Jasper's breath caught in his throat as the armbrace's surface began to shimmer with an ethereal blue light, casting dancing shadows across the weathered wooden walls of the stable. The device hummed with a low, almost musical resonance that seemed to vibrate through his bones. Before his widening eyes, particles of light coalesced into solid form—a perfect hologram materializing in the musty air thick with hay and horse sweat.
The Horned Rabbit appeared first, its crimson eyes gleaming with predatory intelligence, muscles rippling beneath its mottled brown fur. Every detail was startlingly real: the way its powerful haunches tensed, the slight twitch of its whiskers, the razor-sharp horn that gleamed like polished obsidian in the holographic light. Around it, faceless mercenaries took shape, their armor catching the spectral glow as they moved with precision.
Jasper's heart hammered against his ribs, each beat echoing in his ears as the female voice emerged from the armbrace—smooth as silk.
The Horned Rabbit is a creature that knows no retreat, no surrender. This pride becomes its undoing. The voice carried an almost hypnotic quality that made Jasper lean forward, his disfigured face mere inches from the shimmering display. Observe the horn—not merely a weapon, but the very essence of its being. To challenge this horn is to challenge its soul.
The hologram shifted, showing a mercenary raising his blade. The rabbit's entire demeanor transformed—its ears flattened against its skull, nostrils flaring as if scenting an insult carried on the wind. The creature's muscles coiled like steel springs.
Point your weapon—sword, spear, any blade with a piercing tip—directly at the creature's horn. Watch for the signs: the narrowing of eyes, the subtle shift in stance, the tremor that runs through its frame like lightning through storm clouds.
The demonstration unfolded with breathtaking detail. Jasper watched, mesmerized, as the holographic rabbit began its telltale squeaking—a sound like rusted hinges mixed with the cry of a wounded bird. Its powerful legs scraped against the earth, gouging furrows in the dirt as it prepared to charge.
Count the seconds after the tail begins its dance of death. Two heartbeats—no more, no less. In this moment, the creature's pride blinds it to all strategy, all caution. It sees only the challenge to its honor.
The mercenary in the hologram moved swiftly yet gracefully, stepping aside at the precise moment. The rabbit's horn pierced the shield of the second mercenary with a sound like thunder splitting stone, the creature's momentum carrying it forward until it hung suspended, helpless as a fish on a hook. The sword descended in a silver arc, ending the demonstration with swift, merciful efficiency.
Remember this, dear user: without the challenge, the rabbit retains its cunning. It will feint, dodge, use those powerful legs to deliver crushing kicks that can shatter ribs like twigs. And if it senses its horn is about to get stuck in the shield, it will shift position mid-air to avoid it..But pride—pride makes even the wisest beast foolish.
Jasper's eyes blazed like twin stars in the dim stable, reflecting the hologram's dying light. A laugh bubbled up from deep in his chest—first a chuckle, then a full-throated roar of triumph that sent rats scurrying through the hay-strewn floor. His voice cracked with euphoria as he threw his head back, tears of joy streaming down his veiny cheeks.
For monsters, being stronger than any human is an established fact, but what's confusing is that there is a difference between monsters—some are stronger than others even though they are the same species. The scale of power was mind-breaking. For example, you can fight two Horned Rabbits, but the difference between them is like a rock and a mountain, whether in agility, strength, stamina, or vitality—all were incomparable to each other.
Even A-rank mercenaries can't face a monster head-on without being injured. However, some people were strong to the point that rumors said they were superhumans—they could climb a tall tree in a single leap, run faster than a horse, and cut a rock with a single slash. Those people were called barbarians, and no information was known about them.
For Jasper, being labeled as the Ultimate F-Rank Mercenary wasn't quite shameful because most people couldn't face monsters. Nevertheless, there is a difference between monsters—some were easier to deal with than others. Jasper's problem was that he couldn't even deal with the weakest monsters. However with this strategy, it's highly probable for him to kill a Horned Rabbit.
"So this is what the RPG System or whatever it was, said about the help in my journey!" His words echoed off the rafters, disturbing the sleeping horses. "Thank God for this miraculous encounter!"
A chestnut mare with intelligent brown eyes tossed her head and whinnied in protest "Neighhhh", her hooves stamping against the straw-covered ground. The sound cut through Jasper's revelry like a splash of cold water.
"Forgive me, sweet lady," he whispered, reaching out to stroke her velvet muzzle. His fingers trembled with residual excitement as he felt the warmth of her breath against his palm. "Your rest is sacred, and I've disturbed it with my fool's joy."
Although the excitement made the drowsiness fade from his tired eyes, he forced himself to sleep. Tomorrow, he needed to be in perfect condition mentally and physically for his plan to go smoothly.
The night air carried the distant sounds of the sleeping city—guards calling out the watch, the occasional bark of a street dog, the whisper of wind through the narrow alleyways. As sleep finally claimed him, Jasper's dreams were filled with visions of redemption and the sweet taste of victory.
…
Dawn's cold light crept through the stable's gaps like searching fingers, illuminating motes of dust that danced in the frigid air. Jasper woke to the sound of merchants preparing their stalls, cart wheels grinding against the uneven road, and the eternal symphony of a city awakening.
Leaving the city to start his plan, he didn't take too much time before he came back directing his path toward the guild.
The guild hall loomed before him like a fortress of broken dreams, its weathered stone facade bearing the scars of countless disappointed souls. The massive oak doors, reinforced with iron bands, stood like an obstacle he needed to overcome.
Jasper's boots echoed against the flagstone steps as he climbed, each footfall a drumbeat announcing his arrival. The heavy doors groaned on their hinges as he pushed them open, revealing the cavernous interior.
Conversations died like guttered candles as he entered. The air itself seemed to thicken with tension, pressing against his skin like a physical weight. Seasoned mercenaries—their bodies bearing the geography of countless battles—glanced his way with expressions ranging from mild curiosity to outright disgust. Their eyes slid over his concealed face before dismissing him entirely, returning to their own business.
But Jasper needed more than their passing glance. He needed their undivided attention.
"Hear me, warriors of Hope City!" His voice rang out clear and strong, cutting through the building like a blade through silk. The calculated confidence in his tone—born not of courage but of desperate cunning—commanded attention in a way his appearance never could.
Every head turned toward him in perfect unison, a sea of weathered faces suddenly focused on his hooded figure. Some eyes burned with annoyance at the interruption, others gleamed with curiosity. The silence stretched taut as a bowstring.
A mountain of a man with arms like tree trunks slammed his tankard down with such force that foam erupted across the scarred wooden table. The sound cracked through the air like a whip. "You'd better have words worth hearing, you miserable wretch, or I'll use you for sword practice until the sun sets!"
The receptionist's face flushed red as a forge coal, his knuckles white as he gripped the counter's edge. "Didn't I make it clear as day that you're banned from entering the guild, you walking disaster!" Spittle flew from his lips as he spoke, his voice rising to a near shriek.
Jasper's lips curved into a smile beneath his hood—not the nervous grimace of a cornered rat, but the confident smirk of a lion in his territory. "Peace, good receptionist. Your words were precise—no missions for Jasper. You said nothing about simply gracing your establishment with my presence." He paused, letting the tension build before delivering his killing blow. "I've discovered something that will transform every soul in this room from struggling sellswords into legends whispered about in royal courts."
The silence that followed was absolute—not even the fly that was buzzing dared break it. Then, like a dam bursting, the entire hall erupted in laughter that shook the very rafters. Men doubled over, tears streaming down their cheeks like waterfell. The sound rolled over Jasper like a physical wave, but his smile never wavered.
The giant who had threatened him wiped his eyes with the back of one massive hand. "I was ready to split your skull, but you gave me the best laugh I've had in months! Consider your debts paid in entertainment."
"As expected," Jasper thought, expecting this outcome the first time he thought about the plan. But he had prepared a counter measure, breaking any doubt or disbelief.
Without a word, the bag sailed through the air in a perfect arc before striking the floor with a heavy thud that seemed to echo in the sudden silence. The impact caused it to spill open slightly, revealing something that made every breath in the room catch.
A horn. Not just any horn, but the sharpest weapon of a Horned Rabbit, its surface gleaming like a polished obsidian.
The laughter died as if strangled. Every eye in the hall fixed on that single piece of proof, minds struggling to process what they were seeing. The silence was so complete that Jasper could hear his own heartbeat, the distant sound of wind against the windows, and the buzz of the shocked fly.
Three mercenaries scrambled forward like hungry wolves, their boots skidding on the floor as they dove for the bag. Their hands shook as they took the rabbit corpse out, turning it over and over, searching for any sign of rot. But there was none to find—this was genuine, unmistakably real.
The crowd knew, with the certainty born of bitter experience, that no one would waste time helping Jasper achieve anything. Which meant this impossible trophy was entirely his own doing.
Faces that had been laughing moments before now twisted with a toxic mixture of rage and disbelief. How dare this walking failure—this man they wouldn't trust to tend their horses—succeed where they had failed? How dare he possess what they could only dream of claiming?
Some opened their mouths to demand explanations, to accuse him of trickery or theft, but the evidence was undeniable. The corpse was fresh, recently killed, and unmistakably his. Their words died unspoken, leaving only the bitter taste of wounded pride.
Jasper had anticipated their fury, had prepared for fists and threats and violence. He'd considered selling his knowledge to the noble houses, those bastions of wealth and power who ruled from their ivory towers. But memory struck him like a physical blow—his father's demise, his own ruined face, and his stolen inheritance. They would buy his secret, then likely kill him to keep it from spreading.
"I've been contemplating my options," he said, his voice carrying the casual confidence of a veteran merchant. "I could sell this strategy to competing guilds, or to the noble families who collect such secrets like precious gems. But this place…" he gestured around the hall with theatrical grandness, "this place could become legend. Imagine the merchant caravans that would come seeking Horned Rabbit horns. Imagine the gold that would flow through Hope City like a river of liquid sunlight."
From the upper floor came the measured sound of boots on wooden stairs. The guild leader descended like a king approaching his throne, each step deliberate and weighted with authority. His presence seemed to draw the very air from the room, making everyone else seem smaller by comparison.
"Name your price, young lad" he said, his voice carrying the finality of a judge pronouncing sentence.
Jasper's smile widened, showing teeth that gleamed in the firelight. "Fifty gold coins from the guild's coffers, and one silver from each mercenary registered in this guild. By my count, that's one hundred and eleven souls seeking glory. Oh, let's not forget about buying this Horned Rabbit, making it sixty-three gold and one silver total "
The receptionist's face turned red with rage. "Why not just rob us blind, you shameless thief!"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk." Jasper clicked his tongue like a schoolmaster correcting a slow student, the sound sharp and mocking in the tense air. "Where's your business sense, good receptionist? A single noble house would pay five hundred gold or more for this knowledge. They'd consider it a bargain at twice the price."
"Then why not sell to them?" The receptionist's voice cracked with frustration. "Do you take us for fools who can't see through your lies?"
Jasper sighed dramatically, the sound carrying all the weight of the world's sorrows. "Must I explain everything as if you were children learning their letters?" The insult hung in the air like smoke from a funeral pyre. "Look at this face—" he gestured to his hood, "—and tell me what noble would grant me an audience? They'd set their guards on me before I spoke ten words. It would take months to find someone willing to listen, months of travel my weak body cannot endure. But if you prefer, I'll gladly take my chances with the road and leave you to your current... modest circumstances."
The guild leader's eyes glittered, weighing the risks and rewards. "Acceptable. But if you think to play us false, your head will part company with your shoulders before sunset." The threat carried the weight of absolute certainty.
"With my feeble constitution, I wouldn't dare trick a child, let alone an entire guild of warriors," Jasper replied with mock humility that fooled no one. "Prepare the payment. I'll be waiting for you beside the Ancient Forest." Leaving them in dispute, Jasper went to arrange his escape route after taking the payment.
...
The sun climbed higher as the procession marched beyond Hope City's gates—a column of armed skeptics trailing their unlikely teacher into the unknown.
Jasper perched on a fallen log beside the path, his hooded figure a shadowed silhouette against the Ancient Forest. Sunbeams speared through the canopy, weaving light and shadow across his motionless form.
"Show me the gold first," he called out as the mercenaries approached, his voice carrying clearly in the still air.
The guild leader stepped forward, a leather pouch clutched in his weathered hands. "Here's your payment—not a single coin left. But know this: if you dare deceive us, your blood will water these very flowers before the day is done."
Jasper chuckled, the sound light as wind chimes in a gentle breeze. "As I said before, with my constitution being what it is, I wouldn't dare trick a butterfly, much less a company of armed professionals."
The forest around them seemed to hold its breath as they approached the Horned Rabbit's territory. Ancient oaks stood like silent sentinels, their bark scarred by the claws and horns of countless battles. The undergrowth rustled with unseen life, and somewhere in the distance, a rabbit's distinctive call echoed through the trees—equal parts challenge and warning.
Jasper's voice carried clearly as he explained the strategy, his words painting pictures more vivid than any scroll. The mercenaries listened with the intensity of students before their final examination, every word potentially meaning the difference between life and death.
When the moment came for demonstration, two volunteers stepped forward—a sword-bearer whose blade caught the dappled sunlight, and a shield-holder whose defense gleamed like polished silver. They approached the grazing Horned Rabbit cautiously.
The rabbit was in a state of relaxation; aside from its threatening horn, everything about it was cute. But when the sword pointed directly at that horn, the transformation was immediate and startling.
The creature's entire posture shifted, muscles bunching beneath its fur like coiled springs. Its eyes narrowed to burning slits, and its lips pulled back to reveal teeth sharp as needles. The squeaking that emerged from its throat was neither cute nor harmless—it was the battle cry of a warrior accepting a duel to the death.
The rabbit's tail began its telltale dance, twitching with the rhythm of impending violence. The sword-bearer's hand trembled slightly, sweat beading on his forehead despite the cool morning air. The mercenary counted—one, two—then threw himself sideways.
The rabbit's charge was like lightning given form, a blur of fur and fury that covered the distance in a heartbeat. Its horn pierced the shield with a sound like thunder, the point emerging from the other side mere inches from the shield-bearer's face. For a moment, the creature hung suspended, trapped by its own pride and momentum.
The sword descended in a silver arc, and it was over.
The watching mercenaries erupted in cheers that sent birds fleeing from the surrounding trees. Voices rose in triumph and disbelief, those who had faced death countless times celebrating like children who had just learned to walk.
"Again!" Jasper's voice cut through their celebration. "Let none say it was mere luck that guided our blade!"
"Yeah, we can't celebrate just yet," They said feign wisdom, suddenly seeing themselves as scholars of war. Every mercenary present wanted to be next, to feel the rush of victory that had eluded them for so long.
But as they clamored for position, as they argued over who would attempt the strategy next, Jasper was already moving. Like morning mist before the sun, he faded like a thin air, his footsteps silent on the needle-strewn ground. By the time they thought to look for him, he was gone.
"That cunning rat!" The guild leader spat when he finally noticed his absence. "He knew we'd take our money back once we proved the strategy worked. Find him!"
They hastily went back to the city to search for him, but they got shocked once they entered through the gates. Figures in identical cloaks seemed to multiply like shadows at twilight—every alley held someone of Jasper's height and build, every crowd contained a dozen potential targets. The city descended into chaos as frustrated mercenaries chased ghosts through market squares and down narrow passages.
No one realized their target was already miles away, traveling the old roads toward home with a satisfied smile. They'd hitched a ride on a merchant's cart—one delayed while waiting for Jasper, but now ten gold richer for the trouble.