SMASH or PASS

At the farm office, I received my final day’s payment.

Two gold coins and a statement of three days’ worth of breeding bonuses.

Should be good. It should feel fine.

The numbers are doing fine.

In my pocket, wrapped in cloth, are three cups with warped handles.

These aren’t in the numbers.

◇◇◇

Just as I was about to leave through the south gate,

I heard the sound of wheels from the north gate.

It was a carriage. Three large, covered carriages were entering the grounds in a line. A Catkin was in the driver’s seat. The cargo area was sealed, and I couldn’t see inside.

The Silken Claw transport. The one the farmhand had mentioned last night.

The escort was one person.

A woman, walking alongside the wagons.

...Catkin.

She wasn’t the typical house cat type you see in patchwork.

She was tall. Slender. But her physique was different. Muscle definition was visible beneath her leather armor. Two daggers were crossed on her back, and her hands bore several old scars. On her arms, too. And across her nose.

The way she moved reminded me of Fenra for some reason.

The wagons stopped.

The covers opened. Cowkin came out.

They blinked.

Confused by the light.

Fresh brands on their hips.

Numbers.

Farmhands rushed over, clipboards in hand, and began inspecting each Cowkin one by one.

New stock. Product "completed" at the nurseries, about to become part of this farm.

I started walking toward the south gate.

I should have just passed through.

◇◇◇

"—Hey."

A voice called out.

It was low. A female Catkin. The bodyguard.

I turned around, and she was looking at me.

Her nose twitched. The Catkin sense of smell. Was she reading my scent?

"...Male. Combat training."

She murmured it, almost to herself.

"Are you here on a breeding contract?"

"Yeah."

"Huh."

She took a step closer. The scar on the bridge of her nose gleamed white in the morning sun.

"Most breeders are weak. Fat, sluggish, trip over their own feet. You’re different."

"That so."

"Your weight sits on your toes. That’s a fighter’s stance."

Her eyes slowly moved from my feet to my face.

"Silken Crow, bodyguard. My job is to deliver things." She gestured with her chin towards the cart. The cowkin were still squinting at the light. "Livestock today. Maybe something else tomorrow."

"What do you mean?"

"It’s boring going back and forth to the ranch. When I see someone who looks like they’d have an interesting conversation, I can’t help but say hi."

An Interesting conversation. Me?

"Most breeders, you know." She took another step. She stood at the edge of my reach. "just stare at my tits and mumble. You haven’t looked once. Why?"

"Manners."

"Wrong. You’re not mannered. You’re trained. Different thing."

Her pupils dilated. The predatory response of a Catkin.

"You can’t learn that kind of weight shift in a bronze-rank guild quest. I’ve trained with bronze-rank adventurers, and they even trip over their own feet. Who taught you?"

"My wolfkin."

"A Second Rank wolfkin taught a breeding contractor to move like a fighter."

There was a pause.

She smiled.

Just the corner of her mouth. A smile like the edge of a blade.

"That’s a good story. I’d like to hear more."

She stood in my path.

Not aggressively. Just naturally standing where I would pass. She had no intention of moving.

"What do you think of today’s delivery?"

She looked at the wagons. The Cowkin were still lined up, their numbers being checked by the farmhands.

"It’s a good stock. They were carefully raised in the nursery. The fat distribution is solid, so they should produce results fast once milking starts. Each one is carefully cared for."

Her voice had the objectivity of a judge at a livestock show.

A test.

She was testing me. Watching what face I’d make when she talked about the delivery like that.

I didn’t change my expression.

"Good work on the transport. The farm needed the stock."

Her ears twitched.

And then.

—Purrrr.

A purr. A Catkin unconscious reaction. The sound they make when they feel good, or are interested, or both.

She noticed and bit her lip. Her eyes narrowed.

"...What’s your name?"

"Noel."

"Noel."

She repeated the sound as if tasting it. She rolled it around in her mouth, chewed it, and swallowed it.

"I’ll remember that."

She said that and walked away.

The system had activated.

[SMASH / PASS]

[Target: Ravenne]

[Tier: Rare]

[Species: Feral/Catkin]

[Rank: 3rd]

[SP Cost: 180]

[Passive Bonus: Agility +15]

Third Rank.

180 SP.

More than every point I’d earned in my entire life, combined.

I filed the number.

I filed the sound she made when she got interested.

I filed her scent. Leather, blade oil, and something animalistic

I stored it all deep in my mind. It’s unusable now. But someday...

◇◇◇

Outside the south gate, Fenra was standing there.

Her fur was raised.

She hadn’t been waiting for me to come out. She’d been watching that woman through the window. And she’d smelled her scent.

The scent of a predator superior to her.

"Yeah."

I patted Fenra’s head.

"I know."

Her fur slowly calmed down.

But her ears stayed aimed at the farm. The entire way back.

◇◇◇

On the return wagon, I sat in the cargo bed and checked the cups in my pocket.

Three. Wrapped in cloth. Unbroken.

Simple pottery with crooked handles and different numbers of petals on each side.

623 gave them to me.

I wrapped the cups back up and put them away.

The wall was getting closer. Brannock’s grey outline growing larger in the evening light.

Fenra was curled up beside me. Pixia, on my shoulder, had finally started glowing again, just a little.

"...Hey."

"Hmm?"

"That female bodyguard..."

"Ravenne. Silken Claw escort, she said."

"Yeah. I know."

Pixia’s voice hadn’t fully returned to its usual lightness.

"Her scent. I know a similar scent..."

"Where?"

"...Can’t remember. A long time ago. But it wasn’t a good smell."

She went quiet after that.

The wagon swayed. The wall was getting closer.

Three days at the farm were over.

In my pocket, the cups clinked softly with the wagon’s vibration.