The task of butchering the Giant Cave Bear, a creature folklore named the "Grootslang Bear" for its monstrous size, was supposed to be a nightmare. Borin and Gareth had steeled themselves for hours of grueling, bloody work. Yet, as they plunged their sharpened knives into the thick hide, they found it… surprisingly easy. The hide, which should have resisted their blades like leather armor, parted with a clean slice.
"That's… odd," Gareth muttered, wiping sweat from his brow, though he wasn't nearly as tired as he should be. "My knife feels sharper than usual."
Borin grunted in agreement, carving away a massive slab of meat from the creature's flank. He paused, staring at the meat in his hands. It wasn't the dark, gamy red he expected. The flesh was a deep, rich crimson, marbled with impossibly fine lines of what looked like shimmering fat. But it didn't feel greasy. And the smell… there was no coppery tang of blood, only a clean, savory aroma, like the most expensive cut of prime beef.
"Look at this," Borin said, his voice low with awe. He felt a strange energy seeping into his hands from the meat, a warmth that pushed back his fatigue. "This ain't normal bear meat. It's… purified, somehow." His eyes flickered over to the unassuming young man who was now sitting on the stoop of his dilapidated shack, watching his tomato plants with the focused intensity of a master jeweler appraising a gem.
The hole in the bear's skull, they'd discovered, was cauterized smooth on the inside, as if seared by a bolt of lightning. The apple of doom, as Old Man Hemlock was now famously calling it. Every new discovery only deepened the mystery and the thick sense of dread and reverence that was beginning to settle over them. This land, and the boy who tended it, was blessed. Or cursed. Or both.
Ren, for his part, was feeling profoundly hungry. The morning's 'work'—which felt more like light exercise—and the excitement had whetted his appetite. His gaze was fixed on his 'Sun's Fury' tomato plants. They were now shoulder-high, their stalks thick as his wrist, their leaves radiating a gentle, life-giving warmth.
Then, he saw it.
Small, pearl-sized buds bloomed on the vines with impossible speed. The petals, a fiery orange, unfurled, stayed open for a breathtaking second, and then fell away to reveal tiny, green nubs of fruit. Ren watched, mesmerized, as the nubs swelled. In the space of a few minutes, they grew from the size of marbles to golf balls, then to large, heavy spheres, their skin shifting from green to a pale yellow, then to a brilliant, fiery orange, and finally settling on a deep, radiant crimson that seemed to capture the very essence of the setting sun.
Each tomato pulsed with a soft, internal light, the gentle warmth they radiated intensifying. The air filled with a tantalizing aroma—a mix of sweet, tangy, and a hint of spice that made Ren's mouth water uncontrollably.
[Ding! Your 'Sun's Fury' Tomato Plants have reached maturation and borne fruit!]
[First Harvest (Pristine Quality) is now available!]
[Effect of 'Sun's Fury' Tomato: Potent Vitality Restoration, Minor Stamina Boost, Temporary Sensory Enhancement. And it's incredibly delicious!]
[World Announcement (Regional): A plant of unprecedented vitality has borne fruit in the Eldorian hinterlands. All beings with sensitivity to life energy are now aware of a new, potent food source.]
Ren didn't see the world announcement, but he saw the part about it being delicious. "Finally!" he exclaimed, his stomach giving a loud rumble.
He reached out and plucked one of the tomatoes. It was heavy in his hand, warm to the touch, and seemed to hum with a faint, latent energy. It was the most perfect tomato he had ever seen, its skin flawless and glowing. He didn't hesitate. He raised it to his lips and took a large bite.
An explosion of flavor detonated on his tongue.
It wasn't just the taste of a tomato. It was the taste of pure sunshine, of rich earth, of summer rain, all condensed into a single, perfect moment. It was sweet, tangy, with a complex, savory undertone and a surprising, pleasant warmth that spread down his throat and into his chest. He felt a surge of energy course through him, washing away the last dregs of his mental fog from reincarnation. His senses sharpened; the colors of the forest seemed brighter, the chirping of the birds clearer, the scent of the pine trees richer.
"Whoa…" he breathed, his eyes wide. He took another bite, then another, finishing the entire fruit in seconds. The juice ran down his chin, but he didn't care. "That… is the best tomato I have ever eaten in my entire existence. Across two lives."
He looked at the vines, laden with dozens more of the glowing fruits. A happy, generous thought struck him. "I should definitely save some for Borin and Gareth. And for the nice lady with the skillet, and that Hemlock fellow. Maybe a good tomato will cheer him up."
He was about to pick another when a sudden, sharp rumble from his own stomach reminded him that one tomato, however divine, was not a full meal. At the same time, his newly enhanced senses picked something up. A flicker of movement in the bushes at the far edge of his clearing. A sound so faint it was less than a whisper. A scent that was not of the forest—a mix of leather, steel, and something wild and predatory, like ozone before a storm.
To a trained warrior, it would have signaled a master assassin in hiding.
To Ren, whose brain processed everything through a filter of gentle, farm-centric logic, it meant only one thing.
Someone else is hungry, and they're too shy to ask.
In the shadowed undergrowth, Lyra held her breath, her body pressed flat against the earth. She was a Shadowcat, one of the elite scouts of the Silent Fang Guild, a beastkin with senses that bordered on supernatural. Her mission, assigned by a client who paid in pure gold ingots, was to investigate the anomalous energy signature that had flared up in this backwater region, a signature that had briefly blinded every scrying pool in a hundred-mile radius.
She had been observing the farm boy for an hour, her mind struggling to reconcile what her eyes were seeing with what she knew of the world. The casual strength, the effortless weeding, the villagers' terrified reverence—it all pointed to a being of immense power. And then, the tomatoes had fruited. The burst of pure, concentrated life energy was like a lighthouse igniting in a dark sea. It was intoxicating, potent, and utterly unprecedented. It was a treasure that kingdoms would go to war for.
Her orders were clear: assess the target's nature and power level. If he was a threat, eliminate him before he could be recruited by a rival power. She had slipped into a stalking position, her black leather armor blending perfectly with the shadows, her presence erased, her footfalls silent. She was a ghost, an apex predator closing in. She was less than fifty yards away, preparing to make her final assessment before striking.
And then, the boy looked up.
His kind, green-hazel eyes looked directly at her hiding spot.
Lyra's heart seized in her chest. A cold dread, an emotion she hadn't felt since she was a cub, washed over her. He saw me. Impossible! No one sees a Shadowcat unless she wishes it!
She froze, every muscle tensed, ready to either spring an attack or vanish into the woods. Was this a trap? A display of power to intimidate her?
Then the boy smiled, a friendly, guileless smile. His voice, clear and warm, carried across the clearing.
"Hey! No need to hide in the bushes! Are you hungry?" he called out. "I just picked these. There's plenty to share!"
Lyra's hyper-aware mind went blank with sheer, unadulterated shock. This wasn't the challenge of a warrior. It wasn't the taunt of a powerful mage. It was… an invitation. To lunch.
Her training, her experience, her every instinct screamed that this was a ruse, a sophisticated ploy by a being so powerful he could toy with her as a cat toys with a mouse. But her Shadowcat senses, the primal part of her that could feel intent, told a different story. The boy radiated no malice. No killing intent. No deception. He radiated… gentle concern. And an aura of profound, unshakeable contentment. It was like a mountain offering a pebble a place to rest.
She remained frozen, her mind a battlefield of conflicting signals.
Ren, seeing the person in the bushes hesitate, assumed they were just timid or perhaps frightened of him after the bear incident. "It's okay, I don't bite!" he said encouragingly.
He plucked another one of the radiant, sun-warm tomatoes from the vine. Holding it up so it caught the light, he began to walk towards her hiding spot, his steps casual and non-threatening.
"Come on, don't be shy," he said, his smile unwavering as he closed the distance. "They're really good. You have to try one."
Lyra watched, mesmerized, as the god-like being who had casually annihilated a Grootslang Bear, who grew world-altering fruit, and who had detected her perfect stealth, approached her with a glowing tomato in his outstretched hand, his expression as innocent and inviting as a child offering to share their favorite sweet.
Her mission parameters had not, in any way, prepared her for this.