We were done with chickens.
Emotionally, spiritually, permanently.
And yet, the universe had different plans.
"Why… are there chickens following us?" I asked slowly.
Lina squinted at the ridge. "Those aren't the Arcana-Clucks, right?"
Iris turned pale. "They are. Three of them. Possibly the ones we exploded."
"Wait—what?!"
She pulled out her notebook. "Arcana-Clucks are semi-ethereal. They may regenerate from residual magic and… hold grudges."
I stared. "Are you telling me we've got vengeful poultry hunting us?!"
"Emotionally unstable, magical poultry. With tracking instincts," she confirmed.
I turned to Lina.
She lit a fireball in her palm. "I'm ready."
We hadn't even gotten ten minutes from the QuestHub before the chickens attacked.
Well, not directly.
First, they lured in bandits.
Real, leather-wearing, sword-waving bandits.
"Hand over your valuables!" the lead one shouted.
I blinked. "We just failed an escort mission for chickens. We have no valuables."
"We've got trauma!" Lina added.
The bandit looked confused… until a glowing chicken leapt from the bushes and latched onto his face.
"GAAAHHH!"
"GET IT OFF!"
It exploded. Glitter and screaming everywhere.
"...Told you," I said.
The next hour became a blur of pain and feathers.
We were chased by:
Two more bandits (one tripped on a chicken egg and knocked himself out).
A wild boar that had been enchanted to cluck.
A gang of traveling minstrels who thought we were part of a performance.
And the same three chickens, who now had tiny red bandanas tied around their heads.
"They've unionized," I gasped.
"They're flanking," Iris observed.
"I swear if I die to poultry," Lina growled, "I'm haunting every barn in the kingdom."
We stumbled into the Plume Market outpost, battered, bruised, and trailing feathers like shameful parade floats.
The receiving clerk blinked. "You're the chicken runners?"
"We were," I wheezed.
"We completed the route… in spirit," Iris offered.
"And technically, three chickens made it," I added.
"They weren't assigned, but they chose us," Lina muttered. "Does that count?"
The clerk looked at our scorched clothes, the singed cart harness, and the remaining birds pecking at her boot.
Then she handed us a tiny wooden crate.
Inside: three eggs.
"You're kidding," I said flatly. "Eggs?"
"They're very rare," the clerk said. "Possibly sentient."
One blinked.
I shrieked.
Back at the inn, we collapsed onto the floor in silence.
No one spoke for ten minutes.
Then Lina cracked open one of the eggs.
It hummed.
She slowly closed it.
"…Let's never speak of this again," I said.
"Agreed," said Iris.
Lina leaned back and grinned. "Still more fun than slimes."
End of Chapter 18