True Immortal Heart-Chapter 42: Footless Bird

Long ago, there was a falcon that soared freely across the endless blue sky.

The southern winds lifted the wings of all flying creatures, yet none in that vast expanse could rival its speed.

It was born among the snowy northern peaks, where icy gales pierced through jagged summits and clouds drifted lazily like they were asleep.

From the very first moment it spread its wings and took flight, a strange, profound sensation stirred within its heart—a feeling unlike any other, one that made it fall in love with the skies.

As time passed, this simple creature with its simple thoughts began to harbor a powerful obsession:

Fly—higher, farther, forever. Never land. Never stop. Remain in the sky for all eternity.

And so it flew.

Whenever exhaustion overcame it, it would fall—crash into the ground, wings battered and bruised.

Each fall left behind new wounds, deeper than the last.

But it never stopped.

It kept flying, kept pushing itself—again and again—until the end of its days drew near.

Then, the moment finally arrived.

The falcon knew—this would be its final flight.

Fear gripped its heart.

It feared that this might be the last time it would ever feel the wind beneath its wings, the last time it would ever taste the freedom of the sky.

But then, it remembered.

It remembered its obsession.

It remembered why it had flown so far, for so long.

It remembered the countless, tiny victories scattered across its journey like stars.

A fire reignited within its heart—a blazing flame of obsession, of indomitable will.

It beat its wings once more and ascended, higher than ever before.

This would be its final flight—its most glorious flight.

Up it went, defying pain, ignoring fatigue.

It kept flying on and on, even as its wings trembled and screamed in agony.

It flapped and flapped until its strength was utterly spent—until both wings finally gave way and snapped.

Then, it fell.

But even in its fall, there was something grand, something tragic.

It was a descent born not of failure, but of relentless pursuit—a fall upon the very road that led to its dream.

Throughout its life, it had never once stopped.

It had chased its dream until the very moment death came for it.

As its consciousness began to fade, plummeting from the sky at terminal speed...

—a miracle occurred.

The world had acknowledged it.

Acknowledged its will, its unwavering determination.

A surge of energy poured into its body, and with it... its form began to change.

It was no longer an ordinary falcon.

Now, even its legs had vanished—just as its obsession had always desired: never to land again.

It had grown larger, more powerful, and freer than ever before.

No longer a falcon, it had evolved into a higher, more transcendent form known as the Footless Bird.

It soared at unimaginable speed, piercing through layers of cloud, ascending to face the sun once more.

It shot across the sky like a divine spear, tearing apart the heavens—ripping the sky itself as if it were cleaved in two.

It had succeeded. At long last, it had truly succeeded.

And from that moment onward, the legend of the Footless Bird was born.

A strange and wondrous creature, one without legs.

It never stops. It was born to fly, and only to fly.

The day it falls to the ground is the day it dies.

Fly—fly like the Footless Bird. Never stop until you’ve reached your dream. Never stop chasing your deepest desire.

...

The tale sparked a curious interest in Dusk.

Based on the description, the Footless Bird possessed a flight speed that bordered on the absurd.

’If I had one of those as a mount in the future... that would be incredible. Who would even need an aircraft anymore?’ he thought.

In this world, creatures that underwent evolution were known as Dark Monsters—beings that had surpassed their natural limitations, breaking free from the shackles of low-born talent to ascend and stand alongside both humans and demons.

They, too, had ranks, just like demons and Heart Masters.

At high enough ranks, forget airplanes—even missiles would struggle to keep up with the speed of a Footless Bird.

"Shame this fragment of The Stories of the World isn’t of any real use to me right now," he muttered, before slipping the golden slip of paper into his coat.

He wasn’t concerned about it being discovered.

Once picked up by someone, the paper lost its radiant glow.

Now, it looked no different from an old, yellowed page—worn and faded by time.

Pocketing the page, he pressed forward on his journey once again, hoping to try his luck.

He had already made some gains, and with that, his hopes were higher than when he first began.

It hadn’t been long before the system suddenly triggered a warning.

[Alert! Alert! Master has inadvertently encountered the avatar of a Primal Demon – the Demon of Wrath. An emergency quest has been issued.

Mission Objective: Survive the encounter by any means necessary.

Reward: Full restoration of the host’s body to its optimal state. Additionally, gain two days of activity without needing food or water.]

That so-called "reward," which sounded utterly trivial, was immediately dismissed by Dusk.

But one thing was clear—he was about to face something truly dangerous.

’A Primal Demon? What even is that? The system doesn’t throw out names like that lightly. If it calls something a Primal Demon, that thing’s got to be on a whole different level from the demons I’ve faced so far.’ he thought.

The thought sent a chill through his core.

Even if it was merely an avatar, he could tell—this being had reached Rank 1... and likely possessed special abilities granted directly by a powerful demon.

Then, he heard footsteps.

Slow. Heavy.

Coming closer.

He lifted his head—and saw a shadow.

The figure approached gradually, its face slowly revealed under the pale moonlight.

It was grotesque—burnt, disfigured, horrifying. And it was staring directly at Dusk.

Of course, Dusk didn’t recognize the man.

He didn’t realize this was the person he’d nearly killed once before.

And Lucien, for his part, had no idea who Dusk really was either.

Had he known that the man standing before him was the one who had nearly ended his life, he wouldn’t have waited.

He would’ve charged forward and smashed Dusk’s skull in without a second thought.

"Lost your way?" Dusk asked calmly.

Panic would only provoke suspicion.

Staying calm—maybe—might give him a chance to avoid a fight.

Lucien said nothing.

He just kept walking... step by step... closing the distance.

The tension in Dusk’s gut twisted tighter with every step.

Something was very wrong.

But even then, he didn’t reach for his gun.

He knew—if he so much as tried, he’d die on the spot.

If this were a typical Rank 1, he might risk it.

But a Primal Demon’s avatar? Who knew what kind of safeguards it had? What if it couldn’t be killed so easily?

Dusk didn’t know exactly how it worked, but he was certain of one thing:

A being that powerful wouldn’t create an avatar only for it to die meaninglessly.