MPSN Ch 9

Chapter 9

“Wow, greetings to His Highness the Prince.”

The falconer who stepped through the door the attendant opened wore a face full of awe and emotion.

He took off his filthy cap and bowed his unwashed hair, as if he had never imagined he would ever be summoned to such a place in his lifetime.

It was less the expression of someone humble and grateful, and more like, ‘Could this opportunity really be mine?’ or ‘How am I supposed to satisfy him when he’s bound to be so picky?’ or even, ‘At last, my moment to prove myself has come. Let’s go, Ddolddol.’

Just as Nikiel raised one eyebrow at the man’s hesitant demeanor and flushed face, the hawk—lying quietly until now—suddenly hissed threateningly, a sharp tss, tss, tss sound escaping it.

Startled, Nikiel turned to see the bird thrashing as if it wanted to tear the falconer apart with its talons. For a creature that could not speak, its hostility was striking.

…Why is it acting up all of a sudden?

Nikiel started toward Suri but hesitated mid-step. Come to think of it, he had often been close with stable boys too.

That thought alone made it clear what kind of misunderstanding this falconer must have had upon being summoned to the prince’s bedchamber.

“…I don’t know what you’ve misunderstood, but the one you need to please is not me—it’s that bird over there.”

“P–pardon? Ah, no, I—I mean, heavens, this wretched thing dares….”

Fortunately, the falconer seemed to understand his place more than expected; something in Nikiel’s words must have struck him, because he quickly bowed in shock.

Abandoning the dream of becoming the prince’s consort, the falconer regained his composure and approached the bed to examine the hawk.

The bird, which had hissed menacingly at him mere moments ago, calmed down at once, as though it understood he was here to treat it.

Yet its sharp gaze toward the falconer did not soften—it was almost as if the creature were guarding Nikiel from anyone approaching him.

Smart and handsome, and even knows gratitude, Nikiel thought, satisfied. He recalled the folktale of the magpie that repaid a favor.¹

This was his first time seeing a golden eagle in person. Although Nikiel’s research primarily focused on mammals, the neighboring laboratory studied avian reproductive ecology and the traits of bird and small-mammal colonies.

It wasn’t an entirely foreign field to him, but his knowledge leaned more toward ecological mechanisms than physiological ones. He studied how birds hunted and mated rather than their anatomy.

Still, he wasn’t entirely ignorant; he could at least understand some of what the falconer muttered as he carefully examined the bird.

The falconer gingerly removed the arrowhead lodged in the eagle’s back and inspected the wound. Then, soaking a clean cloth in the disinfecting liquor prepared by Paul, he wiped the injury clean.

Though it must have been agonizing, the hawk did not cry out or attempt to fly away; it simply stared quietly at Nikiel.

“The wing joint is indeed injured, but the bone itself isn’t broken. Bathing it in herbal infusions and applying poultices for a few days will suffice. After about a week, it’d be good to encourage some gentle wing flapping.”

Though the royal carrier-pigeon overseer hadn’t even arrived yet, the falconer had already completed an admirable diagnosis and thorough treatment.

Aside from having entered the room in a daze and harboring improper thoughts, the man didn’t seem incompetent. Nikiel decided to pardon him for the earlier “harassment.”

When the treatment was done, the hawk coldly pulled its wing away from the falconer’s hand. It trotted over to Nikiel instead, fixing him with a look that seemed to say, “Pick me up.”

Suppressing a laugh, Nikiel carefully gathered the bird into his arms.

“Does this bird seem to belong to anyone?”

“I doubt it, Your Highness. It’s not a species used for falconry, and there are no signs it’s been handled by humans. Typically, they dye the tail feathers with blue pigments, but this one’s plumage is pristine.”

Glancing at the unmarked tail feathers nestled against his chest, Nikiel found the falconer’s words to be true.

Can it really understand me this well despite never being handled? he wondered. Then again, even trained birds don’t always understand meaning so perfectly.

Though confused, he found the hawk’s round, obsidian eyes—so pure and shiny—disarming.

Once treatment was done, the falconer shared prescriptions and herbs for follow-up care. Nikiel, deciding the carrier-pigeon overseer was unnecessary, instructed Paul to stand down and rewarded the falconer with four gold coins.

“My lord, I only did what was right… I thank you, Your Highness.”

The falconer, face shining with gratitude, was about to depart when Nikiel stopped him.

“Wait. Return one gold coin.”

“…Pardon?”

“In your imagination, you’ve already stripped me and rolled me around. Consider this payment for that.”

“Y–Your Highness—!”

Paul and the falconer both blanched in horror, but Nikiel nonchalantly plucked a coin from the man’s hand.

The bird in his arms chirped cheerfully, almost as if laughing. Cute.

That entire day, Nikiel played with the bird. Since it was still recovering, he avoided stressing its digestive system and fed it finely minced raw goat meat, which it ate eagerly.

“Is it tasty?”

The bird cooed softly, like a spoiled fledgling. Nikiel chuckled.

He ate his meal alongside the bird, ignoring Paul’s aghast protests about sharing a table with an animal.

He devoured flatbreads brushed with oil infused with garlic and chili seeds, baked in a hearth, and dipped them into soup made with exotic spices from distant lands.

The food here was excellent; Nikiel didn’t even miss what he used to eat. His tongue and brain were still those of the “real Nikiel,” after all.

He had once loved Korean dishes like Andong jjimdak or spicy braised chicken stew, yet he barely remembered their taste now. He didn’t find this bittersweet, merely thought, “At least I’m not suffering for food here.”

In the past, when traveling abroad, he often survived on fruit alone, unable to stomach the pungent spices. Here, thankfully, food suited him well.

Though he had always cared about his health, maintaining three regular meals a day had been hard. He often skipped breakfast and lunch, only to realize it was already five in the evening.

In this place, Paul ensured every meal was prepared. And with dessert included? Sheer luxury.

As he savored stewed apple compote with lemon juice and sugar for dessert, the bird cooed like a baby sparrow, watching him intently. When he offered a bite, it turned its head away—adorably.

“Oh, you’re so cute…. Once you’re healed, let’s work out together, huh?”

Remembering how startled the bird had been earlier, Nikiel refrained from kissing its cheek but continued to stroke its chin with his index finger. The bird purred contentedly.

He played with it like that until evening, then went to bed with the bird still by his side. Paul had brought a basket lined with soft cushions for the hawk, but it refused even to look at it.

In the end, Nikiel let it sleep in bed with him. Like a puppy, it burrowed into his chest, and he laughed, letting it snuggle into his arms.

He drifted to sleep like that—and dreamed a very chaotic dream.

A massive bird was pressing down on his chest. Half-asleep, Nikiel wanted to thrash but found he couldn’t move his body.

Sleep paralysis? In another world, no ghosts, just… birds?

He groaned softly, but the bird didn’t budge.

He recalled a certain myth—of a god chained to a mountain, whose liver was pecked out daily.

But this bird didn’t seem interested in his liver. It simply stood there, talons sheathed, silently watching him.

So heavy…

The weight wasn’t just physical; the intensity of its stare felt heavier still.

There was déjà vu in its gaze. Where had he seen eyes like that before? Even in his drowsy state, he struggled to place it, but nothing came to mind.

Can you just get off already? Is this some kind of bird’s grudge? I saved a golden eagle today, so why am I being cursed like this…

He wanted to protest but couldn’t speak. He wasn’t quite awake or asleep, his limbs limp, bearing the creature’s weight.

Sleep dragged him down further. His eyelids felt as heavy as the weight on his chest. In the blurry haze, the “bird” shifted.

Wait… that’s not a bird…

It was a man. A naked man, at that.

What the—?!

Shocked, Nikiel found himself unable to sit up or flee. His consciousness was thinning rapidly.

The man, looming over him, slipped into Nikiel’s arms as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Sir… you’re huge… Why are you crawling into my arms?

Another towering tree trunk of a man. Why was everyone here so absurdly big?

Before he could complain, the man had already wrapped his arms around Nikiel, pulling him tight.

Their bare legs tangled together.

Uh—what is happening right now…?

Before he could even articulate a protest, his thoughts were slipping away.

No… Is this some kind of incubi thing? But why a man…? I don’t swing that way…

His thoughts broke apart.

The man’s arms were warm. He guided Nikiel’s limp hand to his waist.

The breadth of his back muscles made it hard to embrace him fully. Then Nikiel’s fingertips brushed against something soft—cloth.

A wound? Bandages…?

That was the last thought in Nikiel’s mind as he buried his face in the man’s chest and drifted into unconsciousness.

¹ Folktale of the magpie repaying a favor: A Korean folktale in which a magpie, saved by a kind person, later brings gifts to repay the kindness.