Chapter 49 – Eating with the Rabbits

  Training Grounds Finale

  Steel rang across the Proving Fields, the clash echoing off rune-carved barriers. Seven’s shoulders ached from the repetition, his balance thrown with every swing of the borrowed training sword. It was longer than the knives he favored—an oversized blade by his measure—but still light compared to the broadswords the rabbits handled like twigs.

  He ditched the neat stance Ripper had drilled into him, his body falling into something older, sharper—close-quarters training from another life. He flipped the sword into a knife-grip hold, keeping movements tight and compact, the blade flashing like a giant combat knife.

  Fluffy, the towering bunny warrior standing at eight feet tall, towered above him like a mountain. Her twin swords gleamed under the sun, each swing a testament to her strength. Seven charged forward, clashing with her fluffy, formidable form. He realized quickly that fighting someone of her size was a daunting challenge, especially as she unleashed a flurry of strikes.

  With adrenaline coursing through his veins, Seven parried her first strike, though the force nearly knocked him off his feet. He sidestepped, narrowly avoiding a second blow that whizzed past his ear, the air crackling with the tension of their duel. However, Fluffy's other sword was closing in fast. He managed to redirect the second blade—a fleeting shimmer of steel—only to feel the sharp coldness of her blade inch closer.

  The short sword slipped from his less dominant left hand, clattering to the ground, but he couldn’t afford to dwell on it. With instinct taking over, he invaded her personal space, darting close enough to disrupt her next swing. She blinked, caught off guard, as he slipped beneath her twin blades. His footwork was light and agile, the very essence of a predator.

  He hooked for her hip with the borrowed blade, aiming for a soldier’s toss. For a heartbeat, her footing faltered, and she stumbled back, surprise etched across her features.

  “Cheeky!” Fluffy laughed, her grin wide, flecks of grass flying as she regained her balance.

  But Seven’s leverage wasn’t enough. She swept her powerful legs in a low arc, knocking him flat. He hit the dirt hard, the training blade skittering away.

  “Match!” Ripper barked.

  Fluffy offered him her hand, ears twitching mischievously. “Not bad, Seven. That hip toss almost had me. But size matters, and I’ve got a bit more to work with.” She flexed her thigh in exaggerated fashion.

  Seven brushed off the dirt, grimacing. “Noted. Swords were never my thing. I’m more of a gun guy.”

  Ripper’s stern gaze silenced the chuckles from recruits watching. “That’s why you’ll train with blades. You don’t get to lean on strengths alone. Even Raven can fight hand-to-hand if her bow fails. Fluffy lives off her speed, but she knows how to take a hit. You’ll learn too.”

  Seven’s jaw tightened, but he nodded.

  Ripper glanced at the crowd of gawkers. “Back to your drills. And show some respect. He’s still adapting.”

  The recruits murmured as they dispersed, but their sidelong looks lingered. Today’s spar would ripple through the guild by nightfall.

  Seven wiped the sweat from his brow, muttering as they left the field: “This is going to kill me faster than the snow ever could…”

  The Mess Hall

  That evening, the Den of a Thousand Tails buzzed with life. Long tables groaned under the weight of roasted game, thick stews, and endless baskets of carrots. The air was thick with spice, sweat, and smoke—comforting in its chaos.

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  “Over here, Seven!” Fluffy waved, already halfway through a stacked plate of meat and roasted carrots. Her tail flicked as she cleared a space beside her.

  Seven grabbed his share from the line: bread, thinly cut meat, a ladle of stew. To him it was plenty. But beside Fluffy’s mountain of food, it looked like scraps.

  A nearby recruit squinted at his tray. “That’s it? Humans really eat that little?”

  Another snorted. “No wonder he’s so small.”

  Seven sat down with soldier’s calm, keeping his tone even. “Where I come from, we called it portion control. Helps you stay fit instead of dropping dead from overeating.”

  The table snickered.

  Fluffy slammed her palm down, grinning wide. “Don’t poke fun. He’s got enough work just keeping up with me.” She shoved an extra slab of meat onto Seven’s tray. “Eat. You’ll need it tomorrow.”

  Seven sighed but dug in, the warmth of the meal cutting through his fatigue.

  Courting Rituals

  Fluffy leaned closer, her voice pitched just loud enough for the others to hear. “Besides… you all should’ve seen him when he first got here. Tried to bust out of his room like a criminal. Got tied up like a present. Said something about us ‘courting him.’”

  Seven froze mid-bite, glaring. “You’re still on about that?”

  Fluffy smirked, chin in her hand. “Well, you sure looked flustered. Red as a beet while I was tying the knots.”

  The recruits howled with laughter, ears flicking in amusement.

  Seven groaned, rubbing his temple. “For the record—I thought I was being kidnapped, not courted. I don’t know the customs of giant rabbits.”

  “Same difference!” Fluffy teased, clinking her mug against his.

  Seven raised his cup and muttered into the foam. “I’m starting to think you live to torment me, Fluffy.”

  Her grin widened. “Finally caught on, rookie.”

  Raven’s Warning

  From the higher tables, Raven sipped her drink in silence. Her sharp eyes swept the mess hall until they fixed on the crowd’s fixation with Seven. She leaned over the railing, voice carrying just enough to reach him.

  “Word spreads fast,” she remarked coolly.

  Seven glanced up, meeting her piercing stare just as Fluffy shoved another mug of ale into his hand. “So I’m already the circus act?”

  “Not a circus,” Raven corrected. “A mystery. A human who survived the wastes, fights like a soldier, and—” her eyes flicked toward Fluffy with the faintest smirk, “—apparently enjoys bunny courting rituals. The Guild won’t stop talking about it.”

  Seven grimaced.

  Fluffy’s grin widened. “See? You’re famous already.”

  Seven muttered, “Famous for what—surviving, or because half the Guild thinks I’m interested in courting rabbits?”

  The hall erupted in laughter, and even Raven let the corner of her mouth twitch.

  Closing Scene – Minor Time Skip

  Hours later, the mess hall thinned. Mugs clattered empty, stories grew taller, and recruits staggered off toward the barracks.

  Seven sat back, stomach full for the first time in months. His muscles ached, but the warmth of food, fire, and laughter pressed against him like a weight he didn’t mind carrying.

  Later, back in his quarters, he dug through his battered duffel. Most of his old gear was ruined—uniform torn, armor shattered—but tucked inside was a weathered notebook. He thumbed through blank pages until he found space, then scribbled under the flicker of candlelight:

  Roughly two weeks in the Guild. Training brutal. Diet worse. Still don’t trust them… but I’m alive. And maybe that’s enough for now. Don’t know if there’s a way home, or even where to start. Just a man with scraps of memory, a number on his neck, and friends I can’t find.

  He closed the journal and glanced over. Fluffy was already snoring softly in her bunk, carrot crumbs on her pillow.

  Tomorrow would be another day of drills. Another chance to prove he belonged.

  And beyond the Guild’s walls, Novastra’s council still whispered about the human whose name was already spreading.

  The First Month’s Weight

  Emberglen 12, 200

  Training consumed him. Sunrise to dusk: sword forms, evasion courses, conditioning that left every limb trembling. No recruit was spared, but for Seven it was worse. Every drill forced him to face his missing arm, his poor mana control, his human frame against giants.

  A normal Novastran wouldn’t have lasted a week. Seven lasted a month.

  Each day he adapted—learning to balance with one arm, to parry with leverage instead of strength, to push stamina without burning out. By the month’s end, lean muscle returned where starvation had hollowed him. Yet he knew he was still only scratching the surface. He remembered Saya’s power—terrifying, untouchable—and admitted to himself: I’m nowhere near that yet.

  The jeers in the yard grew quieter. Recruits still called him “the human,” but now they said it with less mockery, more curiosity. He didn’t quit.

  One evening, Fluffy tossed him a carrot stick across the bunk. “Look at you, rookie. Almost starting to look like one of us.”

  Seven caught it with a faint smirk. “If by that you mean sore, starving, and stubborn, then yeah. I’m fitting right in. Only thing missing are the ears and tail.”

  Miss Hopps & Ripper

  In her office, Miss Hopps leaned over a stack of reports, rubbing her temples. Ripper stood across the war table, arms folded.

  “He’s holding up better than I expected,” Hopps admitted. “Stronger. Faster. Stubborn as hell.”

  Ripper grunted. “That stubbornness kept him alive outside the walls. But keep him penned in here too long, and it’ll break him.”

  Hopps’s gaze sharpened. “The Council already smells blood. They know we brought him in, but they haven’t seen him. The peace faction’s curious. The war faction’s sharpening knives.”

  She straightened, crimson eyes hard. “If we hide him, they’ll call it secrecy. If we parade him too soon, they’ll call it a weapon.”

  Ripper’s ears twitched. “So… compromise?”

  Hopps exhaled slowly. “Compromise. He needs to walk Novastra. Let the people see a recruit—not a monster. And if he can stomach the city, maybe it’ll quiet the Council.”

  Closing Transition

  That night, Seven wrote again by candlelight:

  One month in. Stronger than I was. Not strong enough yet. They’re still watching me—waiting to see if I crack. Fluffy says I look like a recruit now. Ripper says nothing, but his silence feels like approval. Miss Hopps… she looks at me like a gamble she’s not sure she should’ve made.

  He closed the journal, lay back against the bunk, and listened to the hum of life in the Guild around him.

  Tomorrow, Hopps would decide his next step.

  And soon—he would see Novastra with his own eyes.