The walk to Oakhaven was, for Ren, a pleasant stroll. For Lyra, it was a high-stakes escort mission. She walked a few paces behind him and to his left, her emerald eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, her ears twitching at the slightest sound—a snapping twig, a bird's call, the rustle of leaves in the breeze. She had begrudgingly left her larger knives back at the shack but kept a small, wickedly sharp blade concealed in her boot, just in case. She had also failed spectacularly at "smiling more." Her expression was one of intense, focused neutrality, which to the average person looked utterly terrifying.
Ren, carrying a small basket containing half a dozen of his 'Grade A - Regular' tomatoes, was completely oblivious to her silent vigilance. He was more interested in the local flora, pointing out interesting herbs and wondering if they were edible.
As they approached the village proper, they saw the first signs of their growing reputation. A group of children playing near the path fell silent as soon as they spotted them. They didn't run. Instead, they stared with wide, curious eyes, whispering excitedly amongst themselves.
"That's him! The Farmer!"
"And that's the Cat-Lady! She looks scary."
"My pa said he killed the bear with a stare!"
"No, silly, it was an apple! A magic apple!"
Ren offered them a friendly wave. A few of them shyly waved back before one of their mothers called them away, casting a nervous, respectful glance in their direction.
"You see?" Ren said to Lyra over his shoulder. "They're friendly."
"They are afraid of you," Lyra corrected him bluntly. "It is a form of respect."
"They're afraid of you," Ren countered. "You look like you're about to pounce on a field mouse."
Lyra's tail gave an indignant flick. "I am being vigilant."
Their first stop was the village's only general store, a cluttered, dusty establishment run by a portly, balding man named Giles. The moment Ren and Lyra stepped through the door, the idle chatter inside ceased. Giles, who was haggling with another villager over the price of flour, froze, his eyes widening.
"Ah! Ren! Good day to you, good day!" Giles said, his voice suddenly cheerful and servile. He wiped his sweaty hands on his apron. "And to you too, miss… uh… ma'am." He eyed Lyra's predatory stance and decided 'ma'am' was the safest option.
"Hello, Giles," Ren said warmly. "I was hoping to get some supplies. A hammer, some nails, maybe a saw if you have one." He placed his basket of tomatoes on the counter. "And I brought these to share. A gift from my first harvest."
The tomatoes sat on the worn wooden counter, glowing with an inner light, their vibrant crimson a stark contrast to the store's drab interior. The rich, tantalizing aroma filled the small space, and every person in the shop inhaled deeply, their eyes drawn to the fruit. They had all heard the stories.
Giles stared at the tomatoes as if they were a pile of gold coins. "A gift? Ren, my boy, this is… this is too generous! We… we couldn't possibly…"
"Nonsense," Ren insisted. "They're just tomatoes. Take one. Share them around."
Giles, trembling slightly, reached out and picked one up. The warmth and vibrant energy he felt in his palm made his breath catch. "Thank you, Ren. Thank you." He turned to his wife, who was peeking out from the back room. "Martha! Put these somewhere safe! These are the good tomatoes!"
While Giles scurried around gathering the tools, Ren felt a tug on his sleeve. He looked down to see the mischievous, pig-tailed girl from the day before, Lily. She was holding up a small, lumpy cloth bag.
"Mister Farmer," she said, her voice a little shy but her eyes bright. "My mama said since you're growin' things, you might like these. They're from my grandma's garden. They're 'Blue Leaf' carrot seeds."
Ren's face lit up. "Seeds! Lily, this is wonderful! Thank you!" He took the small bag reverently. New crops to grow! This was better than finding gold. "Tell your mama and grandma I said thank you very much."
[New Item Acquired: 'Blue Leaf' Carrot Seeds (Common Quality)]
[Farming God System is pleased! Diversification is the key to a successful farm!]
Ren beamed. He was so pleased, he didn't notice the man who had been haggling over flour slip out the back of the store, his eyes wide with greed and a plan forming in his narrow mind.
Lyra noticed. She cataloged his face, his clothes, the avaricious glint in his eyes. He was a potential threat. Classification: Minor. Priority: Low, but noted.
After paying for the tools (Giles refused to take more than a few copper coins, insisting the tomatoes were payment enough), they made their way towards the village square. Ren wanted to find Elara, the woman with the skillet, and Old Man Hemlock to give them their share of the tomatoes.
They found Elara hanging laundry, her movements efficient and strong. When she saw Ren, she paused, her expression guarded but not unfriendly.
"Ren," she acknowledged with a nod. She eyed Lyra with wary respect.
"Elara," Ren said, smiling. "I brought you something." He offered her two of the tomatoes.
Elara wiped her hands and took them, her practical nature warring with her awe at the glowing fruit. "Thank you," she said, her voice sincere. "My Borin… he hasn't had this much energy in years. Whatever magic is in your soil, it is a potent one."
"It's just good farming," Ren said honestly.
Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion from the village tavern. A man stumbled out, reeking of ale, his eyes bloodshot and angry. It was Hemlock's son, a bitter man named Yorick who had inherited his father's temper but none of his wisdom.
"You!" Yorick snarled, pointing a shaking finger at Ren. "Demon-farmer! You've enchanted the whole village with your poison fruits! My father speaks of nothing else! You've driven him mad!"
Several villagers stopped to watch, their faces anxious. Lyra took half a step forward, her body becoming a coiled spring, her hand drifting casually towards her boot.
Ren just looked at Yorick with an expression of pity. "Your father was just scared. I have a tomato for him, I thought it might help."
"Help? With your devil's food?" Yorick sneered. He puffed out his chest, emboldened by drink. "I'm not afraid of you. Or your pet cat." He took a menacing step forward.
Ren sighed. "I don't want any trouble."
"Well, you've got it!" Yorick swung a clumsy, drunken fist aimed at Ren's face.
The punch was slow, telegraphed, and utterly pathetic. Before Lyra could even twitch, Ren reacted with the same casual, thoughtless instinct he used for everything else. He didn't dodge. He didn't block. He simply raised his hand, the one holding a tomato meant for Old Man Hemlock, to protect his face.
Yorick's fist connected with the tomato.
There was no squish. There was a dull, resonant THUMP-CRACK!
It was the sound of knuckles breaking.
Yorick let out a high-pitched scream of agony, staggering back, cradling his now horrifically mangled hand. His fingers were bent at unnatural angles. The 'Sun's Fury' tomato in Ren's hand was completely unharmed. It hadn't even bruised. It was still glowing gently, as if utterly unconcerned by the impact.
The entire village square fell deathly silent. Everyone stared, their minds refusing to process what they had just witnessed. A man had punched a tomato and the tomato had won. Decisively.
Ren looked at his hand, then at the pristine tomato, then at the wailing Yorick. A frown creased his brow.
"Gosh," he said, to the silent, watching crowd. "These 'Sun's Fury' tomatoes are a lot sturdier than I thought. I'll have to be careful when I make that sauce. I might break a spoon."
In that moment, any lingering doubts in the villagers' minds about the sheer, otherworldly nature of their new neighbor evaporated, replaced by a deep, instinctual, and universally shared thought: Never, ever, mess with the Farmer's produce.