Chapter 5: The Unwilling Harem Lord’s Guide To Survive

For two days, they followed her everywhere. When she foraged for grubs (a grim necessity she’d accepted), they foraged nearby, casting admiring glances. When she tried to take a nap, they’d coo and preen nearby. When she attempted to sneak off towards the Stream of Tears to maybe find a human who wasn't terrified of her, they’d pop out of a bush with a chorus of "There you are, our mysterious king!"

I am not your king. Ahhh... This is a feathery hostage situation.

The "Unwilling Harem Lord" title was less of a buff and more of a curse. Her life had become a bizarre, feathery rom-com where she was the grumpy male lead who just wanted to be left the hell alone.

It was during a particularly desperate moment, hiding from her "harem" in a thorny thicket, that a plan began to form.

The system had given her a quest: "The Collector's Whims II" which required "Glimmer-Moss from the Howler Monkey's Grove." The grove was supposedly teeming with aggressive, fruit-chucking monkeys. A death trap for a lone peacock.

But she wasn't a lone peacock anymore, was she?

She emerged from the thicket, a new, calculated glint in her eye. Cluck Norris, Hennifer, and Meg Hen immediately clustered around her, clucking expectantly.

Alright, ladies. You want a leader? You're gonna get one.

She didn't try to speak. Instead, she adopted a pose she'd seen in nature documentaries. Head high, chest out, she took a deliberate step towards the Howler Monkey's Grove. Then she stopped and looked back at them, making a low, commanding cluck. Follow me.

The peahens exchanged excited glances. A mission! From our mysterious, emotionally complex lord! They fell in line behind her without a second thought.

The grove was exactly as advertised. Dozens of small, furry terrorists swung in the trees, shrieking and hurling half-eaten, rotten fruit at anything that moved. As Su and her feathered entourage approached, a volley of mushy berries splattered the ground in front of them.

Hennifer Lopez flinched back with a scared squawk.

This was the moment. Su didn't panic. She turned to Hennifer and gave a series of short, sharp clucks, gesturing with her head towards a cluster of bushes to the left. Flanking maneuver. Draw their fire.

To her astonishment, Hennifer seemed to understand. She and Meg Hen broke off, drawing the attention of a group of monkeys on the left flank. The monkeys, delighted by the new targets, focused their fruit-based artillery on them.

Meanwhile, Su, with Cluck Norris as her wingman, strutted straight up the middle, now under significantly less fire. She located the Glimmer-Moss, a patch of iridescent green moss growing on a sunlit rock, right in the heart of the grove.

Bingo. Now for the extraction.

A particularly large monkey, the chieftain of this fruity hell, dropped down directly in front of the moss, baring its teeth. It was a standoff.

Su didn't try to fight it. She took a deep breath, and let out not a scream of rage, but a perfect, high-pitched mimicry of the Shadow-Stalker Panther's hunting cry. It wasn't perfect, but it was close enough—a low, menacing growl that sounded nothing like a bird.

The monkey chieftain froze, its eyes wide with confusion and fear.

In that split second of hesitation, Su darted forward, snatched a huge beakful of Glimmer-Moss, and then let out a sharp KRA! — the signal to retreat.

She and Cluck Norris turned and ran. Hennifer and Meg Hen broke off their distraction and followed. The monkeys, now leaderless and spooked by the panther sound, only managed a few half-hearted throws as the four birds made their clean escape, mission accomplished.

Back at the edge of the forest, the peahens were buzzing with adrenaline, chattering excitedly about their great victory. They looked at Su with something beyond admiration: reverence.

Su, meanwhile, was calmly spitting out the Glimmer-Moss into a neat pile. She felt a warm tingle.

QUEST COMPLETE: THE COLLECTOR’S WHIMS II

REWARD: +200 EXP!

LEVEL UP! SPECKLESS PEACOCK IS NOW LEVEL 4!

+1 TO INTELLIGENCE! +1 TO CUNNING!

NEW SKILL UNLOCKED: ‘Mimicry’ (Novice)

Cunning, huh? Yeah, that tracks.

She had used her "harem" as a tactical distraction, bluffed a predator's call, and secured the loot without a single feather plucked.

A few days later, the problem of Azure Majesty returned. He had been lurking at the edges of the territory, his manure-stained pride having festered into a deep-seated vendetta. He saw Su alone for a moment and seized his chance, charging out of the bushes with a vengeful screech.

But Su was ready She didn't even flinch. She just stood her ground, waited until he was a few feet away, and then let out a short, sharp, derisive SQUAWK!

It was the peacock equivalent of "Bring it, you washed-up loser."

Azure Majesty skidded to a halt, confused by her lack of fear.

And then, from the trees, the bushes, and the tall grass, Cluck Norris, Hennifer Lopez, and Meg Hen emerged. They didn't look admiring anymore. They looked pissed. They formed a loose circle around Azure Majesty, their body language aggressive. They were protecting their unconventional, cunning provider.

Azure Majesty looked at the three hostile hens, then back at Su, who was giving him a look that could curdle milk. He realized he wasn't just challenging a rival male; he was challenging the entire ecosystem this weirdo had built. He backed down, deflated, and slunk away for good.

Su didn't even watch him go. She was already pecking at the ground, looking for her next meal.

That's right. Run back to your cave, pretty boy. The boss is in town now.

She was still miserable. She still swore at the system daily with a creativity that would make a sailor blush. She was still a woman trapped in a male peacock's body, a fact that made her want to scream every time she saw her reflection in the Stream of Tears.

Life, in a twisted way, had found a rhythm. Su was now Level 5. Her "Cunning" stat was her highest, which felt about right. She'd turned her peahen entourage into a well-oiled, if slightly bewildered, machine. Cluck Norris was her head of security, Hennifer Lopez was the head of foraging and reconnaissance, and Meg Hen was... well, she was the morale officer, she supposed. They followed her strategic clucks and head gestures with a faith that was both touching and terrifying.

She’d even managed to use her "Unwilling Harem Lord" title to her advantage. When a fox had gotten too curious, she hadn't fought it. She'd positioned her girls in a defensive formation and let out a mimicry of a bear's roar (a sound she'd heard once and her new skill had terrifyingly approximated). The fox had left with its tail between its legs, deeply confused about the local wildlife.

I'm not just a bird. I'm a regional cryptid. Progress.

She was getting efficient. The Collector's quests were becoming routine fetch-and-carry missions, and the rewards were decent—mostly EXP and the occasional useful herb. But the "Trials of Character" still loomed. The Quiet Mind? The Humble Heart? The very thought made her want to commit arson.

One afternoon, after delivering a bundle of "Screaming Mandrake Roots" (which, true to their name, had whimpered the whole way back), the monkey didn't just hand over the usual pouch of berries. It looked... thoughtful. It adjusted its obsidian monocle and chattered at her, its tone losing its usual smugness for something more serious.

TRANSLATION: "The Hoard recognizes your... efficiency. A final task. A test of worth. In the canyon to the north, where the sun fears to touch the stone, a single feather from the 'Crested Wyrm' sleeps. Bring it to me."

A new quest notification burned in her vision.

QUEST UPDATE: THE COLLECTOR'S GAUNTLET

OBJECTIVE: RETRIEVE THE FEATHER OF THE CRESTED WYRM.

WARNING: THIS CREATURE IS BEYOND YOUR CURRENT LEVEL. EXTREME CAUTION ADVISED.

REWARD: THE COLLECTOR'S 'KEY'.

A key? To what? A bigger pile of junk? And 'Crested Wyrm'? That sounds a lot like 'dragon'. Nope. Absolutely not. I draw the line at dragons.

Grumbling every step of the way, she led her feathery squad north. The terrain grew harsh, the lush jungle giving way to a rocky, desolate canyon. The air grew cold. It was, as the monkey had said, a place the sun seemed to fear.

They found the "Crested Wyrm's" lair not by sight, but by smell. It was a pungent, acrid odor of old meat and sulfur. The entrance was a crack in the canyon wall, large enough to drive a carriage through. And there, just inside the entrance, caught on a jagged rock, was a single, iridescent scale the size of her head. It wasn't a feather, but it was close enough.

Okay. In and out. Twenty-second adventure. Don't wake the bloody dragon.

She gestured for the peahens to stay back, a command they obeyed with nervous clucks. Su crept forward, her heart thudding against her ribs. The scale was beautiful, shimmering with a rainbow of oilslick colors. She reached out with her beak, carefully working it free from the rock.

It came loose with a soft scrape.

From the deep, impenetrable darkness of the cave, something shifted. A sound like grinding stones echoed out. A slow, deep, rhythmic whoosh... whoosh...

Panic seized her. She grabbed the scale and backpedaled so fast she tripped over her own feet, landing on her back in the dirt. She stared into the darkness, expecting a torrent of flame or a monstrous head to emerge.

But nothing came out.

The breathing continued, deep and steady. Almost... labored.

Is it... asleep? Sick?

A new, unexpected notification appeared, its text a sickly, pulsing green.

ANALYSIS: VITAL SIGNS OF 'CRESTED WYRM' ARE ANOMALOUS.

HEART RATE: ELEVATED.

RESPIRATORY DISTRESS: DETECTED.

STATUS: AFFLICTED BY 'GILDED ROT' (TERMINAL STAGE).

The system was diagnosing the dragon. And it was dying.

She wasn't here to steal from a dragon. She was here to loot a dying dragon.

She got to her feet. The fear was still there, but it was now secondary to a burning, avaricious curiosity. She took a step forward. Then another. She was going into the cave.

This is either the smartest or the single dumbest thing I have ever done. Top five, for sure.

The air inside was thick and hot, smelling of sickness and metal. The cavern was vast. And in the center of it, coiled upon a mountain of gold coins, jewels, and broken weapons, was the Crested Wyrm.

It was both magnificent and pitiful. Its scales, which should have been blindingly bright, were dull and flaking. The magnificent crest on its head was drooping, its vibrant colors muted. A faint, golden, sickly-sweet-smelling pus oozed from cracks between its scales. Its eyes were closed, and each breath was a rattling struggle.

And all around it, piled to the cavern ceiling, was treasure. More wealth than Su had ever seen, even in movies.

Her eyes weren't on the gold. They were on the Wyrm itself. Specifically, on a single, beautiful, primary flight feather that was part of its crest. The quest item.

Okay. Just gotta pluck a feather from a sleeping, terminally ill dragon. What could possibly go wrong?

She moved with silence , her scaly feet making no sound on the stone. She reached the base of the treasure hoard. The dragon's head was mere feet away, each exhale a wave of feverish heat. The feather she needed was within pecking distance.

She slowly, carefully, stretched her neck out.

Her beak touched the base of the feather.

The dragon's eye snapped open.

It wasn't a slitted, reptilian eye like she expected. It was an ancient, intelligent, and deeply tired eye, the color of molten amber. It focused on her instantly.

Su froze, her heart stopping. This was it. She was a stain on the cavern floor.

But the dragon didn't roar. It didn't attack. It just looked at her. Its gaze held no malice, only a profound, weary curiosity. Its voice, when it spoke, echoed not in the air, but directly in her mind, deep and resonant, like a mountain speaking.

"Little Speckless One," it rumbled, its mental voice thick with pain. "You are not the thief I expected. You smell of jungle mud and monkey trinkets. Why do you disturb my final sleep?"

Su was too terrified to even form any thought. She just stood there, beak still touching the feather, paralyzed.

The dragon's massive eye shifted, looking at the iridescent scale she had dropped in her panic.

"Ah," the Wyrm sighed, a sound that shook the very coins beneath her feet. "The Hoarder sends you. For a trophy. He always was acquisitive."

It closed its eye, a gesture of immense fatigue.

"Take it," it whispered into her mind. "The feather is meaningless. But know this, little bird. My death will create a vacuum. The Shadow-Stalker that hunts you... it is but a pup. Its master, the true Lord of this cursed wood, has waited long for me to fall. My hoard is not just gold. It is a lock. And you... you are about to hand the key to a fool."

With that, its head slumped, its breathing growing even more shallow. The ancient light in its eye was fading fast.

Su, her body moving on autopilot, gently tugged the beautiful, iridescent feather from the dragon's crest. It came away easily, as if it was already loose.

She stood there, holding the feather, the dragon's final warning echoing in her skull.

The Collector wasn't just a junk-hoarding monkey. He was collecting power. And she had just helped him acquire a key to something much, much worse.