Combat!

Steven trekked westward, the crumpled quest paper clutched in his hand guiding him toward the farmer’s field. The Mistveil’s fog thinned as he left the city behind, replaced by rolling hills and the faint scent of earth and decay. After a brisk walk, he spotted his destination: a weathered red barn leaning slightly to one side, paired with a run-down Victorian-style house, its peeling paint and sagging porch whispering of generations past. He approached the door, rapping his knuckles against the warped wood. “Hello? Anyone home? I’m here for the rabbit extermination quest.”

The door creaked open, revealing a young man with a gruff edge—broad shoulders, a patchy beard, and calloused hands that marked him as a son of the soil. “Ah, yes,” he said, his voice rough but welcoming. “My father posted that at the guild. Come in, come in.” He waved Steven inside, the dim interior thick with the smell of aged timber and hearth smoke. The man offered a clay mug, and Steven, parched from his journey, accepted it gratefully. The liquid inside was warm, spiced water with a fiery kick—less tea, more a blaze on his tongue. As it slid down his throat, a surge of heat flooded his limbs, his muscles tingling with newfound vigor. He stared into the cup, mesmerized, until the man chuckled. “Family recipe. We drink it every morn ‘fore work—lights a fire in your gut, pushes you harder. Gets the day done right.” Steven nodded, the warmth coiling in his chest like a promise.

“Whelp, better get to it,” he said, draining the mug and setting it aside. The farmer clapped him on the shoulder. “Horned rabbits are in the pumpkin patch—northwest side, near the forest edge. Guess they fancy the taste. Good luck out there.” Steven grinned, the spiced drink fueling his stride as he bolted toward the field, heart pounding with a cocktail of excitement and the brew’s wild energy—perhaps a touch too wild, his pulse racing faster than it should.

The pumpkin patch sprawled before him, orange gourds dotting the earth like fallen suns. Amid them hopped a cluster of horned rabbits, their stubby horns glinting in the daylight, and one stood out—five times the size of its kin, a hulking beast with a jagged horn and a feral glint in its eyes. “Greater horned rabbit, huh?” Steven muttered, sizing it up. A smaller rabbit caught his scent, screeching as it charged. In his mind’s eye, he saw it leaping high, a perfect target for a glowing fist—he ignited Radiant Armament, his hands wreathed in golden flames. But reality betrayed him. The rabbit darted low, its horn sinking into his shin with a sickening crunch, scraping bone. “Oh, you little fucker!” he yelped, recoiling as pain lanced through him.

Blood trickled down his leg, the horn lodged deep. Gritting his teeth, he seized the squirming beast with his radiant fists, squeezing until it let out a pitiful **** cry and went limp. The wound throbbed, crimson pooling on the dirt. He sank to one knee, focusing his Holy Magic—golden light bathed his leg, knitting flesh agonizingly slow. The hole was stubborn, the bleeding relentless, but after what felt like an eternity, it sealed, leaving only a faint scar. Panting, he straightened, rethinking his approach. “Maybe they don’t jump like in the stories. More like real rabbits…” A spark flared in his mind. “What if I kick ‘em instead?” He summoned Radiant Armament again, this time channeling it to his feet. Three attempts—each a strain, his mana guttering from the healing—but on the third, his boots blazed gold, fatigue tugging at his edges.

Hands and feet aglow, he tore into the pack, a whirlwind of kicks and punches. The rabbits screeched and scattered, but he was relentless, crushing skulls and snapping necks—37 fell in a blur of holy fury, their lifeless forms littering the patch. Then came the greater beast. It snarled, baring jagged front teeth, and charged, a blur of fur and menace. Steven braced himself, adrenaline surging.

The rabbit lunged, horn aimed for his gut—a close call as he twisted aside, the tip grazing his tunic. It wheeled, snapping at his ankle; he leapt back, barely dodging those razor teeth. Sweat beaded on his brow, mana fumes all he had left. It charged again, a battering ram of muscle—he sidestepped, heart in his throat, and drove a glowing kick into its flank. The beast stumbled, dazed, and Steven pounced, slamming both radiant fists into its skull. A sickening crack echoed, and it collapsed, lifeless. He stood, chest heaving, unscathed by some miracle—close calls, but victorious.

A shimmer caught his eye. From the corpse materialized a prize: Rabbit Fur of Fury x10, soft pelts streaked with crimson, pulsing faintly with energy. They’d appeared from nowhere, a gift of Vyrthralis. Footsteps crunched behind him—the young farmer, jogging up, wide-eyed. “Gods above, you killed ‘em all! Some skill there, my guy.” He clapped Steven’s shoulder, steadying him. “First fight?” Steven nodded, still catching his breath. “Thought so. Bigger ones drop loot—don’t ask me how, they just do. Yours to keep. Craft with it or sell it, up to you.”

Steven pocketed the furs, grinning. “Gotta head back, claim my reward.” The farmer tilted his head. “Hey, what’s your name, anyhow?” “Steven Shatterkynn,” he replied, the name rolling off his tongue with pride. The man’s eyes glinted. “I’ll remember that. Got a feeling you’ll be big someday.”