Weakest Beast Tamer Gets All SSS Dragons-Chapter 261 - - Tamers Home

The kitchen's heat had eased now that dinner service was ending. Freshly washed pots gleamed in the dim light, and the lingering aroma of spices hung in the air.

Fern Patinders untied her apron with a relieved sigh as her husband, Reed Patinder, stored the last knives in their rack. Her hands, weathered by decades of culinary work, moved with practiced efficiency.

Reed's fingers, marked with the occasional scar from ancient cuts, also displayed the precision and grace that only years of experience could bestow.

"Everything ready?" Fern asked, tucking a strand of grayish hair back under her cap. Though lately, she'd noticed a few small strands seemingly regaining their color, just like they had eleven years ago.

Reed nodded as he wiped down the work surface one final time.

"Perfectly clean, as it should be," he replied with a tired but satisfied smile.

The restaurant owner entered the kitchen while counting the day's earnings, crystals clinking softly between his fingers.

"Another exceptional day, thanks to you two," he remarked, looking up from his counting. "That new sweet root stew recipe was a complete success."

"It's Ren's favorite, so we wanted to improve it," Fern said, her voice carrying a blend of pride and longing. "I thought customers might enjoy trying the enhanced version too."

"You were right," the owner replied, separating out one hundred crystals and handing them to Reed. "Here's today's bonus for the new culinary experience, as agreed."

Reed accepted the crystals, adding them to the small pouch he kept in his pocket.

"Thank you," he said with a slight bow. "See you tomorrow."

"Until tomorrow. Rest well," the owner replied, returning to his accounts.

The couple exited through the restaurant's back door. The twilight sky stretched above them in shades of orange and purple, while the twelve moons began to peek shyly from behind scattered clouds.

"That makes two hundred now," Reed commented as they walked through the streets of the outer district, where homes gradually became more modest. The cobblestones gave way to packed dirt beneath their feet. "Enough to replace what we've already used."

Fern nodded, gently squeezing her husband's hand.

"Mr. Cirrus's Roc beast predicted clear skies tomorrow," Reed said. "He passed along the forecast as usual, though my knees already told me, they haven't been aching. We can process them together at dawn, before work."

They walked in comfortable silence for a stretch, each lost in their own thoughts. Their "mature" Iron-rank plants hung from their heads, only a few discrete leaves and vines peeking out from beneath their humble hats.

"Do you think Ren is doing alright?" Fern finally asked, worry seeping into her voice.

Reed squeezed her hand more firmly.

"I'm sure he is. He's a clever boy, and he always listened to our advice. He must be learning so much."

"It's been almost six months," Fern murmured, her voice dropping to a whisper. "When we're not working... the house feels so empty without him."

No more words were needed to open the daily wound. They both felt their son's absence like a physical pressure… a hollow space that nothing could fill.

As they rounded the corner, their former owned home appeared before them. The rental cottage was still their life, the familiar sight of its tilted roof and worn door brought a measure of comfort. Reed fumbled with the key, the old lock sticking as it always did.

Once inside, Reed lit a lamp while Fern removed the newly acquired crystals and placed them carefully in a small black box alongside others of similar size.

"We have enough now, so we won't run out of what Ren left us," she observed, studying the collection with bittersweet pride.

Reed approached, peering over her shoulder. The crystals' soft luminescence reflected in his tired eyes.

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"Remember how he gave us all those instructions before leaving?" he asked with a nostalgic smile. "So serious, like a little professor... Though his inventions are becoming increasingly elaborate. I had to write down the steps or I would have forgotten them."

"A thousand-day cultivation method," Fern replied, laughing softly. The sound filled the small room like music. "Such an imagination... As if weak plants needed more cultivation time than legendary Platinum-rank tamers beasts."

They both vividly recalled that day, shortly before Ren departed for the academy. Their son, with those luminescent mushrooms in his hair, explaining with absolute conviction a ritual that would supposedly elevate their mature plants to the power of a Bronze-2 rank beast.

They'd taken it as a childish fantasy, a comfort that Ren had invented to cope with the disappointment of receiving the weakest beast. But they had promised to follow the ritual, day after day, without fail.

And so far, they had kept that promise.

"For a little white lie," Reed admitted as he sank into a chair with a tired sigh, "it's been surprisingly useful. Gives me something to look forward to each morning."

Fern nodded, preparing an herbal infusion for them both. The kettle whistled softly on the small stove, releasing a cloud of fragrant steam.

"For me too. It's as if, somehow, we're connected to him through this routine."

She poured the steaming liquid into two chipped cups, the aroma of something akin to mint and chamomile filling the air.

Their small house overflowed with memories of Ren. His first shoes, carefully preserved in a wooden box beneath their bed. Childish drawings adorning the walls like precious tapestries. Stones and skeleton fragments he had collected with friends, arranged on windowsills and shelves. Each item held a story, a frozen moment of their son's childhood.

Sometimes, the pain of separation was almost unbearable. They had spent decades yearning for a child, and when they finally had Ren, he became the center of their universe. Now, with him at the academy, they suffered a new anxiety, and the house seemed too quiet, too empty…

Like a bell without a clapper.

"Have you noticed anything strange lately?" Reed asked suddenly, accepting the cup Fern offered him.

"What do you mean?"

"With our plants," he explained, extending his arm where the vines gently coiled. In the lamplight, they seemed to pulse with a subtle emerald glow. "Mine seem... different. Brighter. And yesterday I could lift the water barrel without help."

Fern studied him thoughtfully, absently stroking the leaves that peeked from her collar. They felt smoother under her fingers, more vibrant.

"Now that you mention it... I've been sleeping better, and my hair is regaining color. And that migraine that used to torment me hasn't returned in weeks."

They looked at each other in silence, an unspoken question hanging between them like morning mist.

"Must be that we're sleeping more due to his absence," Reed finally suggested, though uncertainty tinged his voice. "Or perhaps it's the new herbs we're using in the kitchen."

"Yes, that must be it," Fern agreed, though she didn't sound entirely convinced.

Neither wanted to admit it from fear to get ideas and make the absence more painful, but both had begun to wonder if Ren's daily ritual was having some actual effect.

It was absurd, of course.

Everyone knew that mature Iron-rank plants couldn't evolve further. It was an established fact.

And yet...

"I wonder how he's doing at school," Fern said, changing the subject. She sipped her tea, savoring its soothing warmth. "Do you think he's made friends?"

"I'm sure he has," Reed answered, though worry briefly crossed his face, deepening the lines around his eyes. "Although with a spore..."

He didn't need to finish the sentence. They both knew the stigma associated with Ren's beast, the weakest of all. The thought of their son, alone in that prestigious academy, possibly enduring mockery and rejection, still broke their hearts.

"He's stronger than he seems," she said firmly, straightening her shoulders. "Stronger than anyone knows. And he has a good heart. That counts more than any beast... Remember the day he left, with that determined look in his eyes?"

Reed smiled, admiring the conviction in his wife's voice. Her unwavering faith had always been one of the qualities he loved most about her.

"You're right. Our Ren will find his way, with or without a powerful beast."

The conversation shifted to more practical matters: rent payment, ingredient purchases for their meals, small repairs the house needed. Their financial situation had been precarious since selling their home, but they managed. The restaurant work was stable, at least, and occasionally they received extra tips for their special culinary creations.

Later, as they prepared for bed, Fern paused by the window, gazing at the multiple moons illuminating the night with their subtle colored light. The smallest moon, crimson as a ruby, peeked from behind a cloud, casting a reddish glow across her face.

"I just hope he's alright," she murmured, more to herself than to Reed. "That he's happy, that he's learning, that he doesn't feel alone."

Reed approached, embracing her from behind. His arms encircled her waist, strong and comforting.

"He is," he replied softly. "I have this feeling, you know? That something good is happening with our Ren. Something... unexpected."

Fern leaned against him, finding solace in his presence. After decades together, they still fit perfectly; two pieces of the same puzzle.

"Perhaps you're right," she said finally.

That night, as they slept, both dreamed of their son. Not the small, frightened boy who had come home with a beast that only generated luminescent mushrooms in his hair, but someone taller, stronger, surrounded by light. In the dream, Ren smiled at them with confidence, as if he knew something they were only beginning to suspect.

And while they slept, the plants on their arms glowed with a barely perceptible radiance, slightly more intense than the night before. With each passing day, with each crystal absorbed following their son's precise instructions, something changed within them. Something subtle but undeniable.

One hundred and seventy-five days had passed. Eight hundred and twenty-five remained.

The ritual continued.