Dung Rabbits were a troublesome type of monster.
Not because they were individually powerful—
but because of how they fought.
They moved in groups.
Used numbers.
Claws hidden beneath their front paws made them excellent diggers—
and dangerous slashers when cornered.
Their biggest threat wasn't raw strength.
It was destruction.
Farmers hated them.
They ruined fields, dug tunnels through crops, stole food, and left entire harvests collapsed beneath the earth.
They rarely attacked humans directly—
but when they did—
they never fought alone.
They overwhelmed.
Then retreated underground.
Without magic—
tracking them was difficult.
And worse—
they were smart enough to flee when losing.
This one—
white fur.
Green eyes.
Mud-stained claws.
Breathing sharply through its nose—
stared directly at me.
I sat atop Rusty, my body still sore from Rathen's training.
For a moment—
I didn't move.
Neither did it.
Think.
I knew Dung Rabbits communicated somehow.
Sound?
Vibration?
Instinct?
I couldn't remember.
And right now—
that ignorance was dangerous.
But something more important hit me.
A flaw.
My sensory field—
only tracked surface movement.
Not below ground.
A weakness.
A serious one.
I clicked my tongue.
Later.
Right now—
one target.
One kill.
Before it escaped underground.
Our eyes locked.
Neither side moved.
Then—
Rusty decided first.
He growled.
Low.
Sharp.
His rear legs tightened beneath me.
Ready.
Good.
I tightened my grip on the spear.
Adjusted for range.
Breathed once.
Then yanked the reins.
Rusty exploded forward.
Faster than normal.
His six legs tore across the ground like a storm.
Dry leaves scattered behind us.
The distance vanished.
The Dung Rabbit reacted—
too late.
It tried to retreat into its hole.
If Rusty had hesitated even a second—
it would've escaped.
But it was already within range.
Second Manual — Spear Form: Sweep Slash.
A horizontal strike.
Precision.
Power.
Momentum.
Inspired by Rany—
but mine.
The axe blade attached to my spear tore through the creature cleanly.
Smooth.
Too smooth.
Its lower body remained above ground—
while the upper half disappeared halfway into the hole.
Silence.
I waited.
Watching.
Listening.
Expecting more.
Nothing came.
No pack.
No sudden swarm.
No underground retaliation.
Rusty immediately lunged forward and began chewing the exposed half.
I let him.
For now—
survival first.
Still…
I didn't stay longer than necessary.
If it had communicated—
if others were nearby—
lingering would be stupidity.
So we left.
Fast.
Before exiting the forest's edge, I tried once more to channel a small amount of miasma into Rusty.
Again—
no violent reaction.
No visible change.
But this time—
something felt off.
By the time we fully returned—
Rusty was panting heavily.
Too heavily.
I frowned.
At first, I thought it was exhaustion.
So I immediately gave him an antidote potion.
Just in case.
He drank it.
But his condition didn't change much.
Still—
he walked.
No collapse.
No visible wounds.
So I brought him back to Duracal's house.
The moment we returned—
Rusty went to sleep.
Immediately.
That—
was wrong.
Normally, Rusty stayed active until night.
Even after travel.
Even after combat.
But now—
he dropped hard.
No energy.
No reaction.
I stared for a moment—
but my own exhaustion won.
Inside, Duracal noticed the blood on my spear almost immediately.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Another monster?"
I sighed.
"My luck hasn't been great lately."
He snorted.
I cleaned the blood off the axe blade and sat down.
Then returned to reading.
By moonrise—
I finally finished the Miasma Book.
Or rather—
finished reading it.
Understanding it?
That was another matter.
One thing was clear:
My control needed work.
My dark aura needed work.
Everything—
still needed work.
The next morning—
my legs still hurt.
But less than yesterday.
I stepped outside to begin opening the blacksmith area—
Then froze.
Rusty—
was in the pen.
Sweating.
Breathing heavily.
My eyes sharpened.
His entire body was overheating.
Steam-like heat rose from him.
His breaths came rough.
Uneven.
Then—
he stood violently.
His head thrashed side to side.
Wild.
Unstable.
The restraints groaned.
And then—
he pulled.
Hard enough that the bindings started tearing apart.
"Rusty!"
I rushed forward instantly.
One hand grabbed near his head.
The other stroked down his neck—
trying to calm him.
But Rusty—
didn't calm down.
He threw me upward.
Forcefully.
Like I weighed nothing.