Making porridge in a rickety shack with a legendary assassin and a high-ranking knight of the realm was not how Ren had envisioned his morning, but he was a remarkably adaptable person. He bustled about, stoking the small fire in the hearth, measuring out oats and water into a dented pot.
Ser Kaelen sat on a rough-hewn stool that seemed far too small for his armored frame. He had placed his helmet carefully on the floor beside him, a silent testament to his temporary suspension of official duties. He was still reeling from the effects of the tomato. He could feel the residual energy humming in his veins, a clean, powerful current that made him feel more alive than ever before. He watched Ren, trying to reconcile the boy's simple, domestic actions with the world-altering power he had just tasted.
Lyra stood near the doorway, her arms crossed, a silent sentinel. She observed the knight, her expression unreadable. She had accepted his presence for now, but her trust was not easily earned. He was an agent of a powerful kingdom, and kingdoms had a tendency to covet things they could not control.
"I don't have any honey or sugar," Ren said apologetically, stirring the pot with a wooden spoon. "But I think I'll chop up one of the 'Zesty' tomatoes to mix in. It might be good."
Ser Kaelen watched as Ren casually took one of the glowing fruits—a treasure that could fund a war—and began dicing it as if it were a common onion. The knight's mind, trained in logistics and resource valuation, was screaming in protest. That one tomato was probably worth more than the entire village of Oakhaven, including its livestock.
"You have… a remarkable talent for cultivation," Ser Kaelen said, his voice carefully neutral. It was the opening move in his new mission: information gathering.
"Thanks!" Ren replied without looking up. "The soil here is great. And my tools are surprisingly effective." He stirred the diced, glowing tomato into the porridge, which immediately took on a faint golden hue and began to emit a wonderfully complex, savory-sweet aroma.
"The men you apprehended," the knight continued, gesturing vaguely towards the door. "They were likely after your crop. And according to a bounty I've seen, they may have been after your guard as well."
Ren paused his stirring. "A bounty? For Lyra?" He looked over at her, concerned. "Why would anyone post a bounty on you?"
Lyra's gaze flickered towards Ser Kaelen, a silent warning. "My former employers were… displeased… when I chose to terminate my contract," she said, her voice clipped. It was a gross oversimplification, but it was all she was willing to offer.
"Displeased enough to offer 500 gold sovereigns," Ser Kaelen added, watching for Ren's reaction.
Ren's eyes went wide. "Five hundred gold?! Wow, you must have been a really good employee!"
The knight and the assassin both stared at him, momentarily speechless. Ren's brain had completely bypassed the "mortal danger" aspect and landed squarely on "impressive job performance evaluation."
"That's… one way to interpret it," Ser Kaelen managed, his stoic facade beginning to crack under the strain of Ren's relentless innocence.
The porridge was ready. Ren ladled the steaming, faintly glowing mixture into three wooden bowls. It didn't look like much, but the smell was divine. He handed one to Ser Kaelen and one to Lyra.
Lyra accepted hers with a nod of thanks, her guard lowering slightly in the face of a warm meal. Ser Kaelen, feeling it would be a grave insult to refuse, took his bowl. He took a tentative spoonful.
It was, without exaggeration, the most delicious thing he had ever eaten. The simple oats were elevated to a creamy, savory-sweet perfection by the 'Sun's Fury' tomato. Each bite was a burst of warmth and flavor, suffusing his body with a gentle, comforting energy. It wasn't the potent rush of the raw fruit, but a deep, nourishing vitality that seemed to heal not just the body, but the soul.
He ate the entire bowl in a reverent silence.
"So," Ren said, eating his own portion happily. "You're a Knight-Errant. That sounds important. What brings you all the way out here, besides the… uh… anomalous deliciousness?"
Ser Kaelen set his empty bowl down. The time for subtlety was over. He had to know. "Ren," he said, his voice serious. "The Crown is aware of the power emanating from this location. A power of life so potent it has altered the magical balance of the entire region. Such a thing cannot remain a secret for long. What you have here… will draw attention. Dangerous attention. Mercenaries, rival kingdoms, covetous mages… they will all come seeking the source."
Ren listened, his cheerful demeanor fading slightly as he processed the knight's words. He looked out the doorway at his glowing plants. "All this fuss… over some tomatoes?"
"They are not just tomatoes," Ser Kaelen said with heartfelt conviction. "They are a strategic resource of unparalleled value. The healing properties alone are revolutionary."
"I am here to protect him," Lyra stated firmly from the doorway.
"And you are a formidable warrior," the knight acknowledged with a nod. "But you are one woman. You cannot fight off an entire army, or a council of archmages." He turned his earnest blue eyes back to Ren. "The Kingdom of Eldoria can offer you protection. Official, sanctioned protection. We can declare this a Royal Agricultural Preserve. Station a garrison. In return for a tithe of your crop, of course. For study, and for the benefit of the realm."
It was a fair offer. A generous one, even. Protection in exchange for a percentage of the wealth. It was the foundation upon which feudal society was built.
Ren frowned, thinking. A garrison? Soldiers marching around his farm? Royal overseers taking his tomatoes? It sounded… loud. And complicated. It sounded like paperwork and meetings and everything he had been reincarnated to escape.
"No, thank you," Ren said politely but firmly.
Ser Kaelen blinked. "No? But… it is the most logical course of action! It ensures your safety!"
"It ensures my peace and quiet is ruined," Ren countered. "I don't want a garrison or a title. I don't want to deal with armies or councils. I just want to farm. I want to plant my new carrots." He looked at Lyra. "Lyra is all the protection I need. And… well…"
He trailed off, looking down at his hands. A thought, a simple farmer's thought, occurred to him. Pests were a nuisance to a farm. Bandits, armies, nosy mages… they were all just different kinds of pests. And a good farmer deals with pests decisively to protect his crop.
"And if bigger pests come," Ren finished, his voice suddenly quiet and calm in a way that made the hairs on the back of Ser Kaelen's neck stand up, "then I suppose I'll have to use a stronger pesticide."
There was no malice in his voice, no anger. It was a simple statement of fact, delivered with the same placid certainty he used when discussing crop rotation. And that's what terrified Ser Kaelen. This boy wasn't arrogant. He was confident. It was the absolute, unshakeable confidence of a being who understood, on a fundamental level, that no threat could truly harm him.
The knight looked at the boy who had just rejected the protection of an entire kingdom. He looked at the empty porridge bowl that had given him more vitality than any royal banquet. And he looked at the glowing field outside.
His mission had changed again. It wasn't about investigating or protecting. It was about containing the fallout. The world was about to knock on this farmer's door. And Ser Kaelen had the sinking feeling the world was going to be profoundly sorry that it did.