Chapter 4: (Ironbeaked Quail)
I walk and looked around inside the room, then my eyes fell to something made of dark wooden box and when I crouched to pull it out under the bed, I realized it was a **CHEST.**
and my eyes chest, expecting treasure, but there was none. Only a fallen noble crest — the emblem of the Vixxon family — and several, 6 old shirt and short, half-burned candles. The bottom of the chest was covered in hardened layers of wax, its solid.
"What a broke boy," I muttered. "Well, I'm broke too. Guess that makes me double broke — once in my world, and again here."
[That's not my problem — whether you're broke or he is. Owner.]
A greedy smile crept across my face as I stared at the emblem. "How about I sell this crest? It might fetch ten, maybe a hundred gold… or more." I shake my head and add. "No, stop — this isn't just a trinket. It's a noble emblem. Money can be earned again, but a noble title…" I trailed off, my thoughts circling like vultures. "Still… if I sold it…"
[Owner. Is that really what crosses your mind after seeing a Vixxon badge? You sound more like a bandit than a noble. The Vixxons are one of the Five Great Families of Parrenia — that crest is important.]
"Yeah, yeah, I know." I placed the badge back inside the chest, then pushed it to the far end beneath the bed — deep enough that I wouldn't be tempted to reach for it again.
I picked up the stained dagger from the bed, and placed it quietly on the table.
"I'm going to sleep," I said, lying down on the creaking bed. The pillow smelled faintly of the remaining blood and old dust. I pulled the thin blanket over myself and closed my eyes, lying on my stomach.
[Good night owner]
As I slept, lying on my stomach with my face buried in the pillow, I began to dream. In the dream, my head was turned toward the window, my eyes wide open. I couldn't move or speak. My body was frozen, my breath shallow. Then I saw it—a shadow forming near the window, growing larger and larger as it came closer. Its shape became clearer, the figure of a person with long hair. Its eyes glowed white, and its mouth twisted into a wide, unnatural grin.
It stepped closer, raising a spear, the sharp point aimed straight at my face. I wanted to move, to crawl away, to shout for help, but nothing in my body would respond. Only my thoughts screamed—help!
And then, suddenly, I woke. My heart pounded in my chest. I was still facing the window, just like in the dream. The air felt strangely cold against my skin. But I was drenched in sweat.
"ha... ha... urggg! What is that? A dream? Yeah, a dream," I said shakily, my voice unsteady as I stared at the open window. I reached out and closed it, the frame creak as it shut. I turned away, lay back on the bed, and pulled the blanket over my shoulder. My eyelids lowered slowly as I tried to fall asleep again.
"Yeah… it's just a nightmare," I whispered weakly, my voice trembling as my eyes close "It's not real… I'm just tired. When morning comes, the sun will rise, and I'll wake up… everything will fade away like it never happened…"
A whisper answered from the dark corner of my room, almost like my own voice repeating—"Wake up."
**5th day of Thrilmilce**
The morning arrived quietly. The rays of sunlight crept through the narrow gap of the closed window and the thin cracks in the wall and ceiling, spilling faint light across the room like golden threads. it hit my face with a faint, gentle warmth. My eyelids twitched before I slowly opened them, staring at the ceiling above. For a moment, I just lay there—silent, caught between drowsiness and wakefulness.
Then I tightened my abdomen and slowly lifted my body. My shoulders rose first, my spine following one careful motion at a time. My neck felt heavy, my muscles stiff. The blanket slipped off my chest. The mattress pressed faintly against my back as I straightened, until I finally sat upright—balanced, breathing quietly, my palms resting beside me.
"So… this isn't a dream after all," I muttered under my breath, voice hoarse. "I'm really inside the novel."
I exhaled through my nose and let out a low yawn. "Haaah… what a ridiculous reality to wake up from now on."
[Good morning, owner] the system window appeared in front of my eyes—its glow against the dim room.
I squinted and raised a hand as if to block sunlight. "Don't just flash your face out of nowhere. You trying to blind me first thing in the morning?"
[Apologies, owner]
"Yeah, sure. Apologies accepted. Just give me a warning next time," I said, rubbing my eyes. "Anyway, I'll check the surrounding of the house to see where is my location. And maybe I can find some food to cook, or at least something thats edible."
I reached for the sword leaning beside the bed. Its handle felt cool and rough against my palm. The metal still have trace of rust—proof that no one had cared for it in a long time. I stood up,
I wore the black leather shoes under the table, the soles scraped against the house floor as I dragged my feet toward the door. When I reached it.
The hinges groaned, as I took 2 step outside. Infront of me is a path, it was swallowed by overgrown weeds, their thin stalks brushing against my legs, then my eyes caught the sight of a large clay pot resting beside the wall. It stood nearly three feet tall, its surface rough and uneven, covered in patches of dried mud and faint cracks that ran along its sides. The rim was chipped in several places, and a thick layer of dust clung to its neck. I lifted its heavy mud lid, the dry clay crumbling slightly under my fingers, and peered inside.
The clay pot was half-filled with still but very clear water, its surface faintly rippling from the movement of cold air. Floating lazily on top was a small wooden mug, its body darkened by water stains and age, the handle swollen from constantly being soaked in water. A faint earthy smell rose from the pot, mixed with the scent of wet clay and old wood.
"A pot for storing water"
Beside it stood a wooden bucket, built from vertical oak staves bound tightly with two rusted iron bands. The edges were chipped, and thin cracks crawled up from its base. Its handle was a curved piece of forged iron, pitted and dark from years of use. Inside the bucket is a copper pot with iron handle, was slightly wedged sideways inside the bucket, its rim pressed against the inner wall, half-submerged in the small puddle of water collected at the bottom its surface dull and greenish with patches of verdigris creeping around the handle joints. The iron handle above it was rough to the touch, stained with rust where it met the copper.
"A bucket that seems to be used daily… and an old pot. Can I really use this pot to cook? Well… whatever. It's still better than nothing."
I stepped farther outside, a wave of cold, moist air greeted me. The forest stretched endlessly in every direction—dense, deep, and unnervingly quiet. I could smell the damp earth, the moss, the faint sweetness of rotting leaves. Judging by the light and the terrain, I was somewhere in the center of the western forest.
And then, through the thin morning mist, I saw it.
Far away in the plains stood what remained of Vixxon Castle. The houses and mansions around it were destroyed, and the big walls that once surrounded them were barely standing. Many of the roofs had collapsed."
"So that's the Vixxon clan castle," I said quietly, almost to myself. "Hard to believe it once belonged to one of the Five Great Families."
[Records show the Vixxon line was wiped out completely William Vixxon is the only remaining since the war.]
"I can tell," I said dryly, staring at the ruin. "Still… it might be worth checking. Ruins like that sometimes have treasure left like jewelry, armors, weapons scraps of metal, or even trinkets I can trade for points. Or coins that can be used in this world."
[You plan to scavenge it?]
"Scavenge? Call it survival plan, for putting me in such a situation! And there were no laws against claiming what was once his. And since I now lived inside William's body, it wasn't stealing. It was simply taking back what rightfully belonged to his clan." I replied, tightening my grip on the sword. "Maybe there's something more useful tools like saw, hammer or a shovel left in there."
I adjusted the sword at my side and kept my eyes fixed on the mansion's silhouette. "I'll go there sooner or later,"
Then, out of nowhere, the system beeped. A blue-green light flashed in front of my eyes as the system window changed from blue to green.
[SYSTEM: MISSION INITIALIZED]
You have received your first mission.
Objective details will be revealed upon acceptance.
[Proceed or Proceed?]
I stared at the screen, expression flat. "So, no choice then? Fine… Proceed."
The text shifted.
Mission: Danger Level — Class alpha. Rarity — Common.
Objective: Create an Ironbeaked Quail Farm.
Reward: 100 Points.
"Ironbeaked quail?" I muttered, frowning. "Aren't those the ones as big as chickens… with beaks strong enough to break walnut shells?"
I looked around. "So, I'm supposed to make a farm."
With the sword resting against my shoulder, I started moving through the forest. The ground was damp, soft under my shoe, covered in layers of fallen leaves and broken twigs. Shafts of sunlight pierced through the canopy, glinting faintly against the dew. I moved slowly, scanning the ground for signs—anything that resembled their nesting area.
"Where are those holes? They make small burrow-holes to live in and lay their eggs. They're completely addicted to eating walnuts. People call them **the poor man's celebration** because commoners often eat them—though their meat is tough and the aftertaste is strong. They're usually hunted only at the end of the year, since this type of bird is almost wiped out near the villages."
"But in a forest like this, their numbers are still high. There aren't many predators here. In fact, the presence of Ironbeaked Quails is proof of that—if these birds are around, it means predators and people rarely come here. They're almost as clueless as dodos, so surviving anywhere else would be impossible for them."
Ironbeaked quails were known for digging their homes into the ground—wide burrows lined with dry grass and layers of hardened mud. The easiest way to find them was through what they left behind: dried droppings, broken egg shells, and the cracked remains of tree walnuts scattered around the entrance. Their diet mainly consisted of walnuts —the hard kind that normal birds couldn't even touch. Those beaks weren't just for defense; they used them to break shells clean open and dig into the soil to form their dens.
After a few minutes of searching, I crouched beside a patch of flattened grass. Broken walnut shells were scattered everywhere—split cleanly in half, the insides completely eaten out. I picked one up, turning it between my fingers as I studied the marks.
"Yeah… this is from an ironbeaked quail," I muttered under my breath. "The cracks are too clean. Looks like it was here not too long ago."
I rubbed my thumb over the edge of the shell, feeling the sharp lines.
"Fresh trail," I whispered, more to myself than anyone. "It can't be far."
I pocketed a few walnuts that still had meat inside. "These should work as bait."
For the next few minutes, I moved deeper into the forest, keeping low, careful not to make unnecessary noise. The air grew heavier, filled with the earthy scent of wet soil and wet bark. Then I saw it—half-hidden under a fallen old log. A round opening in the ground, about the size of a bucket, surrounded by dried grass and traces of feathers.
I knelt beside it, brushing away a few leaves. The hole was deep, its edges is compact and smooth. Inside, I could see claw scratches and beak marks on the soil.
A small smirk tugged at my lips. "Found one~."
"I need to set a trap for this thing. I'm not using my bare hands—there's no way I'm risking an injury. A trap is the safest option."
Before I started, I searched for the right kind of grass — tall, straight, and fibrous. The short ones would tear too easily. I moved slowly through the patch, pulling each blade to test its strength. When I found the good ones, I cut them cleanly with my sword, letting them fall in neat piles at my feet. Their grassy scent can be smell to the air. I gathered a handful and knelt down to begin.
1st step. Gather a bundle:
I took six to ten long blades and lined their ends together, overlapping them to make the bundle thicker and stronger.
2nd step. Folding:
I folded the bundle in half where the ends met, making two equal bunches — one on the left, one on the right. I pinched the middle with my thumb and forefinger to keep it tight.
3rd step. Start the twist:
With my right hand, I twisted the right bunch away from me several times. Then I did the same with the left, both twisting in the same direction.
4th step. Coil together:
I brought the two twisted bunches together, folding them toward each other. They wrapped and locked tightly, forming the start of a rope. I pulled gently, keeping the twist firm so it wouldn't loosen.
5th step. Slide and repeat:
I slid my fingers down the rope, adding new blades when the ends grew short. I overlapped each new piece by a few inches, twisting and folding until the rope lengthened smoothly. The rhythm became steady — twist, pull, add, twist again.
6th step. Finish:
When I finally reached the length I needed, I tied the ends into a secure knot. I wound a thin strip of grass around the tip and tucked it underneath to hold. The rope was a little rough but strong.
I placed the rope in front of the hole, its loop carefully positioned to circle around the walnut. Then I took a thin stick and set it beneath the walnut as the trigger for the ironbeaked quail. Above it, I bent a flexible branch and tied the other end of the rope to it, making sure the tension was enough to snap upward once triggered.
After assembling the trap, I checked each part again—the loop, the trigger, the branch. Everything had to move in one motion, no delay. I set one uncracked walnut in the middle of the loop, resting lightly on top of the trigger.
"Its done"
When everything was ready, I stepped back slowly and hid behind a nearby tree. My heart beat quietly against my chest as I crouched low, watching the stillness of the trap. Then, after a moment of silence, I heard it—the soft, cautious steps of something approaching.
Chir-ting-ting! kreee-klink, kreee-klink!
That strange sounds is getting louder as the ironbeaked quail began to crawl out of the hole.
Big weird eyes, tongue sticking out, Its body was covered in a mottled coat of brown and gray feathers, blending perfectly with the soil around it. The beak was thick, black, and curved, that are hard and sharp enough to crack nuts.
That unsettling sound and its odd, almost comical face were exactly what made the author creations famous.
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[ SYSTEM SCAN — BIOLOGICAL ANATOMY REPORT ]
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Specimen ID : #032-A
Common Name : IRONBEAKED QUAIL
Status : ACTIVE
Danger Level : (α) Alpha ☆
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▌PHYSICAL DIMENSIONS
Height ... 1.1 ft (0.34 m)
Length ... 1.8 ft (0.55 m)
Weight ... ~3.2 kg
Structure Type .... Ground Bird / Burrow Dweller
▌ANATOMICAL DATA
Feathers .... Mottled brown-gray pattern; provides perfect soil camouflage.
Skin ..... Thin dermal layer reinforced with dust oil secretion for dryness.
Beak ..... Thick, black, curved structure; iron-like density used for nut cracking and burrow digging.
Eyes ..... Enlarged orbital size; high surface reflection for underground visibility.
Tongue ... Flat and extended; aids in soil tasting and moisture detection.
Musculature .... Compact pectoral group designed for repetitive impact (digging motion).
Limbs .... Short, clawed digits for scraping hardened soil layers.
Skeleton .... Lightweight avian frame with reinforced cranial plate.
Lungs .... High-capacity respiration system; efficient air exchange during digging.
Heart .... Steady rhythm with pressure tolerance for long underground stays.
Reproductive Organs .... Highly active ovarian system; capable of laying up to 100 eggs per month.
Egg Viability .... Approximately 7–12% survive to hatch due to soil conditions and predation.
Digestive Tract .... Hardened gizzard capable of grinding nutshell fragments.
Beak Composition .... High carbon density; resembles natural alloy, hence the "ironbeak."
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[ BEHAVIORAL NOTES ]
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- Digs large burrows lined with dry grass and layered mud.
- Identified by traces of droppings, broken shells, and crushed walnuts.
- Feeds primarily on hard walnuts and roots inaccessible to other birds.
- Uses beak for both excavation and defense; capable of cracking shells cleanly.
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[ END OF REPORT — DATA STORED IN FIELD LOG #032-A ]
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