After a long trek, with boots chewing dust and the horizon thin as a blade, Ling and Alicia finally reached their destination.

They weren’t dumb enough to barge in; one wrong step and the Beastfolk would surge like a storm, mistaking them for enemies.

People said the Beastfolk, pressed down for too long, fought like wildfire in dry grass—mad, bright, and uncaring of death.

And once the sparks flew, Alicia would end up killing one or two, and the bridge they hoped to build would crumble like sand.

Truth was, they were overthinking it. Edmund was here—Beastfolk like them—and he could cut through the fog and explain.

But Ling and Alicia were lone wolves by habit; asking for help never made their list, so they let that thought drift like smoke.

“So how do we even go in? Knock? But where’s the door?”

That hit the crux like a chisel to stone. Charging in would backfire; staying out was a leaf circling the same pond.

“Ah, forget it—just go! I don’t buy their claws can even scratch me.”

Schemes never stuck to Ling; in her book, a righteous brute fit better. If trouble bloomed, future-her would prune it clean. Right now—

Charge first, think later!

She burst from the bushes, a green veil tearing, and planted one foot inside Beastfolk land.

It felt like tripping a hidden sigil. No sharp alarm cried out, yet doors flew open together, and weapon-bearing Beastfolk spilled out like a dark tide, eyes glowing red like banked embers.

“Easy, I’m not—”

Whoosh—

Her words barely left her lips before a crude spear ripped the air with a gale’s hiss, hurled hard enough to bruise the sky, tip sighted on Ling’s right eye.

To Ling, the spear crawled like a turtle through syrup; she reached out, hawk-fast, caught the haft, and snuffed its momentum like pinching a candle.

The Beastfolk weren’t idiots playing turn-based duels. As the spear fell flat, the rest swarmed like wolves closing a ring.

Weapons of bone gleamed dully. One bone blade was all scars and no edge, and a short dog-eared boy sprinted in with it, small as a sapling, fierce as a pup.

Can’t hit him…

Annoyance pricked like nettles; she slid aside from his straight overhead chop, light as a reed in wind. Even a casual knockback would be bullying a kid.

Ling couldn’t be that kind of cruel.

“Nyaa!”

A loli chirp rose behind her, sweet as sugar on steam. No danger pricked her skin; her body stayed calm like water, so Ling didn’t move.

Naturally, the loli’s attack landed on her back.

Three neat scratches traced lines across her clothes, like bamboo brushstrokes on silk—just a cat loli’s tiny nails working in earnest.

Her clothes carried her mana like a quiet weave, so the fabric wouldn’t tear. The loli noticed, pouted like a cloud, and hooked her claws in, hanging there without sliding.

Ling sighed, reached back through the air like threading a needle, grabbed the small body, and drew her around.

Up close, she matched the dog-eared boy—fur soft as moss, the whole of her a scaled-up kitten, wrapped in rough homespun that felt scratchy even to Ling’s fingers.

Ling was just observing, cool as moonlight; to the other Beastfolk, she looked like a wolf with a chick in its jaws.

A righteous adult charged, fists windmilling like hailstones in spring.

Ling flowed away on that unbeatable dynamic vision, slipping punches like leaves dodging raindrops. Only dodging and not hitting felt tight and sour in her chest.

“Put her down! I’ll die before I let you eat her!”

“Hey! You sent your little ones to attack me—how did I become the one eating kids? Even if I ‘eat,’ it’s not the literal kind!”

Her throwaway gripe dropped like ink in water, and the Beastfolk faces went green, minds sketching something truly awful.

“You heard that?! She really means to eat our children! If we don’t rush her now, the village kids will suffer!”

WTF????

What is this? You, the loud one—are you the parent of the catgirl in my hands?

Take her back already! Don’t smear my clean name!

Of course, no one heard Ling’s inner rant. Even if they did, rage was a river, and they weren’t stepping out.

The villagers, boiling over, grabbed whatever bit like iron—bone knives, clubs, even wooden sticks etched like charms with Sharpness X and Knockback II—and a furred tide of cat ears, dog ears, and fox ears surged toward Ling.

From a bystander’s view, it was a fresh cut of Resident Evil: Beast-Ear Edition, fur and panic framed like a poster in blood-red.