The last manifestation

Once he was far enough, he stopped briefly, glanced around to ensure no one was watching, then bent his knee slightly and shot forward like an arrow. His feet barely touched the ground as he focused at high speed.

With every step, his thoughts tangled and surged unstoppably. Deep down, he didn't deny that his desire to help the elderly couple was genuine. But it also served as a thin veil covering a deeper truth—this mission, at its core, was a test. A way to gauge the difficulty level of iron-rank missions and determine whether he was ready to take on higher-tier tasks that would bring in money faster.

As he ran, fragments of old memories returned—of days spent working with the laboring class, those humble farmers and workers he'd known in his childhood. A wave of nostalgia washed over him.

Two hours passed in near-continuous running, broken only by brief rests. The farm appeared on the horizon. He could have closed the distance faster, but the intensified gravity limited his physical potential.

The rural path between the town and the farm twisted and turned, flanked by wild grass. For an average person, the journey would take half a day on foot, but Ace covered it in just a few hours. What impressed him most during the run were the small details that matched the map exactly—as if the guild employee had drawn it from a vivid memory.

Upon reaching the farm, he saw it standing alone in the open, enclosed by a fence of intertwined branches—a modest attempt to keep small wild animals out. The fence looked fragile, as if a strong wind could tear it away, yet it stood firm, much like the elderly couple living there, struggling to keep their land thriving.

Ace walked toward a small wooden gate that creaked faintly as the wind pushed it open and shut. Once through, he found himself in a wide yard filled with neatly arranged plants whose leaves trembled gently in the breeze.

The path led to an old wooden house. Its dark, cracked walls leaned slightly to one side, yet it stood stubbornly, refusing to become part of the past.

Silence dominated the scene, save for the whispers of wind through the branches. Near the house, a vibrant garden bloomed with the scent of flowers, butterflies fluttering from blossom to blossom, their wings glowing in the light. The sight, humble as it was, reflected years of care and patience—each plant a story of perseverance.

He knocked on the door several times but got no response. After a short wait, eyes scanning for any sign of life, he decided to walk around the back. There, he stumbled upon a scene straight out of a pastoral painting.

Amid a grove of trees, a man and woman worked in harmony despite the marks of age carved into them. Their movements showed no weakness, only the resilience of lives spent battling the land. The man wore a tattered straw hat; his dirty clothes stained with mud and streaks of grass—like a map of toil etched into fabric.

With timeworn hands, he expertly picked ripe produce, leaving the unready ones untouched. Beside him, his wife in a simple dress radiated gentle warmth, collecting the fruits he harvested and placing them into a nearby basket.

Ace stood nearby unnoticed, observing in silence. A gentle warmth crept into his soul—a feeling of respect and admiration. The scene brought back memories of childhood, running through fields helping elders and absorbing life lessons not taught in books.

After a moment, he took a deep breath and stepped forward, careful not to disturb the natural harmony between people and nature. When he was close enough to be seen, he bowed respectfully and offered a warm smile, saying:

"Good morning, sir, ma'am. I hope I'm not disturbing your blessed work."

The old man descended from a ladder, his eyes—more familiar with soil than with people—met the young man's. They widened in surprise. Strangers rarely visited this quiet corner. But soon, their expressions softened into kind smiles.

"Welcome, son," the old man said in a rough voice shaped by the years, as if his words passed through his heart before reaching his lips. He didn't need to look deeply to see the spark in the youth's eyes, the kind that hinted at hidden depths. Ace placed a hand over his chest and said in a steady voice:

"My name is Ace Farland, a novice adventurer. I've come about the mission concerning the demonic rabbits threatening your farm."

At those words and the sight of the metal guild badge near his chest, the old man's face changed. For a moment, his wrinkles shifted with unease. Though he tried to smile calmly, Ace caught a glimpse of the worry in his eyes.

The old man expressed his gratitude that an adventurer had accepted their request. He praised Ace's effort in making the journey from town and, with generous hospitality, gestured to a modest wooden table in the backyard garden, inviting Ace to sit.

The two sat around the old table. Despite its age, it was clean and reflected the simple essence of a peaceful life—one that needed little to be fulfilling. While they sat, the old woman went inside, leaving behind a faint trace of herbal scent. Ace then asked the old man to explain what had happened. The man sighed, as if carrying the weight of the world, and began in a weary, husky voice filled with years of hardship:

"These past days have been hard, son. Very hard." He paused, then continued with a voice heavy with loss: "We've lost part of our crops and some animals. Every night, we hear noises from the barns—cries of frightened creatures—and strange sounds among the plants. I investigated, looking for the cause, but found nothing... just destroyed crops and missing animals, some dead, their bodies covered in wounds."

He paused, staring at his clasped hands on the table, as if they held the memory of examining those bloody corpses. His fingers trembled, and he clenched them, trying to hold onto something slipping away. Then he resumed:

"At first, we thought they were just stray animals. We reinforced the fences and barns, locked everything tighter—but it didn't help."

He lifted his eyes to meet Ace's. His blue gaze was like a dark abyss, holding something that couldn't be expressed in simple words. He said quietly:

"But son, we eventually discovered what was causing all this. As the attacks continued, we finally caught sight of the culprits. Rabbits, son. But not like any we've ever seen. They were fierce and monstrous. When we saw them, we could do nothing but run. The best we could do afterward was submit a request to the Adventurers' Guild. And you, son, are the first adventurer to answer it and come here."

After that, silence fell—a silence revealing the old man's feelings, ones he perhaps didn't want to show, except to the person coming to handle the mission. Then, the door opened, and the old woman returned with a wooden tray aged by time. Steam rose from a teapot, scenting the air with a soothing herbal aroma. It fills the air with a herbal fragrance that has a magical touch of comfort and tranquility.

Three ceramic cups were carefully placed beside small plates, adorned with pieces of fresh cake—as if silently inviting hospitality. The tray was set on the table. Then, she lifted her head and looked at the young man with a smile. It wasn't merely polite—it was more like a warm embrace offered without words.

Her gaze held the tenderness of grandmothers who don't need to know someone to make them feel at home. Ace returned the smile, one that reflected sincere appreciation, and said in a gentle voice:

"Thank you, ma'am, for your generosity. Please don't trouble yourselves on my behalf."

The elderly couple chuckled softly, a laugh that seemed to echo a long life of harmony and affection shared between them. The grandmother placed her hand gently to the side of her mouth and commented, shaking her other hand:

"What a polite young man! We're very happy to have you here, son. It's rare for us to receive guests in such a remote place."

She said this as she began pouring tea into the cups. It had a deep green color and a distinct herbal aroma. She handed him a cup, which Ace accepted cautiously, his eyes observing the warm liquid inside. He lifted the cup to his lips and took his first sip. The moment the hot drink touched his tongue; he felt a comforting warmth spread through his body—a strange blend of sweetness and bitterness. He smiled in wonder, eyes sparkling, and said in a tone far from his usual calm demeanor as he looked toward the grandmother:

"Delicious! This tea is truly wonderful!"

His words were not merely flattery but a genuine expression of a feeling that had reached deep within. The elderly couple responded with wide smiles, exchanging a glance filled with pride—as though they had received an award for their efforts in cultivating and caring for the leaves used to make the tea.

Once the grandmother sat down, the old man stared silently into his tea. He gazed at it as if it were a mirror reflecting the ruin that had afflicted his land. The tea was still, its surface warm, but to him, it was more than just a drink—it was a window into dark nights. Then his voice returned to continue the conversation:

"To continue what we were saying, son, it's true that the reward we offered for completing the task is quite small, and I'm ashamed to admit it, but… we simply don't have the means to offer a reward worthy of the risk. We've suffered many losses, and all we have left are a few silver coins—barely enough to keep the farm running."

His hands trembled as he spoke—not from fear, but from shame. But his tone soon changed, trying to make the situation feel fairer. He offered a faint but sincere smile and said:

"But! If you'd like, son, you can take whatever you wish from our fields as compensation for the small reward. That's the least we can offer. We won't hold anything back. All we want is our safety, the safety of this farm, and, of course, your safety as well."

His voice overflowed with honesty. Although Ace didn't show much emotion on his face, there was a quiet understanding in his demeanor. After all, he wasn't just another adventurer seeking profit from tasks—he was someone who could feel and respect the weight of this old couple's hardship. He took a deep breath, lifted his head, and said in a voice filled with resolve and sincere intent:

"Don't worry, sir. Money isn't my goal, and I don't want anything extra from you. This is my first mission, and I want to prove myself. I promise I'll do everything I can to eliminate the threat endangering your blessed farm."

Upon hearing this, the elderly couple's faces lit up with gratitude and hope—as if the young man's presence, despite being at the beginning of his journey, had brought a glimmer of light to their days of despair. For a moment, it seemed as though the old man's shoulders relaxed slightly, as if a burden had eased.