Wings Of Deception
Chapter 46 Wooden Stamp

Chapter 46: Chapter 46 Wooden Stamp

"Now then... let’s see what the Pecker Hall has prepared," John said, gesturing toward the swallow-shaped seal glowing in the air.

"It won’t be easy, sir," Bubble warned. "They’re... active,"

John smirked. "Hmm. I’m ready. Release them."

With a rustle of feathers, Bubble’s wings fluttered sharply, and the massive watery sphere she’d been holding aloft dropped to the ground with a loud thud. The bubble burst, sending a cascade of shimmering droplets into the air.

From within the misty explosion, colorful birds burst out, each one chirping wildly as they took to the sky.

No doubt about it—their only goal was escape. Their intelligence was low, but their instinct for freedom burned strong. Flight was their birthright.

Too bad. None of them were going anywhere.

Bubble flared her wings, preparing to trap them again in her signature bubbles.

But she didn’t need to.

John had already stepped forward.

He began to sing.

The sweet, otherworldly notes of the Lure and Trust Mantra floated into the air like a gentle breeze after a storm.

It worked like magic.

Under the hypnotic influence of his voice, the frenzied flocks began to slow... then hover... then drift down toward the ground. They landed peacefully, captivated by the melody.

Bubble watched in awe—again. All three hundred of them had been charmed.

She narrowed her eyes, examining this new batch. Unlike before, these weren’t just garden-variety chirpers.

These were predators.

Eagles. Peacocks. Kingfishers. Even a few scavenger types. And among them, some wild doves, glimmering with multi-colored plumage.

It was a majestic sight.

And Bubble... felt high on it.

Drunk on the charm. On John’s spell. But she kept her beak shut. No way was she going to ruin this moment.

The ritual pressed on.

A mechanical voice chimed in John’s head.

[The Lure and Trust Mantra—Success!]

[Host must now use the blood of your underlings for the next ritual.]

"I know," John muttered, stepping forward.

"Birds, gather up. Time for your punishment."

The drill had become familiar.

Fifteen Alpha Birds grouped together in three squads, each representing their own Hall.

They sat tall, proud, and slightly curious as they eyed the new, subdued flock before them.

Their expressions said it all—Who are these new fools?

John gave them a once-over, then cracked a wicked grin.

"Good. I’ve got the perfect punishment for each and every last one of you... bitches."

A chirp rang out—cheeky and naive.

"Master, I don’t see us turning into bitches. Are there bitches here? Among us?"

A few birds tried to stifle their laughter.

Others didn’t bother.

A chorus of chirps and snorts broke through the discipline.

John gave them a look that could melt steel.

"Zip it! You’re here for punishment, not commentary."

Just then, he noticed something.

The massive tree at the center of the training ground—it had stopped growing.

He tilted his head toward the wooden tower of bark and leaves.

"Bubble... how’s your control over your tree?"

A cheerful chirp responded—not from Bubble, but from Woodie.

"I can control it now!"

"Excellent. Then you can join the rest in receiving your punishment."

John stepped forward again, addressing all fifteen.

"But first, let me ask you something..."

His voice dropped, stern and solemn.

"Do you understand your mistake?"

"Are you ready to accept your punishment... with your heart?"

Silence.

Then Bubble stepped forward, head low in respect, voice firm.

"Yes, Sire. I understand my mistake. It will never happen again. I wholeheartedly accept any punishment you choose to give."

John nodded slowly, a faint smile playing at his lips.

Next, Blackie the Pecker stepped forward, puffing up his dark-feathered chest with solemn pride.

"This place... is my sacred ground," he said, voice calm yet resolute. "I’ll never allow another in-fight—especially not within these premises, not while I’m watching. I accept any punishment you deem fit."

John’s grin deepened.

"Good. Anyone else?" he asked, eyes glinting with mischief.

The charade began.

One by one, each of the Alpha birds from the three houses stepped forward, their feathers ruffled in both humility and pride. Each pledged their loyalty, swore never to instigate another in-fighting within the boundaries of their sacred training ground.

"I was wrong," muttered a crimson-feathered hawk.

"I got carried away," chirped a sleek falcon with narrowed eyes.

"I just wanted to show off..." admitted a bashful jay, its head bowed low.

Every confession was followed by the same statement, like a chant:

"I accept the punishment. Wholeheartedly."

It was a theatrical show of remorse, but the air was heavy with real consequence. They weren’t just apologizing. They were preparing.

John remained silent for a while, letting their pledges hang in the air like incense smoke.

Then, softly, he said, "Good. Your punishments will be delivered shortly."

He turned toward the new flocks of charmed birds—three hundred of them, still spellbound, still standing as if in a trance.

"And now," John muttered, eyes narrowing, "it’s time to expand our little family."

But he paused. His brows furrowed.

A realization dawned like a wet slap to the face—none of the Alpha birds could draw the Mark of Deception. The technique, intricate and delicate, was crafted with divine complexity, designed to be cast only by him. The lines, the curves, the blood-forged essence—they were beyond the grasp of even the smartest of his underlings.

Not even Bubble.

He let out a heavy sigh, rubbing his temple as frustration crept in.

There had to be a way around this.

His eyes scanned the flock of Alpha birds, pondering, calculating. And then, his gaze fell on Woodie and her—the sentient tree-bird hybrid, standing proudly atop a thick branch, still basking in the earlier praise.

"Yes..." John muttered, a slow grin forming. "Wood could do the trick. I can make wooden seals... and use the Alpha’s blood as the ink. It’ll bypass the need for them to know the spell—it’ll still carry the intent."

"Woodie, come forward. I have an important task for you."

Woodie chirped eagerly and zipped over with practiced grace. "I’m here, sir!" All cheeky spark and tail swish.

"Good," John said, his voice dipping into command mode. "Since you’ve claimed to have control over your ability now, let’s put that to the test. First, make me a block of wood. Clean. Solid."

Before he even finished the sentence, a thick root shot out of the soil and twisted into a neatly formed wooden block with a soft thud.

"Wait." John fished into his coat and pulled out a small strip of beast skin. Using his blood, he quickly drew a three-dimensional stylized design for stamping rather than hand-drawing. He handed it to Woodie.

"I want it exactly like this. Don’t miss a single groove."

Woodie stared at the drawing intently. Her branch-like wings fluttered. "Right away, sire."

The tip of the root began reshaping with remarkable precision. Slowly, it twisted and whittled itself into the form of a stamp, each detail mirrored with near-perfection. Her eyes sparkled, clearly expecting praise.

John raised a brow. "Good child. Now... smaller."

The stamp shrank.

"Smaller."

Again, it shrank.

"Smaller."

One more size down.

John examined it carefully, then nodded. "Alright, that’s it. I want seventeen of these. Identical."

Woodie bowed her head and replied with delight, "Yes, sir!"

The roots danced across the earth, moving with artistic precision, beginning the crafting of the seventeen stamps of deception—seventeen keys to a new chain of control.