Scribe Squirrel flushed red with indignation and declared heroically, "This isn't sourness! It's scholarly air! Scholarly air, you know? Illiterate!"
Shortbeak eyed him maliciously from head to toe, then turned to Big Bull and asked, "Isn't this sourness?"
"My teeth are about to rot from all this sourness," Big Bull chimed in immediately.
Another burst of laughter erupted, easing the tense atmosphere considerably.
Scribe Squirrel pressed his large front teeth together, face full of anger, but could only flick his sleeve and say, "I refuse to stoop to the level of such vulgar folk."
"Hey? Now I'm vulgar? What, you're not satisfied? Should we settle this with a fight?" Shortbeak immediately rolled up his sleeves.
"Gentlefolk argue with words, not fists! Gentlefolk argue with words, not fists!" Scribe Squirrel, frightened, retreated several steps, his eyes blinking nervously at the Monkey King.
"Enough, enough. We have more important matters to deal with," Monkey King sighed helplessly.
Only then did Shortbeak sit down, but his bird eyes kept glaring at Scribe Squirrel, as if provoking him.
Scribe Squirrel timidly shuffled over, but didn’t dare sit too close to Shortbeak, instead edging towards Monkey King.
Scribe Squirrel picked up the branch Shortbeak had discarded, straightened his sleeves, cleared his throat twice, and struck a scholarly pose, ready to begin his lecture.
Monkey King, sitting beside him, snatched the branch from his hand and gestured for him to stop. "First, tell me—what exactly is going on here?"
"Uh... I don't quite understand, Your Majesty. By 'here'... which place do you mean?"
"I heard the Heavenly Court attacks Drake City almost every year, is that right?"
"That's right."
"You said you've been here for about a year. Have you experienced an attack by the Heavenly Court?"
Scribe Squirrel chuckled awkwardly, rubbed his hands, and grinned foolishly, "Reporting to Your Majesty, you could say I have, or you could say I haven't."
"You sour old thing, what kind of nonsense are you spouting now!" Shortbeak shouted, visibly annoyed.
The two demons started glaring at each other again, big eyes staring down small.
Monkey King shot Shortbeak a look. "Speak."
"When I arrived, the battle had just ended and they were busy rewarding the victors. So you could say I experienced it, but also didn't." With that, Scribe Squirrel shot Shortbeak a provocative glance.
Monkey King pondered, then asked, "Let me ask you—does every demon outside the city join the fight each time?"
"I can't speak for every battle, Your Majesty. I've only seen one, and last time, yes, everyone joined in."
"How did the last battle go?"
"We won."
"How did you win?"
"Well..."
"You've been here a year and you don't even know how you won?" Monkey King snorted. "And you think you can be a strategist?"
Scribe Squirrel hurriedly stood up, knelt to the side, and cried, "I truly don't know, Your Majesty. All I know is that eighty warships were sent out, and only two returned. Those who survived were rewarded and taken under the Serpent Lord's command. Your Majesty should make plans early—only by expanding your power will you survive battles like these in the future!"
With that, he bowed low.
"Eighty ships... only two returned..." Hearing those numbers, White Ape, Shortbeak, and Big Bull all trembled slightly.
Monkey King continued, "So the Serpent Lord's own elite guards didn't join the fight?"
"No. The Serpent Lord's guards only defend the city—they don't fight in battles."
At this, Monkey King let out a cold laugh, glancing at the solemn-faced demons. "Now everyone should understand, right?"
Of the five demons, only Rhino looked confused; Scribe Squirrel seemed to have known all along, while the rest looked utterly devastated.
Monkey King sighed deeply and went on, "So, it wasn't the Serpent Lord who defeated the Heavenly Court—it was a ragtag army of demons from outside the city. The Serpent Lord never fought at all. How did these untrained, average demons defeat the Celestial Army? Were the Celestial soldiers all useless drunks? Even if they underestimated their enemy, after so many years and battles, that can't be the case. And with eighty ships sent out, only two returned. My guess is, this place was a trap set by the Heavenly Court from the start..."
Monkey King didn't continue, because he'd made his point clear enough.
The atmosphere had already sunk into a dreadful, oppressive silence.
Maybe they'd already guessed the truth, but hadn't wanted to admit it. They'd hoped to find evidence to convince Monkey King today, but instead, the evidence had come to convince them.
White Ape bowed his head lower and lower, looking utterly dejected. Big Bull stared blankly, silent and expressionless. Shortbeak blinked rapidly, breathing heavily.
The six demons sat together on the grass, dazed and silent for a long time.
After a while, Shortbeak slowly raised his head, bit his beak, and stared at the others. "I think... we could... be those last two ships."
His voice was trembling.
"Hmph, are you crazy?" Monkey King sneered.
"I'm not crazy. As long as there's a chance, we should fight for it!" Shortbeak suddenly stood up, clenched his fists, and shouted to the others, "Let's go for it, brothers! If we prepare well enough, we can win!"
"Do you even know what you're saying?" Monkey King also stood up. "This place is a trap. You know it's a trap, and you still want to jump in?"
"We've already jumped—!" Shortbeak suddenly roared at Monkey King, nearly hysterical.
His voice echoed across the camp; all the lesser demons stopped what they were doing and stared at Shortbeak in shock.
Faced with Shortbeak's sudden breakdown, Monkey King widened his eyes, stunned for a moment.
Staring blankly at Monkey King, Shortbeak's expression grew strange. His gaze became unfocused, and he lowered his voice, choking back tears. "We have no way out... do you understand? We're not you—you don't have demon aura. If you want to leave, no one can stop you. But us? Even the few of us here might not make it out alive! Let alone the little ones!"
"Face it, we're not as strong as you. It doesn't matter where you go—a squad of Skyward Rangers can't catch you. By the time the rest arrive, you're long gone. We're not like you, do you understand? One wrong move and we lose our lives!"
Shortbeak stood there in a daze, as if his soul had left him, tears welling in his eyes.
It was the first time Monkey King had ever seen him cry.
He lowered his head and wiped away his tears, muttering, "Even if we get out of here, what then? We'll still be living in fear every day, always hunted by Skyward Rangers. How long can we survive?"
"So—even if it's a trap, as long as there's a sliver of hope... Didn't two shiploads of demons survive? If we can be one of them, then we can enter the city. Isn't that right? Big Bull, White Ape... am I right? And didn't he just say it? The Serpent Lord's guards don't fight; if we can make it through this, we'll..."
Shortbeak couldn't continue—he was too choked up to speak.
Tears streamed down his face. He opened his mouth to say something more, but no words came; finally, he squatted down, head bowed, face in his hands.
Eighty out of two survived—everyone here, including Shortbeak himself, knew what those odds meant.
But what else could they believe in, if not this?
The whole camp was silent, except for Shortbeak, who clutched his face, his shoulders trembling.
He must have been holding it in all day.
This owl had been holding on desperately all day...
They'd fought so hard, lost so many, and made it this far, hoping for a ray of sunshine—only to find they'd leapt into another trap.
How hopeless must they feel?
Looking around, Monkey King suddenly realized that it wasn't just Shortbeak who was desperate—Big Bull, White Ape, and all the little demons were, too.
But should he go mad with them?
At that thought, Monkey King couldn't help but smile—a helpless smile.
"And you? What do you all think?"
White Ape buried his head deep, while Big Bull pursed his lips and said, "I think... we should take the risk."
Taking a deep breath, biting his lip, Monkey King bent down and picked up the Cloudwalker Staff. "Fine, do as you wish. Whatever you want to do, do it. Call me if you need help."
With that, he hefted the Cloudwalker Staff and turned to leave.
Scribe Squirrel stared blankly at Monkey King's departing figure, bowed to him, and called out, "Farewell, Your Majesty!"
After calling out, he sat back down, only to find the other four demons all staring at him. Their eyes did not look friendly.
"Gentlemen, is there something on my face?"
Big Bull shot him a disdainful look. "Your king's gone. Aren't you leaving with him?"
Scribe Squirrel glared at Big Bull. "What are you talking about? The situation is urgent, and His Majesty is exhausted and needs rest. As his minister, how could I rest? Besides, if I leave, what if you plot rebellion?"
As he said "His Majesty," he even bowed toward the moon.
The other four demons were left speechless by Scribe Squirrel.