Chapter 66: Blood Eagle

The bloodstains on Marty's body were highly artistic—not simple smears, mist, or spiky traces, but a large crimson bird, or rather, a spreading male eagle.

Under Wu Chang's gaze, the massive crimson eagle flapped its wings, soaring off Marty's body and hurtling toward his face.

Amid the howling rush of flapping feathers, he saw the scenes within the resentment.

The owner of the resentment was the previous mail carrier, wearing beneath his red uniform a superhero-style yellow spandex suit.

He sat behind his desk, intently organizing the materials on it, marking out useful information, and occasionally cutting them into newspaper clippings if necessary.

The leftover materials from his clippings were the newspapers Wu Chang had previously found inside the post office.

Knock knock knock.

The post office door was knocked on.

The visitor was a middle-aged man, his face flushed with anger; before the superhero could say "come in," he shoved the door open and walked in himself.

"Hey, new guy, you haven't delivered mail for three days—will I get my letters before nightfall today?"

"Who are you?"

"Blacksmith Jon."

The superhero was busy gathering information and had no time for townsfolk.

He casually grabbed a stack of letters and tossed them onto Jon's lap.

"I'm busy—find them yourself."

Jon didn't move. He glared and said:

"Deliver every piece of mail to each household's mailbox—that's your job."

The superhero had a bad temper. He shot Jon a sideways glance and sneered: "Where'd you come from, a giant baby? Don't you have hands?"

Jon was enraged. He slammed his fist on the desk and shouted:

"You damn parasite, listen up—in this town, no one treats work like this, or treats others like this! Believe me, you'll regret it!"

The superhero paused his newspaper clipping. "So angry? Why not call the police?"

The superhero stood up and said in a mocking tone, "Charge me with the crime of failing to deliver your mail into the mailbox on time, and see if the kingdom's law can convict me for making things hard for a disabled person like you."

The superhero stood up, mocking: "Go ahead and report me—say I failed to slip your mail into the mailbox in time, inconveniencing you, this disabled man. Let's see if the Kingdom's laws can convict me."

"Oh, by the way, you can also tell the cops I bullied you."

After saying that, the superhero punched Jon down, then dragged him out of the post office by his legs.

He stood at the post office door, gripping Jon's legs, and began spinning in place, playing "windmill."

After spinning countless times, he slowed to a stop and hurled Jon onto the ground. Jon had no time to speak—he sprinted to the roadside bushes and violently retched.

The superhero sneered, returned to his desk, and resumed his clipping.

Until sunset, he was just about to light the oil lamp when he looked up and saw Marty's huge face pressed against the window.

"Another fool who doesn't know his place." He pushed the door open, ready to repeat his old trick and teach the townsfolk a lesson.

But the moment Marty saw him, he was possessed—his already tall, muscular body swelled further.

The superhero, by contrast, went limp, his movements sluggish.

Marty produced a harpoon and, faster than the superhero could dodge, drove it straight into his abdomen.

"Wait, that's not fair…" The superhero's eyes rolled back, and the screen went black.

The screen lit up again—he now stood on an open dock.

The dock was desolate: no ships moored, no cargo piled, only a bronze statue standing before him.

The superhero was bound to a wooden frame, his mouth stuffed with rags, unable to speak or move.

Giant Marty stepped from the shadows, holding a fish-cleaning knife. He snarled: "Worthless thing, you betrayed the islanders' trust in you!"

"You wanted legal punishment? Then let me show you what island law is!"

Marty seized the knife, plunged it into the superhero's back, sliced two gashes along either side of the spine, shoved his hands into the wounds, and forcibly snapped the superhero's ribs. Then he gripped the lungs and yanked them out through the gashes.

The lungs, pulled from the back and exposed to air, shrank rapidly—like a pair of folded wings.

The superhero, convulsing in agony, resembled an eagle gathering strength, ready to spread its wings and fly.

In the final vision, as the superhero clung to one last breath, he was dragged back to the newspaper office and hung from its center. The two lung lobes were pierced by iron hooks and stretched wide, while a hollow iron rod was inserted between them, pumping air inward until they swelled into two plump wings.

Finally, a crimson blood-eagle soared within the post office.

"Lazy outsider, this is what you deserve!"

With Marty's final curse, the vision within the resentment dissolved.

【I didn't work for three days and you give me THIS? I'm locking Marty up so he can never work again—see if he goes crazy!】

Hmm…

Honestly, after seeing the superhero's blood-written last words, Wu Chang didn't know where to begin criticizing.

He'd expected the superhero's blood-written last words to be: "Amenos, Marty, I'll make you fly!"

After all, Marty had turned the superhero into a blood-eagle and made him fly—reciprocity demanded Marty fly too.

!

But instead, he'd been made to fly himself, and his revenge was simply to prevent Marty from working.

You're a fucking genius.

But it makes sense—recall the gambler obsessed with gambling at the Moonlight Sanatorium, or the ironhead kid in "Ever Peace" who insisted on investigating the Ghost-Crying Woods despite knowing the danger. After too long in the Abyss Game, some people's brains just warp.

The sound of knocking on the desk jolted Wu Chang from his thoughts. He looked up to find Marty's massive face looming close.

"Mr. Xiao En, did you hear what I just said?"

Wu Chang shook his head. "Sorry, I was exhausted and drifted off—what did you say?"

Marty repeated: "I said I'll receive a letter in two days. Deliver it promptly. Don't delay."

"No problem—I'll deliver it the same day! You don't know how much I love my job—work is my life!" Wu Chang exclaimed excitedly.

As he spoke, he glanced up at the ceiling — after all, the one who wasn't working had already been hung up there.

Martie paused for a moment, the threatening look on his face vanishing, replaced by a simple, honest smile: "Well that's great, the town welcomes young folks like you who are willing to work."

Seeing Martie about to leave, Wu Chang quickly stopped him and asked:

"Mr. Martie, there's something I'd like to confirm with you. Before coming to Breeve, I worked as a postman in a big city — you know how it is, those noble lords always like to mail all sorts of strange things, and they don't want anyone to find out, calling it their right to privacy or something."

"It was because I botched one delivery that I got assigned here."

"If you have any special mail you don't want others to see, you can give me a heads-up in advance, tell me a delivery method that won't be noticed, and I can arrange a secret drop for you."

Martie's eyes lit up at this. "Mr. Xiao En, sorry about my rudeness earlier — as a postman, you're just too professional. Every afternoon at four, my general store closes; you can come in through the back door, that way no one will notice."

"If it's all right, the package arriving in a couple of days — please deliver it that way."

"No problem! Mr. Martie, I'll definitely come find you!" Wu Chang vowed, thumping his chest.

After seeing Martie off, he tidied up the post office while sorting out his thoughts.

He carefully savored the Superhero's lingering grudge, trying to extract more information from it.

He hadn't been reminiscing long before the post office door was knocked again.

He opened the door and found a red-haired policewoman standing at the entrance, dressed in a full police uniform, a sheriff's star badge pinned to her chest, a black oil lamp in her hand — she looked as though she had just finished a mission.

The badge on the policewoman's chest read Mo Leina.

"Good evening, Ms. Mo Leina, is there anything I can help you with?"

"Is there any mail for me here?" Mo Leina asked.

"To be precise, tomorrow is my first day on the job, so I'm not sure whether there is or not."

Wu Chang glanced at the clock — it read half past two in the morning.

Wait — is this what the daily schedule is like in your town? People come to the post office in the dead of night to pick up mail?

Mo Leina showed a regretful expression. After a brief silence, she said: "I've come to notify you — come to the police station after sunrise."

"I only just arrived on the island tonight, I shouldn't have had time to do anything illegal yet." Wu Chang joked.

"It's not an investigation. As an employee of the postal system, you need to claim the belongings left behind by your predecessor."

(End of chapter)