"Mufu~!"
"Gyubibibibibi!!!"
Ah... well. What on earth am I going to do about this?
Hello there, it's everyone's absolute favorite ostrich, Wraith-chan! Is everyone doing alright? As for me? Well, considering the factual reality that I am currently talking aloud into the empty void, it is mathematically guaranteed that I am fundamentally not doing alright. At this point, it's less of a strategic calculation and more of a pure coping mechanism; until this storm naturally runs its course, there is absolute zero I can do. Honestly, opening my mouth right now would achieve nothing but throwing premium rocket fuel directly onto a raging bonfire.
Having spent an extended duration away on the Beast Kingdom expedition, her loneliness parameters had completely broken through the upper limit. Lucia—the young Queen of the Kingdom of Hide—was currently refusing to detach from my chassis, aggressively burying her entire face directly into my chest feathers. Meanwhile, positioned immediately adjacent to us, Dele—the reigning child prodigy of the ostrich community—was venting an absolute, blinding layer of pure avian fury. Encircling the entire domestic drama, a massive crowd of curious ostriches had drifted over to analyze the commotion. Certain chicks were glaring at the scene with deep, profound displeasure, others had casually decided that the situation had zero connection to them and began playing in the dirt, and a few individuals had even arrived at the logical conclusion to start performing an impromptu, highly energetic dance routine directly in front of my face.
"Spinny-spin!"
"Gyu! Pa! Gyu!"
"Hyuuu!"
While one could technically argue that this was entirely within standard operating parameters for our flock, the raw cognitive load was honestly getting a bit tight. Save... save me. Someone call for help.
(I never truly comprehended how intensely exhausting the logistical reality of motherhood was... I wonder what my parents from my previous life are up to right now?)
Hm? What about my current ostrich parents in this life, you ask? I have absolute zero data on that, obviously. My personal sequential memory tracking only boots up around the age of five; anything preceding that window is a total, unmitigated blank. In point of fact, I lack the capacity to verify whether my biological parents are even active within the current flock infrastructure. It is entirely statistically possible that they suffered fatal systemic collapse during that five-year information gap, or potentially got permanently separated from the primary formation during a high-speed migration. And, naturally, we cannot entirely discount the mathematical probability that they passed away after I officially assumed command of the flock. Residing within the lethal ecosystem of the Highlands without incurring a single casualty is a structural impossibility, after all.
For the time being, I suppose I'll just project an image of my unseen, hypothetical current-life parents onto the blue sky and give them a polite, distant wave. Yes. That feels appropriate.
Now then, with those domestic digressions cleanly filed away, let us smoothly transition back to the primary operational narrative.
Having successfully finalized our undead suppression campaign within the borders of the Beast Kingdom, the Tactician had extended a corporate invitation for our flock to participate in the upcoming Nagan Capital Reclamation Initiative. To properly finalize our strategic executive decision regarding the offer, we had executed a return march back to the capital of the Kingdom of Hide. Along the transit route, multiple minor incidents had manifested: my personal mana parameters had undergone a catastrophic localized backflash, Dele had completely miscalculated her navigational vectors and led the entire flock into a highly confusing detour that left us temporarily lost in the wilderness, and a few exceptionally dim-witted individuals—having completely deleted the memory of how thoroughly unpalatable the material was from their internal storage—had casually attempted to chew on a Treant variant, resulting in a massive wave of crying and screaming because it tasted exactly like raw wood. Despite these logistical hurdles, we had successfully arrived at our destination without permanent damage.
And standing there to receive our vanguard was... a distinctly low-energy Lucia.
Well, analyzed objectively, her emotional drop was entirely logical. Her biological parents had essentially lost their lives as a direct consequence of the catastrophic conflict against the Beast Kingdom. Having freshly accepted me as her surrogate maternal anchor, the moment I announced an immediate deployment to the Beast Kingdom, her internal security parameters had automatically tanked, inducing a massive fear that 'Mother might systematically fail to return.' While I had utilized high-grade long-distance communication arrays to continuously broadcast data confirming my survival alongside precise calculations regarding our arrival window, a localized layer of anxiety had clearly refused to clear.
(The literal microsecond her visual sensors locked onto my silhouette, she had launched her entire body into a high-speed projectile sprint straight into my chest.)
Sharing a deeply sentimental, standard domestic exchange with her that mirrored the behavioral patterns of a conventional humanoid family—the sacred execution of "I'm home" and "Welcome back"—I gently stroked her hair. We were currently enveloped by a fascinating tapestry of overlapping gazes: the warm, deeply supportive expressions of the elderly Prime Minister and his senior cabinet staff; the highly confused, tilted-head stares of the adjacent ostriches silently projecting the query 'Who on earth is that human?'; and, naturally, the intense glare radiating from Dele, which clearly communicated: 'I remember exactly who you are, and I find your presence thoroughly disagreeable, but I am actively exerting my absolute processing limits to tolerate you for Mama's sake...!'
I mean, I get it. Despite having formally committed to functioning as her parental guardian, I had immediately turned around and left her behind to manage a military campaign. Furthermore, given the sheer volume of my biological children, extending localized special treatment to a human child was a severe operational violation. Yet, the systemic reality of the situation remained unchanged, and I was carrying a non-zero layer of internal guilt. Consequently, I had mentally resolved to spend the entire day thoroughly spoiling her to compensate... but...
(Could we perhaps adjust the configuration of this interaction just a tiny bit?)
"Mufufu~!"
"Gyubee! Gyu-gyu-gyu!!!"
As if explicitly attempting to shield the slightly damp patch she had manufactured on my chest feathers, Lucia shifted her orientation to rub her cheek aggressively against the spot, throwing a highly smug, triumphant smirk directly at her rival. Naturally, the terminal destination of that smirk was Dele, who was currently operating at peak fury. While the chick had initially displayed an admirable layer of self-restraint, being explicitly provoked on an active channel was an entirely different operational parameters. This was a long-awaited family reunion, and as the senior sister platform, Dele's cognitive buffer for tolerating human sass completely dissolved. The restrained expression vanished instantly, replaced by a maximum-yield display of avian rage.
Meanwhile, for reasons that baffled baseline logic, the impromptu dance tournament among the other ostriches was actively expanding in scale. The standard behavioral loop was blindingly transparent: individual A began executing a kinetic routine, individual B observed this and concluded 'I must immediately participate,' and somewhere during the physical execution of the dance, their working memory completely flushed the original context of why they were dancing in the first place. However, because the physical activity was generating an internal dopamine spike, they simply arrived at the executive decision to continue spinning indefinitely.
(The entire situation has completely degraded beyond my capacity to organize. Wonderful.)
Desperately seeking a stabilizing intervention, I projected a pleading look toward the Tactician, only to receive a flat, highly defensive facial expression that translated to: 'Why are you looking at me?! There are literally dozens of alternative personnel standing right next to you!' I mean, yes, but your facial reactions are consistently the highest-yield entertainment on the board, so my eyes naturally drift there... By the way, Matilde covertly informed me that when you were coordinating the market procurement for our flock's logistics train, you pulled multiple high-level bureaucratic levers behind the scenes to secure a near thirty-percent discount on our wholesale grain acquisition, didn't you? Tell me, Tactician, wouldn't you love to officially transition into the role of Chief Ostrich Dietary Coordinator? I could comfortably authorize your deployment as a certified Daycare Instructor!
Despite my internal attempts to brainstorm ridiculous solutions, time was clearly failing to resolve the gridlock. While this specific brand of chaotic physical friction functioned as a core communication methodology for my children, allowing it to escalate any further would undoubtedly leave long-term systemic damage on their relationship. My apologies, girls.
"Alright, Lucia, let's refrain from intentionally running optimization loops on Dele's anger parameters. I completely comprehend your emotional state, but we must maintain diplomatic harmony. And Dele, you are the older sister platform here; it is time to throttle your output and settle down."
"Muu~!"
"Ya!"
Ah, total operational failure. The baseline maternal commands were insufficient. Recognizing the deadlock, I deployed a secondary high-intensity persuasion matrix: leaning my beak directly into their localized acoustic boundaries, I delivered two separate, highly confidential whispers to ensure neither platform could intercept the other's data stream.
"Lucia. I am deeply sorry for leaving you isolated for such an extended duration. To compensate, I will officially authorize a co-sleeping arrangement for tonight's rest cycle. Can you manage to exert a tiny bit of patience for the remainder of the afternoon?"
"Dele. You executed an exceptionally high-grade display of emotional restraint during the initial encounter, and Mama is incredibly proud of you. Can you push through just a tiny bit longer? The moment this concludes, I will unleash a maximum-yield praise sequence on you."
" "......Understood." "
Excellent. Both platforms are fundamentally top-tier, exceptionally good girls.
Now then, Lucia, please execute a minor lateral shift. Dele, smoothly occupy the newly vacated seating real estate. This unit only possesses two knee platforms for deployment; consequently, monopolizing the asset is highly discouraged by management. ...There we go, magnificent. Physical altercations are within acceptable parameters, but you must consistently execute proper reconciliation protocols afterward, okay? Regardless of how many cycles it takes, Mama will patiently wait for the system to clear, so please maintain a cooperative interface.
...Perfect, the domestic sector has successfully stabilized.
(Now, as for the catastrophic dance tournament actively destabilizing the immediate foreground...)
"Well... I suppose we can leave that specific array running. They appear to be extracting a massive amount of entertainment from it, anyway."
"Waaa!"
"Wait up~!"
"Spinny-spin!"
◇◆◇◆◇
"And that is the current structural overview of the situation."
"While we had received preliminary data feeds regarding these developments, analyzing the literal reality is... profoundly challenging..."
Leaving the endless loop of the ostrich dance festival running in the background, we migrated to the exterior perimeter of the capital to convene an official high-level strategic council with the kingdom's senior leadership. Following our established administrative protocol, Lucia was comfortably stationed atop one of my knee platforms, while Dele occupied the opposite side. Flanking our left and right flanks in a neat, organized semi-circle, the senior ministers and heavy hitters of the realm took their seats. Ah, and let me explicitly clarify: this was a pure, unadulterated open-air council. Yes, absolutely. The ambient breeze was thoroughly refreshing, wasn't it?
I had already utilized our long-distance magical communication arrays to transmit the baseline data regarding the Tactician's invitation to Lucia. However, whether that information had smoothly permeated down to every single bureaucratic node within this council remained highly debatable. To be completely transparent, my internal database had yet to successfully map these ministers' faces to their respective alphanumeric names... Consequently, under the tactical guise of a formal confirmation review, I verbally delivered a comprehensive operational brief of the situation directly to Lucia. The primary strategic parameters requiring absolute executive decisions during this specific turn were twofold: 'Shall the Kingdom of Hide officially authorize the deployment of the ostrich fleet to support the Nagan Reclamation Campaign?' and 'How shall we logistically and diplomatically process the Beast Kingdom military elements who are aggressively demanding authorization to participate in the offensive?'
"As we suspected, the geopolitical equation is exceptionally convoluted."
"Yes! Separating from Mama is a massive operational violation; I refuse to authorize it!"
"Ah, you were referring to that specific parameter."
Smoothly bypassing Lucia's vocal input, I tuned my acoustic sensors to focus entirely on the debate echoing among the heavy hitters. Despite my total failure to comprehend their individual names, faces, or even the precise definitions of their ministerial portfolios, my baseline observation confirmed that every single individual occupying a seat in this circle possessed an admirable layer of professional competence. With the elderly Prime Minister functioning as a highly efficient central processing node to synthesize the debate, a diverse spectrum of institutional perspectives was systematically brought to the floor. If only my biological children possessed an internal processor capable of parsing abstract logic at this density, my operational anxiety would drop to zero... I wonder how many evolutionary cycles that update will require.
"During the recent geopolitical crisis involving the sudden military offensive from the Beast Kingdom, the Nagan state apparatus actively deployed vital reinforcement assets to secure our borders."
"When assessing the historical ledger through that specific lens, the option to flatly decline participation in their hour of need... simply does not exist on a diplomatic level."
"However, we must simultaneously process the structural reality that our nation has effectively executed a de facto administrative annexation of the Beast Kingdom's entire sovereign territory."
"In terms of pure geographic surface area, our borders have instantly expanded to become the absolute largest on the entire regional map. We will be ruthlessly targeted by neighboring superpowers."
"Precisely. Consequently, dispatching Lord Wraith's faction—who fundamentally represents the absolute pinnacle of our national defense architecture—to a foreign theater is a massive security hazard..."
"Regardless of our ultimate trajectory, executing a high-grade information warfare campaign is a mandatory prerequisite. Under zero circumstances can the current geographic coordinates of Lord Wraith be leaked to external intelligence networks."
"Mama, Mama."
"Yes? What is it, Lucia?"
While I was doing my absolute best to let their incredibly dense, highly complex geopolitical calculations enter my right ear and smoothly exit my left alongside Dele, Lucia began gently tugging on my feathers to secure a direct channel. To ensure we didn't violently interrupt the primary institutional debate, she deployed a highly restrained, low-decibel vocal array. Tilting my cervical spine slightly, I lowered my auditory sensors to her position.
"Lucia worked exceptionally hard while you were away. Look closely at the faces around the circle; the configuration has changed, hasn't it?"
"Ah... yes, indeed. Now that you mention it, the arrangement does feel different."
"To be completely honest, I systematically 'sanatized' the cabinet."
In absolute reality, my visual sensors had registered zero percent of the shift, but I smoothly executed a maternal confirmation sequence anyway. Immediately following that confirmation, Lucia casually dropped an absolute, unmitigated high-caliber bombshell straight into the channel. Ah... I see. So you... systematically sanitized the room... fascinating. Let me ask a vital administrative question: did you execute that specific purge protocol after proper, extensive consultation with the elderly Prime Minister? Did you leave a functional layer of objective, critical advisors intact who possess the capacity to voice formal opposition? If your target parameters were strictly restricted to corrupt, self-serving bureaucratic platforms who were actively embezzling national capital, your mother has zero objections...
"Naturally! Every single asset reallocation was finalized after deep, systematic consultations!"
Her chest puffed out with an immense craving for a premium praise sequence. Predicting with absolute mathematical certainty that Dele would instantly demand an identical deployment if left unaddressed, I raised both wings to stroke their heads simultaneously, applying a fraction of an extra percent of pressure to Lucia's side to incentivize her statecraft. I see, I see... so you cleansed the upper echelons of the state apparatus. That certainly explains why the room feels packed to the brim with exceptionally high-yield, capable professionals.
(I suppose it's safe to conclude she possesses an innate, highly terrifying talent for absolute autocratic governance; her emotional maturity was simply failing to track her operational capacity until recently.)
The primary issue, however, is that when a child turns to her mother and demands to be 'praised' for executing a high-level political purge, I have absolute zero data in my database regarding what a proper maternal response looks like... This is precisely that classic, deeply awkward domestic scenario where the offspring's professional development expands so rapidly that the baseline parent is left completely unable to keep pace with the data. To think such a phenomenon would manifest inside a flock that originated in the Highlands... the world is truly full of wonders. Mama needs to seriously consider allocating a portion of her processing queue to studying baseline political science.
As these thoughts drifted through my mind, I continued to rhythmically pat their heads while tuning my ears to monitor the ongoing conversation among the highly capable ministers.
"Processing the Beast Kingdom's internal dynamics is proving to be an exceptional logistical headache."
"When analyzing their native cultural parameters, provided Lord Wraith remains physically present on the board, the statistical probability of a low-tier civilian rebellion manifesting is functionally zero... however..."
"We cannot operate under the assumption that their leadership will continuously conform to our administrative directives indefinitely."
"While I agree that over-accommodating their institutional demands is a dangerous precedent, when the objective is framed as a literal blood feud to avenge their fallen sovereign..."
"If we frame the authorization as a grand manifestation of our state's supreme 'benevolence' and strategic alignment, granting them clearance to deploy could secure immense long-term diplomatic loyalty, no?"
"But their entire society operates on a total-mobilization, citizen-soldier framework. When factoring in our domestic defense requirements, authorizing the movement of a massive army across the border is an unacceptable risk."
"The equation consistently circles back to the same bottleneck: we must precisely calculate the enemy's maximum combat output before rewriting our deployment metrics. The Tactician is scheduled to arrive shortly with a comprehensive intelligence packet regarding the hostile forces; until that data is processed, our primary directive should be auditing our own localized assets."
"Lord Wraith."
"......Eh? Ah, me?"
I had been contentedly treating their debate as pleasant ambient background noise when the Prime Minister, positioned immediately to my flank, abruptly called my designation on a direct channel. Before I could even process the transition, every single optical sensor in the open-air council room had locked onto my silhouette with absolute precision. Wait, what? What did I miss? I was entirely focused on monitoring the behavioral loop of my children who were still tirelessly executing that bizarre dance routine across the field... I didn't intercept a single line of your dialogue. My apologies, Lucia. If your mother has accidentally committed a severe administrative blunder, please deploy emergency support. Forgive your incredibly incompetent mama...
"Given our total lack of real-time intelligence regarding the internal configuration of the captured Nagan capital, arriving at an absolute strategic calculation is challenging... but to establish a baseline benchmark: assuming you were to launch a unilateral, completely solo offensive against a fortress of that caliber—such as our own capital city of Galtayba—how many temporal units would you require to successfully finalize the capture?"
"Let's see... the calculation depends entirely on your primary constraints. If the objective is strictly defined as 'complete and total structural erasure,' then including the mandatory charge time for the array, the entire process would wrap up in approximately ten to fifteen seconds? Conversely, if your operational parameters explicitly demand that the urban infrastructure, economic systems, and civic utilities be left one hundred percent intact and functional post-occupation, the timeline expands significantly. The exact metric would track the enemy's internal morale parameters... but even under worst-case resistance modeling, it wouldn't require a full week, right?"
If the mission parameters were simplified to pure kinetic deletion, a single high-intensity discharge of my multi-attribute mana artillery—saturated to absolute limits with raw energy—would cleanly settle the ledger in one turn. However, if the strategic goal was to preserve the physical real estate for future administrative utility, the most efficient tactical solution that materialized in my mind was executing a high-speed assassination sweep to permanently neutralize the sovereign monarch or the localized military commanders. Historically, crushing the central command node is sufficient to induce systemic collapse across the rank-and-file, but the precise duration would ultimately float based on how the opposing side reacted to the threat. For instance, if they decided to treat the captured leader as a tragic casualty of war, immediately swear in a secondary proxy commander, and commit to a scorched-earth, absolute resistance strategy, the timeline would inevitably stretch.
"Assuming the opposing garrison doesn't possess a highly specialized, black-swan tier 'Exceptional Combat Variant' hidden in their ranks, the temporal investment should be remarkably low. In actual practice, both our engagement against the Beast King and our recent clash with the undead legions required only a few hours of active combat from the moment of initial physical contact. Neither operation consumed a single full day."
"......Understood. The sheer, unadulterated scale of your operational capacity is... profoundly staggering."
"Terrifying."
"Your baseline human reactions are leaking through your professional veneer, Minister."
"Ah—my deepest apologies, structural decorum slipped for a microsecond."
"Though, analyzed objectively, 'Exceptional Combat Variant' is precisely the designated terminology mandated for assets of that caliber."
"If we accept that calculation as our primary benchmark, the core strategic bottleneck shifts entirely away from combat duration and locks onto pure transit logistics. The time required to physically move across the landscape is the true variable."
"Executing a high-speed courier deployment from our current coordinates to the Nagan capital requires approximately ten days of continuous travel. If we attempt to march a standard combined-arms army including our comprehensive heavy logistical trains, that transit window will easily triple in volume."
"A round trip duration of two full months... that is an astronomical window of exposure."
"Attempting to maintain absolute information security to mask the geographic location and operational movements of Lord Wraith's entire fleet for a two-month window is..."
"Our domestic counter-intelligence grid is fundamentally not operating at a premium tier. Our baseline protocol mandates that we operate under the permanent assumption that our intelligence channels are 'actively compromised' by external actors."
"When factoring in the logistical realities of food procurement, the sudden, massive fluctuations across regional agricultural markets will instantly leak our trajectory to any competent analyst. This is an exceptionally thorny bottleneck."
Oh, wow. The moment I delivered my raw combat metrics, their collective processing speed spiked, and the debate began advancing at an incredible velocity. ...Though, based on the facial expressions manifesting around the circle, they didn't seem to be generating any high-yield solutions to the bottleneck. It was an undeniable reality that we ostriches are structurally incapable of operating outside of our primary collective formation, and our daily metabolic requirements meant our wholesale food consumption was a massive economic drain. While we possessed the capacity to safely forage and hunt wild monsters in the outdoor wilderness to satisfy our hunger parameters, attempting to sustain a flock of our magnitude in these settled lands would inevitably hit a hard ecological limit. The moment we were forced to execute a large-scale logistics replenishment inside a localized municipality, the market dynamics would shift violently, and those ripples would be systematically intercepted by international espionage nodes.
Even in a world plagued by severely delayed information transmission vectors, a two-month operational window was an eternity, presenting an exceptionally difficult equation.
The exact microsecond the collective cabinet began clutching their heads in profound intellectual exhaustion, Lucia smoothly executed a sharp, commanding wave of her arm, instantly re-centering every single optical sensor in the room onto her position.
"It appears the collective consensus of this council perfectly aligns with my personal assessment. Under zero analytical frameworks can we accept a two-month operational timeline. To speak with absolute candor: the sheer severity of my upcoming maternal deprivation parameters would comfortably drive me into clinical insanity."
" " "Y-Your Majesty...!" " "
"Consequently—or perhaps I should state, as a direct countermeasure to this exact bottleneck—it appears our esteemed Tactician has already engineered a highly specialized strategic array designed to completely shatter this logical gridlock. ...Ah, speak of the devil."
As her gaze smoothly drifted toward the outer perimeter of the clearing, I tracked her line of sight to discover the Tactician slowly marching toward our coordinates, his signature, profoundly deceptive merchant-style smile perfectly plastered across his face. And positioned immediately behind his shoulder was a mature male humanoid sporting a brilliant, incredibly ornate crown that closely mirrored the structural design of the asset resting on Lucia's head. ...A royal crown? Wait, don't tell me...
"My deepest apologies for keeping this esteemed council waiting. Allow me the distinct honor of formally introducing our guest. Standing before you is the sovereign ruler of our Nagan Kingdom—"
The exact millisecond the Tactician began synthesizing the introduction to present the high-value asset, the crowned male completely broke formation and launched himself into a high-speed, desperate sprint straight toward my position. My predatory protective instincts instantly fired; I aggressively expanded the span of both wings to form an absolute physical shield to guarantee my children's safety, bracing for impact. However, the oncoming monarch displayed zero signs of decelerating; instead, he aggressively dropped his weight, slammed his knees directly into the soil, and executed a massive, high-speed slide across the dirt.
The literal microsecond his momentum carried him to the absolute boundary of my toes, he violently whipped his upper torso downward, smashing his forehead directly into the earth with a thunderous, echoing crash.
"LORD WRAITH!!! I BEG OF YOU, PLEASE EXTEND YOUR DIVINE SALVATION TO MY KINGDOM!!!"
〇 Ostrich Dance Kinetics
This behavioral routine carries absolute zero strategic or logical meaning. It is triggered when an individual chick experiences a sudden, spontaneous internal impulse compelling them to move, at which point they will casually initiate the routine on the spot. The core choreography is exceptionally rudimentary, consisting predominantly of executing rapid, continuous axial rotations in place, paired with rhythmic knee bends to smoothly extend and compress their vertical silhouette. The movement is driven purely by unadulterated emotional expression; the moment a single platform initiates the dance, the surrounding chicks experience a massive localized entertainment spike and enthusiastically link into the formation. Naturally, because their working memory possesses a duration of less than sixty seconds, every single participant completely flushes the context of why they are dancing within a minute of initiation, leaving them to continuously spin in absolute, blissful ignorance.
When their physical stamina metrics hit a critical low or their internal excitement parameters naturally cool down, the majority of the dancers will abruptly terminate the routine and immediately transition into a deep afternoon nap on the spot.