Buck, for all his size and earlier bluster, was a coward at heart. The moment he laid eyes on Asher, his bravado evaporated. He shrank back, trying to hide his bulky frame behind his mother's hunched back, peeking out like a frightened rodent. Upon hearing the command, Buck didn't dare to hesitate or negotiate.
He tugged frantically at his mother's sleeve, stammering in a panic: "Mom... Mom, hey... let's go. Let's just go home. He's back... he's really back..."
Even though the middle-aged woman was seething with resentment, her face twisted in bitterness, she wasn't suicidal. She was unwilling to let it go, her greed still itching at her, but looking at Asher's stony face, she truly didn't dare to utter another word of protest. People like her were predators of opportunity. They thrived on exploiting the soft, the weak, and those unable to fight back. But when faced with a jagged, cold rock like Asher Ryder, a man who exuded violence and strength, she knew better than to act recklessly.
Realizing that she wasn't going to get a single scrap of profit from this encounter, no money, no labor, not even an apology, she furiously dusted the dirt off her pants. However, she couldn't leave without attempting to salvage the last shred of her pathetic pride. Before scurrying away, she turned her head and spat out one final curse, her voice dripping with venom.
"Just you wait, you loose little thing! Let's see how long you can survive in this village! Ungrateful brat!"
It wasn't until the two of them had hurried far away, disappearing down the dirt path, that the oppressive atmosphere in the field finally began to soften. The tension drained out of the air, replaced by the rustic sounds of the countryside.
Asher turned to Ewan, his eyes scanning the younger man from head to toe, looking for any sign of injury or distress. His voice dropped the icy edge, returning to a deep, rumbling baritone of concern.
"Are you alright? Did they hurt you?"
Ewan smiled brightly, shaking his head with a reassuring confidence: "They couldn't do anything to me. You forget, I can summon Slimes. These little guys are more than capable of helping me out."
As Ewan spoke, the five Slimes, sensing the danger had passed, began to bounce happily around his feet, nuzzling against his ankles like affectionate puppies. It was only then that Asher took a good look at them. He blinked, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. He realized that the solitary red jelly blob he had seen before had somehow multiplied. The team had expanded from a single unit into a colorful, five-element squad.
Ewan didn't stop there, he reached out and gently took Mr. Trent's arm, pulling the older man slightly forward: "Besides, Uncle Trent was here. He stood up for me. Thank you so much for helping me, Uncle."
Mr, Trent waved his hand dismissively, his face crinkling into a warm, weathered smile, a stark contrast to the fierce expression he had worn moments ago: "Oh, nonsense. I didn't do anything special. That mother and son duo... that's just how they are. They're a blight on the village. Next time you see them, just ignore her completely. Don't even give her the time of day."
Mr. Trent, having thoroughly admonished the greedy neighbors, turned his attention back to the younger man standing beside him. A broad, weathered hand came down to clap Asher Ryder on the shoulder, the gesture heavy with approval and camaraderie.
"You really struck gold picking this kid up, Asher." The old man said, his voice raspy but warm. He gestured expansively toward the expanse of farmland stretching out before them: "I mean, look at that. Just look at it. You've barely been gone, and he's already managed to turn over your entire plot. And not just a sloppy job, either."
Asher Ryder blinked, momentarily taken aback. He turned his head to follow the line of Trent's pointing finger. Indeed, the two large fields, which had been overgrown and hardened by the elements just this morning, were now completely transformed. The soil had been churned and aerated to perfection, the dark earth turned upward, looking moist, soft, and ready for seeding.
A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Asher's stoic features. He remembered all too well the last time he had attempted to prepare these fields alone. After his parents had passed, leaving him with the property, it had taken him two full days of backbreaking labor, from sunrise to sunset, just to achieve a fraction of this result. His muscles ached just thinking about it.
"You..." Asher started, looking at Ewan with a new contemplative expression.
Ewan, sensing the weight of the praise and feeling entirely undeserving of it, hurriedly waved his hands in denial: "Oh, no, no. I didn't do it myself. I'm not some sort of superhuman capable of doing all that manual labor in a few hours. It was them..."
As he spoke, Ewan pointed a slender finger toward the group of Slimes gathered near the edge of the field. The creatures, seemingly aware that they were the topic of conversation, were exceedingly cooperative. The moment Ewan acknowledged them, the entire group began to bounce enthusiastically, their gelatinous bodies jiggling with pride.
"Pew pew! Pew pew!"
The chorus of high-pitched, alien chirps filled the air. Although Asher couldn't understand the specific nuances of their language, the body language was universal. They were showing off. They were puffing out their chests, or at least, the slime equivalent of chests, waiting for validation.
Asher couldn't help but let a small, rare smile tug at the corner of his lips. He looked at the colorful blobs and gave credit where it was due: "You guys are actually amazing. Good job."
"Pew pew!"
The praise sent them into a frenzy of delight, their bodies glowing slightly brighter as they jostled against one another.
The three humans standing there, the rugged hunter, the old farmer, and the young summoner, couldn't help but chuckle at the adorable display. The tension from the earlier confrontation with Buck and his mother finally evaporated completely. Seeing that the situation was resolved and Asher had returned to take charge, Mr. Trent decided not to overstay his welcome. He bid the two young men goodbye, hoisting his sickle over his shoulder, and made his way back to his own fields to finish his day's work.
Finally, only Asher Ryder and Ewan were left standing in the fading light of the afternoon.
A sudden, quiet awkwardness settled between them. Ewan, feeling the weight of the silence, reached up and scratched the back of his head self-consciously. His eyes drifted downward, landing on the game that Asher had placed on the ground earlier during his standoff with the neighbors.
"Did you... catch all of these?" Ewan asked, trying to bridge the silence.
Asher nodded, bending his tall frame to retrieve the animals: "Yeah. The harvest wasn't great today, honestly. But these should be good for stocking up. They fell into the snare traps rather than being shot, so they aren't injured badly. We can keep them alive in a coop for a few days to keep the meat fresh."
"Oh." Ewan replied. It was a lackluster response, but he couldn't think of anything profound to say about wild game management.
They exchanged another glance, one of those polite, fleeting looks between two people who are living together but are still essentially strangers navigating the boundaries of their relationship.
"Let's go back." Asher said finally, breaking the gaze as he hefted the pheasants and the hare: "It's getting dark."
"Oh. Okay." Ewan echoed.