{Chapter: 224: Cloud Winged Eagle}
He drew the weapon from his waist with practiced ease, the motion smooth and unhurried.
Bensecker retrieved a small container of protective oil from his pack—a carefully prepared mixture he had refined over time—and began methodically applying it to the blade. Every movement was deliberate, each stroke calculated. This weapon wasn't just a tool; it was his lifeline, his livelihood, and arguably the most valuable possession he owned.
Seeing their leader's actions, the rest of his team followed suit without a word. They unsheathed their weapons and began their own maintenance routines, the clinking of metal and soft brushing sounds filling the quiet air like a ritual they'd all repeated countless times before.
Suddenly, a loud "Bang!" broke the stillness.
Bensecker slapped away a hand that had reached for his maintenance oil with the casual precision of someone who had done it many times before.
"Don't crowd around here," he said firmly, his voice steady but authoritative. "Leave two of you on guard. We're still on duty."
A younger boy, probably no older than his mid-teens, pointed toward a group not far from them—men in uniform, alert but seemingly relaxed. He grinned and said lightly, "What's the worry, Boss? Isn't the escort team from the convoy watching out for us?"
Bensecker cast a glance in that direction, eyes narrowing briefly. Then he shook his head.
"Maybe. But I trust our own people more."
The boy scoffed, muttering under his breath, "Boss, you're being way too cautious…"
Before he could continue, an older man beside him—a hardened veteran with weathered skin and a permanent scowl—raised a hand and slapped the back of the boy's head.
"Idiot. In this line of work, caution is the difference between life and death. You think you're here to sightsee? One wrong step, and no one's going home. So shut it and follow orders. Talk back again, and I'll leave you behind next time."
The sharp rebuke worked instantly. The boy went silent, shoulders hunched, lips sealed.
For a commoner like him, the chance to travel far from home and see the wider world was a rare privilege. Most people would never leave the boundaries of their home villages or towns, bound by poverty and fear. He was lucky—fortunate enough to be related to one of the team's official members. His uncle's position had earned him a spot in the group, an opportunity most could only dream of.
His friends back home were envious. But out here, envy couldn't protect you from danger.
Watching the boy sulk off, Bensecker allowed a rare smile to break through his normally serious expression. He turned to the older man—Huck, the one who had disciplined the boy—and asked casually, "Hey, didn't your nephew go to take that professional qualification assessment not long ago? How did it go?"
"Not bad," Huck replied, trying to sound humble. "Average qualifications."
Despite his words, his chest puffed out just a bit, pride leaking through in his tone.
Bensecker chuckled. "Average qualifications, huh? You say that like he passed the imperial exam or something."
In this world, even average professional aptitude was something to celebrate. It meant that, with steady training and a bit of guidance, a person could likely become a level five or six professional—a goal that guaranteed food, safety, and a respectable life. It was a ticket out of the grind for survival that bound so many.
And if the stars aligned, and that person advanced further to become a high-tier professional? Then even a minor official post in a kingdom or city-state wasn't out of the question.
Huck scratched the back of his head and gave a sheepish smile. "Well… it's just aptitude for now. Once he finishes his foundation training, I plan to put together some money so he can change professions properly."
Bensecker nodded in approval, his smile fading into seriousness. "Make sure you stay on him. He's still young. Don't let him waste the opportunity by being lazy."
"Of course," Huck said with a grunt, glancing over at the convoy with a subtle shift of his eyes. His voice lowered, tinged with suspicion. "Still, something feels off about this mission. That client… I have a bad feeling he's hiding something from us. There might be real trouble up ahead."
Bensecker didn't speak immediately. He simply looked down at the weapon in his hands, finishing the last strokes of oil with meticulous attention. Then, slowly, he nodded.
"I've had that same feeling too," he said at last, calm but firm. "But we both know that no job in our business comes without risks. There's always a chance things will go wrong. That's why we weigh every task against the price we're paid."
His gaze grew distant for a moment. "If things go bad, we'll retreat. But only if we have no other choice. Walking away from a mission is the last card we play."
Huck sighed heavily but didn't argue. He knew Bensecker was right.
He was a level-three professional—skilled enough to hold his own but not invincible. Bensecker, his captain, was level five. That difference meant a great deal, but even together they weren't beyond the reach of danger. Especially when powerful clients with secret motives were involved.
Though they earned more than most and lived better lives than commoners, they were still pawns in a dangerous world—always trying to climb higher, survive longer, and maybe one day find a way out of the endless cycle of risk and reward.
And for now, all they could do was stay alert, trust each other, and keep their weapons sharp.
After sliding his weapon back into its sheath with practiced precision, Bensecker was just about to rise and fetch a drink from the iron kettle resting nearby.
But then, out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a flicker of white against the sky's endless blue.
Years of hard-earned caution snapped into action. His hand instinctively dropped back to the hilt of his weapon, fingers coiling tightly around it. He didn't say a word.
The others, veterans of many dangerous roads, immediately took the cue. Even though they hadn't seen anything yet, they trusted his instincts. One man rolled to the side without hesitation, smoothly slipping behind a cart to reduce his visibility. Another crouched with blade drawn, scanning the open fields.
They followed Bensecker's gaze.
High above, almost motionless save for the gentle rhythm of its wings, a large white bird glided in slow, deliberate circles. It was easily a few hundred meters up, and yet its outline was unmistakable.
"A Cloud-Winged Eagle," Bensecker muttered, narrowing his eyes. "Judging from the wingspan... it's a fully matured adult. That's a level four or maybe even a level six threat. Eyes sharp, people. This might get interesting."
His tone was serious, yet there was a flicker of anticipation in it—almost like a gambler spotting a lucky hand.
The others, who had paused mid-task and were still digesting what they were looking at, finally snapped into motion. Some dove for cover, ducking behind wagons or under makeshift awnings. It was a reflex more than anything—these so-called shelters wouldn't stop a beast of this caliber, but humans always reached for any illusion of safety.
The convoy's guards, dressed in leather armor and equipped with various weapons, were also reacting. Shortbows were strung. Spears were leveled. A few pulled out enchanted talismans or small potions—each silently preparing for combat.
What the ordinary passengers didn't realize, however, was that beneath the surface tension and fear... there was another emotion quietly simmering among the trained fighters: excitement.
Because while the Cloud-Winged Eagle was undoubtedly dangerous, it was also valuable.
Extremely valuable.
If they could bring it down, sell the body, feathers, beak, talons, organs—every part could fetch a price. In fact, the potential profit from this one creature could easily outweigh the earnings from the entire escort mission.
For men who lived by the sword, moments like this were like finding a treasure chest dropped from the heavens. It was risky, but it could change someone's month—or their year.
Bensecker glanced across the assembled warriors, sensing the tension.
"All of you, stay calm," he said quietly but firmly. "If it dives, wait for my signal. If we rush it without coordination, we'll just be feeding it."
His warning was met with a series of nods. Even the guards of the convoy deferred to his leadership at the moment. Experience spoke louder than titles here.
Up above, the Cloud-Winged Eagle circled once more. Then again. Slower now.
Its sharp avian eyes scanned the ground—and it hesitated.
There was something strange about this prey. Normally, when it appeared, humans scattered like rabbits. But these ones... were looking at it with gleaming eyes. Their stance, their readiness—it didn't scream fear. It screamed ambush.
'Something feels off…' the eagle thought.
Its mind wasn't human, but it wasn't mindless either. With an intelligence similar to that of a human child, it could sense danger. These people weren't just fleeing. They were waiting for it.
And then, it felt it.
A pressure. A primal warning screamed through its instincts.
Danger.
An overwhelming sense of danger and drad that made its talons twitch midair. Its feathers flared. With a panicked shriek that echoed across the plain, it prepared to retreat.
Down below, the people misread the signal.
"It's attacking!" someone shouted.
Weapons tightened in hands, eyes widened, hearts pounded.
But the attack never came.
In the blink of an eye—under the gaze of dozens—the majestic creature vanished.
Gone.
Completely.
No flap, no dive, no explosion of feathers. Just... disappeared.
Only the soft breeze remained.
"What in the hells…" someone whispered.
Bensecker's jaw clenched. His heart skipped a beat. Then it started racing.
"That was no illusion…" he muttered. "Spatial ability. It teleported."
Gasps rippled among the men.
"A spatial mutation?! That eagle… it's not normal!"
"Is that even possible?!"
"It's rare," Bensecker replied grimly, "but not unheard of. Creatures can evolve. Especially the older ones. If it has long-range teleportation, then it might be able to phase in and out of this dimension freely…"
Everyone tensed, expecting the eagle to reappear behind them, talons extended, ready to strike.
Five seconds passed. Then ten. Then thirty.
Still nothing.
Silence weighed heavy.
Bensecker slowly relaxed his grip on his blade, but his eyes remained sharp.
"Something's not right…" he said under his breath. "Why would it just vanish? If it's hunting, it would've attacked. If it fled, it would've flown…"
No one had an answer.
And that's because the answer was currently lounging against a tree nearby.
Dex, the quiet young man who had kept to himself for most of the trip, was chewing contentedly.
The meat was still warm. Rich, bloody. Raw.
He licked his fingers with an almost satisfied sigh, as if he'd just finished a meal in a high-end tavern.
'Tastes decent,' he mused. 'A little gamey. But full of energy. Not bad at all.'
He cast a bored glance at the group still in high alert and snorted softly.
'Idiots. I only acted to keep my ride from getting wrecked. If they had started throwing spells around, someone would've knocked it over for sure.'
For Dex, this wasn't about heroism or team spirit. It was about logistics.
And hunger.
He leaned back, stretching lazily as the murmurs of confusion continued in the background. None of them had the slightest idea the bird had never teleported.
It had been devoured.