Creature Farm: Beginnings (A Cozy Monster Evolution LitRPG) Chapter 4: Chapter 4

Read chapter 4 of Creature Farm: Beginnings (A Cozy Monster Evolution LitRPG) by TristanRye on NovelPedia.

“And this knob amplifies the water crystal in the hilt.” “Adding elemental energy to the blade?” Enrik’s jaw drops. “That’s right. You’ve got an eye for machinery, lad.” Ivan and Enrik walk ahead, examining the broadsword and discussing the intricacies of Galantan metalwork. “What do you make of them?” Clara leans over and whispers. “Hm? Oh, they seem fine. Glad Enrik is making a friend.” “No, the creatures!” Clara points into the distance. Ivy hovers, slowly rotating in a circle, scanning the forest with her enormous eye. Crag pokes his snout high, sniffing for anything abnormal. “They’re useful, that’s for sure.” I fold my arms. “I should get some pets. Imagine it…creatures working a farm! What’d that be like?” “Easy now, farmer. Maybe try planting more radishes first.” She giggles. Slender sunbeams shine overhead, filtering through the forest canopy. They cast dappled shadows onto the rocky, overgrown path. With each step, the forest seems to grow denser and darker. Pines rise high, fronds long and prickly. Down lower, thorny bushes showcase blood-red flowers. The leaves rustle. Twigs snap. Ivy’s eye narrows—a sentinel on high alert. [Current Location: Rainsong Woods - Central Woodlands. Danger Level: Medium.] Ivan’s necklace pulses around my neck. Its words beam into my mind. “H-hey!” I call out. “Fall back. We’re in fae territory now.” Ivan and Enrik nod, moving in while our group tightens. We move as a single unit, following the path up a steep slope. Climbing higher and higher, we push into the mountains surrounding the village. The overhead sunbeams fade while we gasp and pant. Well, except for Clara. She’s a machine. “C’mon! Hurry up!” She trudges onward, Crag scampering at her side. Ivy lands on her shoulder. Huh. Animals seem to like her. It’s hard to tell how long we’ve trekked, but the forest gradually opens into a round clearing. An orange sunset glows overhead, casting fiery light onto the ancient pines. A bizarre, wild structure rests at the clearing’s far end. Trees seem to have fused and warped, trunks twisting together at odd angles. The wood blends to form a tiny hut camouflaged with the forest. There isn’t a single window—only a narrow door bolted into the surface. “Woah! This is awesome!” Enrik jogs ahead. “Look at that! A door into a tree!” “Careful now, lad. Treasure hunters must tread lightly. There’s no telling where danger—” *knock* *knock* knock Enrik bangs his fists against the door. Clara flashes me an uneasy look. Tension grows, but nobody moves. Nobody comes to answer. Instead, the doorknob jiggles and turns. The door swings open as if carried by the wind, its hinges howling. There’s light inside—the faint glimmer of a fire. We stand frozen while a bitter, herby scent wafts out. “Well? Just going to stand there? The soup is getting cold.” A woman’s voice echoes. We exchange glances before creeping inside, little Enrik leading the way. A thick canopy of dried herbs hangs from the ceiling, pumping earthy forest perfume. The cabin interior is a single large room cluttered with stacks of books. Shelves line the walls, supporting jars with exotic specimens—toads, spiders, and eyeballs that spin and focus. At the center of it all, a cauldron bubbles over a pile of heating crystals. “Hmm, hmm, hmm…” A young woman stands beside the brew, stirring with a long wooden spoon. Tall and elegant, curly red hair cascades down her back like the grand waterfall outside town. The locks match her crimson lips and pointed nails. A witch’s hat and a black gown hug her frame, accentuating her full, curved figure. “Oh, Willem.” She looks up, sharp eyes meeting mine. “H-h-hi, Ayla.” I look away. My cheeks burn hot. “What a lovely little party! Adventurers visiting my cottage!” She scans the group. “I know Lady Clara, but who have we here? A little blacksmith? A vagabond from…northern Galanta?” “Hm, you’re good.” Ivan folds his arms, impressed with her power of discernment. “But not good enough. It’s southern Galanta—the