ones first, and we'll talk more once they're used to you." Newt Scamander handed him the roasted jerky. "There's no rush."

"Once you're familiar with the area, arrange the competition early in the morning when the environment is quiet and it won't disturb the tribe."

Tom took the jerky, took a bite, and found it hard and difficult to chew, but it tasted good.

After a moment of silence, Newt Scamander suddenly asked, "When you were flying just now, were you using a spell you developed yourself?"

Tom paused for a moment. "You noticed?"

"It's not using Flying Broomstick; there's magical energy emanating from its body." Newt Scamander looked at him.

"Impressive. In all my years, I've rarely seen anyone develop a flight spell on their own."

Tom smiled. "My teacher taught me well; he invented it, and I just improved on it."

For the next few days, Tom and Newt Scamander delivered food twice a day, once in the morning and once in the evening.

Thunderbird's favorite thing is something called "Lightning Fruit," which looks like a mango and produces Spark when you bite into it.

Tom got an electric shock the first time he ate it; his lips were numb for a long time.

Tom also carefully selected his "opponent".

He picked the two smallest and most lethargic-looking ones, maximizing his chances of winning; this was a huge win for him.

His own ulterior motives were running wild, shameless yet perfectly justified.

It's just a speed contest, it doesn't harm the little Thunderbird, it's just bullying the chick, it's completely harmless.

The two little Thunderbird went from hiding at first to actively peeking out and waiting to be fed.

Tom would bring extra food each time he went, and squat beside the nest, watching them fight over it.

The bigger one was more aggressive and snatched the most; the smaller one couldn't compete and stood by anxiously barking.

"You're being biased," Newt Scamander said from the side.

"No." Tom didn't want to reveal his quirky sense of humor and his ulterior motives.

He was definitely biased; the smaller one was slower, so it had a better chance of winning the race.

Newt Scamander was still carefully observing the cub's physique and condition, completely unaware of the ulterior motives of the boy beside him.

Little did they know that Tom had already used them as the perfect tool to manipulate the Thunderbird chicks.

On the seventh day, Tom finally decided to take action, and an unfair flying competition was about to begin.