The last manifestation

Back at the reception desk, Ace and the clerk had silently observed the exchange. Then, she looked at him once more. A faint smile appeared on her face—one that hinted at a new kind of respect. Respect for a young man who handled tension with composure and wisdom, without raising his voice or resorting to violence. Unlike the many adventurers the guild had welcomed—men and women who boasted of strength and shouted to be heard, solving problems with fists and fury—this one was different.

He belonged to that rare type who combined strength with cunning, sword with mind, presence with peace. He wielded an invisible weapon: words chosen with care, and an ability to read situations and take the right actions without recklessness.

She took a deep breath, concealing her personal reaction before returning to her professional tone. Then, she said,

"Alright, Mr. Ace," she spoke steadily, opening the request file and running her fingers over the lines of neatly written details. She continued:

 "This request was submitted about two weeks ago. It concerns a creature known as the 'Demonic Rabbit.' According to the two elderly farmers who filed it, their farm east of town was attacked by a small group of these creatures—estimated to be ten in number."

She looked up at Ace as she added:

"These monsters are low-tier. They're fast, which makes chasing them difficult, and they show signs of intelligence. Individually, they're not strong—but in small groups, they can be dangerous."

Her eyes narrowed slightly, trying to read any expression on Ace's face, but he remained silently attentive, as if absorbing every word. She pressed her lips together—not as a brief pause, but as someone who felt the weight of the farmers' hardship. In her eyes was a kind of understanding—the kind that knows loss isn't always measured in money, but in the sweat of years. Then, suddenly, she spoke with a tremor in her voice:

"For farmers like them, who rely entirely on their land, this isn't just a loss of property… it's the loss of months of hard work."

Silence settled between them. The clerk hadn't needed to add that final phrase, yet perhaps she had hoped to stir something within him. Still, he didn't appear moved by pity. Instead, he seemed lost in thought, analyzing the information and eliminating possibilities—something she had already noticed about him. He wasn't impulsive or excitable; rather, he examined every detail before making a decision.

She continued to watch his face, trying to catch any sign, any glint in his eyes that might suggest he had grasped the weight of the matter. She wanted her tone to carry a sense of sincerity—to make the young man before her feel the burden of responsibility that came with accepting the request.

"How much is the reward for carrying out this task?"

His question came suddenly, and the clerk felt a twinge of irritation. These weren't the first words she had hoped to hear from him. Still, she quickly masked her feelings behind a veneer of professionalism and answered:

"The reward allocated for getting rid of all those rabbits…"

She paused before continuing, hesitating to reveal the amount. Ace noticed the slight hesitation, though it lasted only seconds. The clerk then continued:

"The reward is just 100 bronze coins."

"That's about 10 silver coins, correct?"

"Y-Yes, that's right," she replied, stumbling slightly despite her efforts to maintain an official tone. Then she added, with a voice that carried a clear emotional undertone:

"It may sound modest given the request, but for the two elderly people, that's all they can offer."

After she said that, Ace continued to look at her silently, then asked:

"Is this task suitable for a beginner adventurer?"

The clerk raised her eyebrows slightly, as though the question caught her off guard. She nodded, then formed a measured, kind smile—one that carried a hint of subtle encouragement—as she said:

"Yes! It's an iron-rank mission. Perfect for someone at your level as a beginner adventurer. Despite its apparent simplicity, it's a good chance to gain experience without significant risk."

Having said that, Ace stared at the notice for a few moments, then looked back at the clerk and asked with a more serious tone:

"Sorry, this might sound like an odd question, but why hasn't anyone taken this request so far? I noticed there are other iron-rank adventurers in the hall."

At that moment, the clerk's expression changed again. It wasn't the question that bothered her, but the truth behind the answer—one she was reluctant to admit aloud. She glanced at some of the adventurers in the hall before looking back at Ais, then answered with a voice that carried a hint of sharpness and a trace of frustration:

"As you can see, Mr. Ais, the adventuring profession isn't a charity. Most people who enter this field only care about missions that bring quick and generous rewards. And this particular task…"

She gestured toward the notice, as if placing a final period on her sentence.

"…requires hours of travel to reach the farm. On top of that, it takes effort to track and eliminate the rabbits. So, 100 bronze coins simply isn't enough compensation for the time and effort involved."

Her words were laced with unmistakable disappointment, as though she was indirectly blaming those adventurers who viewed missions superficially, ignoring the sense of duty they ought to possess. She had always believed that working in this field shouldn't be just a way to earn money—it should mean something more than personal gain. But reality was harsher than she liked to admit.

That realization had created a bitter internal conflict. Her professional obligation was to prioritize the most efficient and rewarding missions for adventurers, which often clashed with her personal desire to offer more opportunities to those who seemed caught between need and despair.

She let out a quiet sigh, watching Ace with a glimmer of hope in her eyes. Her breath grew heavy, her fingers tensed on the desk, as she struggled to suppress her professional instinct to suggest a simpler, better-paying task. But something inside her clung to a faint hope that he would take the request. Moments later, just before she could speak—before the words of professional advice formed on her tongue—Ais's voice broke through the hesitation:

"Alright, I'll take this request."

In an instant, it felt as though a mountain of tension had been lifted from her shoulders. She stared at the young man in disbelief, eyes wide, her limbs trembling as she echoed back with a mix of surprise and excitement:

"Really? You're really going to take the request?"

Her voice rose louder than usual, drawing the attention of a few nearby clerks. Ace simply replied with a calm but certain:

"Yes."

Though she didn't show it outwardly, the woman was practically jumping for joy inside. Without hesitation, she grabbed an elegant pen, dipped it in black ink, and pulled out a large logbook. Her eyes sparkled with enthusiasm as she flipped through its pages rapidly. With a graceful motion, she signed across the paper. Not stopping there, she pulled out a sheet and began sketching with practiced precision—a detailed map with clear, organized lines, reflecting the skill she had honed through years of work.

There was a tree with tangled branches, a distinctively shaped rock, and a stream winding through bends until the farm appeared at the center of the page like a marked destination. The other clerks, watching from a distance, observed her silently, their smiles a mix of amusement and admiration. One of them leaned toward a colleague and whispered with a teasing tone:

"Finally, someone accepted that request!"

The other replied in a soft, warm voice:

"Yes! I'm so happy for her."