Reynard felt his head spin.
'Gray?'
It was a new color in his repertoire. He hadn't expected to encounter a new color now, much less on a chicken. All the others had appeared on women; this was the first time it had surfaced on an animal, and it left him confused.
However, he was more intrigued by the possibility that the chicken had spoken.
Reynard took a step back, turning to Eleanor. He quickly knelt beside her, ignoring the chicken for a second.
"Eleanor, are you absolutely sure of what you heard? It spoke?" Asking this aloud, he realized how absurd it sounded, but he maintained a calm expression.
Eleanor shook her head violently. "I'm not crazy, Reynard! It screamed! It told me to drop the knife!" She pointed the trembling blade at the cage.
Hearing her confirmation, he turned back to the cage, observing it with an intrigued look.
A talking chicken?
Had the vendor not scammed him? Had he actually bought something good?
He approached the wicker cage, lowering himself until his face was just inches from the bars. The brown chicken squeaked, shrinking even further into the corner.
Reynard smiled as he looked above the bird's head. The gray flame danced frantically. As he approached, he could see the color with total clarity. The gray was dense and opaque, and the chicken's panic made the flame pulse, becoming stronger and denser.
Reynard understood exactly the meaning of that color. The chicken was terrified. He and Eleanor were a threat to it. The color blue meant respect. Pink, lust. Green, malice. And now, gray, fear. He was forming a palette of emotions and intentions, and he felt the system starting to take shape in his head.
Thinking this, he turned to Eleanor and said, "Give me the knife." His request was simple and direct. The chicken in the corner trembled slightly.
Eleanor didn't question him, handing the knife over.
With the knife in hand, Reynard addressed the chicken again. "If you can talk, now is the moment."
The chicken squeaked, but said nothing. The Gray flame flickered.
"I bought you. If you refuse to cooperate, I will have you turned into broth right here. I don't care what you are." Reynard lightly squeezed the cage. "Speak."
The chicken suddenly stopped clucking. Its eyes, previously wide with visible panic, fixed on Reynard. The expression of its beak and head seemed to empty, returning to that stupid, vacant look that common birds had. The gray flame, though still present, became weaker, as if the creature were trying to squeeze it, suppressing its own emotion.
Was it trying to fake it?
Reynard smiled.
"Stop pretending." He ordered, his voice low and dangerous. His hands played with the knife, making the silver blade reflect the weak light of the setting sun. "Whatever you are, this stupid act doesn't work on me. Speak now, or I'll have her prepare you for dinner before night falls." He pointed at Eleanor, smiling coldly.
The chicken squeaked, letting out a loud, shrill sound. It began to beat its wings against the wicker again, in a desperate and irrational attempt to escape.
Reynard didn't hesitate. He brought the tip of the knife close to the cage, resting it on the wicker right above the bird's head.
The thunderous clucking immediately ceased. The chicken huddled, and the gray above it shone even brighter.
Suddenly, a thin, metallic voice, entirely human, shot out: "B-boss, put that knife down, put that knife down!"
Reynard froze.
Boss?
'Holy shit.' That was his first thought.
Even being prepared for the scenario, hearing clear speech coming from that stupid beak was shocking. He had been in this world for just over a month, and it was the first time he had heard an animal speak. It was a shock even for him.
Despite this, Reynard managed to calm down. A talking chicken was surprising, but only that. It wasn't as if his own situation wasn't strange. If magic existed, a talking chicken wasn't really weird... just different, but he could get used to it quickly.
The same thought couldn't apply to someone else.
Eleanor, who was a few feet away, let out a choked sound, her eyes glued to the cage, paralyzed. In all her years, she had never heard a chicken speak, either.
The chicken, sensing the shock, continued to speak quickly, terror evident in its high-pitched voice. "We can solve this another way, boss! My meat is bad! I'm only bones, I'm not worth it!"
"Cut the crap. Don't call me boss." Reynard hissed, his voice low. He moved the knife away and brought his face closer to the cage. His gaze was fixed on the bird, fascination evident in his eyes.
If the vendor's promise was true... Could it really lay golden eggs?
That thought made the corners of Reynard's lips curl.
The chicken shuddered even more, sensing the intensity of that gaze.
"What are you?" Reynard asked, his grave voice leaving no room for lies.
The chicken hesitated. Its small eyes blinked rapidly, trying to find an answer, but nothing came to mind.
"I-I'm a magical beast." It finally answered, its voice trembling.
'Magical beast?' Reynard looked the chicken up and down. That gleam of fascination in his eyes gave way to deep skepticism. He had never seen a magical beast, nor did he know much about them or their forms. It was just... he thought magical beasts would be different.
A chicken was truly a bad joke.
The chicken noticed the look and felt offended.
"I was cursed with this form!" It tried to defend itself, although its voice didn't carry much confidence.
"You're a magical beast..." Reynard repeated with disinterest. "Cursed with the form of a chicken. How did that happen, exactly?"
The chicken hesitated, its small eyes darting away. It was clear that it didn't know how to answer the question credibly.
Reynard didn't press the matter further.
"The man who sold you at the market." He thought of something and continued. "The scammer who swore you laid golden eggs. Did he know you could talk?"
The chicken hesitated again, but this question was simpler for its brain.
"No." It answered, its voice high-pitched. "He didn't know. I was sold to him by someone else. A drunken old man captured me in the forest. I tried to convince him not to kill me, and he got scared, but the next day he tried to sell me to other people. That's when that man from the night market found him, hit the old man, and stole me."
The chicken sighed, a strange sound for that body. "He was very disappointed when I didn't speak once. He shook me, yelled, but I stayed quiet, waiting for a chance to escape. He thought I was just a mute chicken, and then he sold me to you."
It looked at Reynard with fear as it said this. "Now that you know my secret... are you going to sell me too? Or are you going to kill me? I... I'm not an item you can discard!"
Reynard let out a short laugh, a sound that made the chicken cringe.
"Golden eggs." Reynard spoke, ignoring the plea. His gaze fixed on it closely. "The scammer swore you laid golden eggs. Is that true?"
The chicken hesitated once more, its eyes fixed on Reynard's hand, which still held the knife. It didn't answer immediately.
Reynard leaned closer, the cold smile returning.
"If you truly lay golden eggs, you will live a comfortable life. Think about it... no one will kill something that brings wealth. You wouldn't have to keep running for your life from drunken old men or scammers." Reynard smiled, lowering his voice to a persuasive whisper.
"You'd be safe with me." He promised. "So, tell me. The golden eggs... is it true?"
The chicken hesitated, its eyes fixed on Reynard's smile. Its gray flame flickered, caught between the fear of death and the temptation of the promise of security. Finally, it bobbed its beak up and down, nodding strangely.
"I... it's partially true." It whispered, its voice still high-pitched. "I can lay golden eggs, but... I've never laid one before."
Reynard blinked.
It's never laid golden eggs before?
The more he looked at this chicken, the more he thought it was stupid.
"So, what makes you so sure you can lay golden eggs?" Reynard still decided to try.
The chicken became desperate.
"My mother said so!" It squeaked. "My mother said I could lay golden eggs, but there was a condition!"
Reynard was astonished.
Did the chicken's mother talk too?
"Where is your mother?" He asked, curiosity overcoming the urgency to know the condition.
The chicken wilted in the cage. "She's gone." Its answer was short, its voice lowering. "Please, don't ask me about that. I don't want to get into it."
"..." Reynard.
The chicken had family issues?
Well, that wasn't his problem.
"What was the condition?" He asked the most important question directly.
The chicken nervously wiped its beak on the wicker before whispering, as if the revelation were a dangerous secret: "I... I need to eat... mana crystals."
'Mana crystals?' He was genuinely stunned now.
Reynard looked at the stupid chicken, which now looked like a black hole of resources. A small shard of mana crystal could be worth six gold coins or more. He had managed to buy a small shard from the old man in the past, but this chicken wanted to eat those things as a meal for breakfast?
Reynard mentally calculated the cost-benefit ratio.
If a golden egg was worth ten times the price of the crystal, the deal was excellent. But if it was only worth the same... it was a waste of resources. It was difficult to buy a mana crystal shard with gold, so it would be a shame to exchange one resource for another.
"Are you sure that, to lay a golden egg, you must consume a mana crystal?"
"Yes." The chicken confirmed, sounding surer now that it had usefulness. "My mother said so."
Reynard was silent.
Her mother said so.
Its only argument for its ability to produce a golden egg was the word of another talking chicken. Reynard tightened his grip on the knife he still held.
'Should I really believe this?'
A chicken that talked and promised golden eggs, but had never delivered the product before. It was either the most elaborate scam he had ever encountered, or the most idiotic opportunity of his life.
"Alright." Reynard stood up, finally breaking the silence. Eleanor was still sitting on the grass, listening to the conversation between the two as if she were in the middle of a dream.
"Do you have a name?" He asked suddenly.
The chicken tilted its head, confused by the sudden change. "A name?" It squeaked. "My mother called me... Seven."
'Seven?' Reynard nodded dryly.
"Your name is Midas now."
"Midas...?"
The chicken murmured, oblivious to the meaning of the name.