Weakest Beast Tamer Gets All SSS Dragons

“The Patinder family?” the patrol leader asked without bothering to hide his disdain.

Reed straightened slightly, positioning himself protectively in front of Fern. “What can we do for you?”

The man sketched a smile that never reached his eyes. “It seems someone from the Goldcrests wants to speak with you,” he explained with false cordiality. “We’ve taken long to find you because you live on the edge of the dump, and around here there are few houses that aren’t hidden in the vegetation… You live like wild beasts.”

His eyes swept the place with evident repugnance, cataloging every worn surface, every patched piece of furniture.

“We had to increase our search efforts on this side and only succeeded on the last day of our deadline,” he continued, checking a timepiece on his wrist that showed they’d been searching since early morning. “Fortunately, you had left traces when passing the border… permission to enter.”

But it wasn’t a question. Without waiting for a response, the talkative man pushed the door and entered, forcing Reed and Fern to back away. His two companions followed, closing the door behind them.

The small space seemed to shrink even more with the presence of the three men. The leader toured the space with his gaze, examining every detail with invasive scrutiny. He spent long moments studying each corner, as if memorizing the layout for some nefarious purpose.

“We’re looking for information about your son and violations of rules such as following the false and long enemy rituals,” he declared, stopping before the calendar where they meticulously marked the ritual days. His fingers traced the marks with interest. “Any relevant information in the house will need to be reviewed and taken if I deem it necessary.”

His companions began rummaging through the Patinders’ scarce possessions without the slightest respect. The search was methodical but destructive, they spent nearly an hour turning over every item, examining every document, opening every container.

One of them even knocked over the small table, spilling the pot where Fern had been preparing their modest soup. The meager contents spread across the floor, a small tragedy in their already difficult circumstances.

“Be careful!” Reed exclaimed, taking a step forward before stopping when the leader shot him a warning look.

The other two patrollers continued their extensive examination of the place, though their expressions showed they weren’t impressed with what they found. One spent considerable time searching through an old trunk where he found a small sack with processed crystals, noting it in a small notebook. The other inspector searched under the bed, flipping it over too after long minutes of fruitless searching.

The sun had shifted noticeably through the window by the time the leader finally spoke again.

“Are you poor bastards truly Reed and Fern Patinder?” the leader asked, pulling out a crumpled paper from his pocket. He made a show of comparing their faces to some description on the document. “Parents of Ren Patinder, ‘genius’ student of the Academy?”

Reed and Fern exchanged a glance. For a moment, Reed considered lying, but knew it was useless with Fern here… Denying their identity would be denying their son, and although perhaps he could pretend for Fern’s sake, Fern…

“Yes,” Reed finally answered just before Fern opened her mouth, his voice firm despite the fear. “We are his parents.”

The tiger man smiled, a gesture that transformed his face into a mask of malice. “Then it seems you’re parents of someone who doesn’t sit too well with our patrons.”

Reed clenched his fists. “Our son is just a student,” he said, trying to maintain calm. “He’s not involved in this stupid political war.”

The leader let out a laugh, the sound resonating in the small space like an omen of calamity. “Everyone is involved in this now,” he responded, settling into a chair as if preparing for a long conversation. “Especially little geniuses who cheat to make the children of true leaders look bad.”

They spent another hour interrogating the couple about their son’s activities, his recent achievements, and his connections. The questions were repetitive, designed to catch them in contradictions.

One of the men approached his leader, holding several papers. “Found this among the mountain of dumb recipes,” he said quietly. “It seems they indeed follow the cultivation ritual.”

The leader took the papers, his eyes narrowing as he examined the meticulous instructions, even more detailed than the official ones.

“Interesting,” he murmured after what felt like an eternity, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Very interesting… An illegal, unauthorized cultivation ritual. Do you know what this means?”

Reed stepped forward, trying to maintain calm. The afternoon shadows were lengthening now, marking how much time had passed of this mental torture. “It’s just a family relaxation method. Nothing illegal.”

“Nothing illegal?” The patroller released a harsh laugh. “Since the new division, any cultivation method from the other side is considered subversive. The new Goldcrest’s territory laws are very clear about this.”

The other two men exchanged glances, evidently enjoying the moment. One of them, a burly man with lizard scales showing on his neck, pulled a thin whip from his belt. He tested it several times, the sound cracking through the air.

“This infraction merits immediate punishment,” declared the leader, storing the papers in his pocket with theatrical slowness. “Before taking you to formal interrogation.”

“But this is ridiculous!” Reed protested.

The leader gestured toward the man with the whip. “Twenty lashes. Ten for each.”

Reed placed himself between the patroller and his wife. “This is a mistake. We’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Resisting authority,” responded the tiger man with a cruel smile. “That would be ten more. Thirty total.”

“We’ll start with the woman!” he announced, pointing toward Fern.

“No!” Reed planted himself firmly between them. His voice cracked with desperation born of hours of mounting tension. “If there must be punishment, let me take it please. All the lashes.”

The tiger leader considered the proposal, amused by the situation. He pretended to think about it, drawing out the moment. “How noble,” he mocked. “Very well. Thirty lashes for the man.”

Reed turned to Fern, his eyes communicating more than words. She nodded slightly, contained tears gleaming in her eyes.

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