Weeks turned into months. The days had begun to blur together, marked only by the steady rhythm of progress and the curious transformation of my newfound people. The village of rabbits—once timid, cuddly, and frankly ridiculous—had evolved into something… more. It was subtle at first: a shift in their demeanor, a flicker of determination in their tiny eyes. Now, as I stood overlooking the village from the rocky slope near my cave, the change was undeniable. The rabbits were no longer just surviving; they were organizing, adapting, and—shockingly—militarizing.

Even now, small patrols of four or six rabbits moved through the clearing below, their movements precise and coordinated. Each carried a small, handmade spear strapped to their backs, alongside miniature versions of the “special jars” they did painstakingly crafted to deal with the timberwolves. Those jars were my trump card, my elixir of destruction, and it seemed the rabbits had come to revere them almost as much as they revered me.

Three of those jars sat near my tents in the cave—my personal batch. The rest had been distributed among the patrols, a sign of both their growing competence.

It hadn’t been easy to get to this point. When I first suggested forming patrols, it was like unleashing a floodgate. Every rabbit wanted to join, their enthusiasm matched only by their utter incompetence. They were too small, too soft, too… rabbit-like. I needed to weed out the weak, to separate the wheat from the chaff.

With the help of the wise rabbit, I devised a test. The first trial was simple: catch a fish. Easy, right? Wrong. The rabbits, in their adorable idiocy, managed to corral fish using their little paws, gently nudging them onto the riverbank without so much as a scratch. It was like watching toddlers trying to play rugby. I had to intervene.

“Use a spear,” I'd growled, moving the spear with exaggerated gestures, indicating that they would nail the fish. “Stab it. Kill it.” I'm not a monster, I don't want the fish to suffer so it has to be as fast and clean as possible.

The results were… mixed. Of the dozens who attempted, only a handful managed to catch a fish using the crude wooden spears I’d provided. And of those, only four had the guts to complete the second part of the test: scaling the fish with knives, their tiny paws slick with blood and scales.

Those four rabbits became the foundation of what I jokingly referred to as my military. They weren’t much to look at, but they had something the others lacked: courage. Or maybe just a slightly higher tolerance for gore. Either way, they were mine now.

The four chosen rabbits stood before me, their eyes filled with a mixture of determination and curiosity. They had proven themselves through the two trials—braver, sharper, and more willing than the rest. This would be my first attempt at creating a more structured and capable defense force, something beyond the chaotic patrols and scattered efforts we’d managed until now. I needed to make them understand their purpose and responsibilities, but communication was, as always, an exercise in patience and creativity.

Once the trials concluded, I gathered them along with the wise rabbit and my three constant companions. We made our way to my cave, now a somewhat organized hub for all our planning. Inside, I faced the group and began to lay out my vision. These four were to become leaders—the heads of our nascent military structure. It felt ambitious, maybe even reckless, to establish such a system so soon, but necessity demanded it. With nearly half the village participating in the trials and only these four succeeding, my options were limited. They would have to take charge of recruits, train them, evaluate their progress, and decide who among them might rise in rank.

Explaining these ideas without words or shared language was the real challenge. I turned to my usual method: crude but effective illustrations. Grabbing a sheet and some charcoal, I began to draw. The first image was a triangle, bold and simple. I pointed to the top, sketching two figures: the wise rabbit and myself. This was deliberate. I needed to show we were equals, or at least give the impression of equality. Any sign about my superiority could unravel everything.

Beneath us, I added four smaller figures, each marked with a star. These represented the four rabbits standing before me. I made a show of pointing to each of them, then back to the stars, ensuring they understood their place as leaders. Below them, I drew three more figures, slightly larger than the rest, to symbolize my three companions. I emphasized this part with deliberate gestures—pointing to the drawing, then to the rabbits themselves—making it clear that their roles were also significant.

Finally, at the base of the triangle, I sketched a larger group of rabbits: the civilians. This was the majority of the village, the foundation of our little society. To connect the leaders to the civilians, I left a blank space between the two levels, then carefully divided that space into smaller sections. Each section received its own symbols: rabbits with spears, jars (representing my glourious piss), and a crude cross for medical supplies. I hoped this visual shorthand would communicate the idea of specialized roles—military, supply, and support.

When I finished, I turned to the group. The wise rabbit’s whiskers twitched as he studied the diagram, his dark eyes scanning every line with surprising focus. He reached out, brushing a paw over the triangle, then gave a slow nod, stroking his whiskers in that thoughtful way of his. Relief washed over me. At least he understood.

The four leaders stood in silence, their usual cheer replaced by a quiet resolve. They didn’t cheer or celebrate as I feared they might, which was reassuring. This wasn’t a game to them; they understood the weight of what I was asking. If I had to guess, these rabbits weren’t the most social members of the village. They were likely parents, protectors, or loners who had already taken on the burden of keeping others safe before the village existed.

With the basics of the hierarchy established, I knew I couldn’t leave them to figure things out on their own—not yet. Over the following days, I worked closely with the four leaders and my three companions.

For the next several weeks, I dedicated my time to training them. It wasn’t just about fighting; it was about breaking their soft, gentle instincts and replacing them with something harder, sharper. I showed them how to skin animals, how to descale fish, how to gut a bird. At first, their tiny faces twisted with horror, but they adapted quickly. By the second week, they were scaling fish with the kind of mechanical efficiency that would make a factory worker proud.

Physical training was next. I had them push rocks uphill, climb the steeper, jagged side of the slope near my cave, and swim against the current in the river. It was grueling, and more than once I caught them glaring at me with what could only be described as mutinous intent. But they kept going. By the end of the third week, I knew they were ready.

The night was clear and cool, the sky a vast expanse of stars that seemed almost close enough to touch. I stood at the edge of the cave, the wise rabbit perched on my shoulder like a furry advisor. Below, the entire village had gathered, their small forms illuminated by the warm glow of firelight. There were more of them than I’d realized—easily over a hundred, most of them juveniles or adolescents. It made sense, I supposed. Few rabbits lived to adulthood in a world where everything saw them as lunch.

The wise rabbit let out a high-pitched series of squeaks, and two other rabbits near the front repeated the call. The crowd quieted almost instantly, their wide eyes fixed on me.

The four military leaders stepped forward, their movements deliberate and solemn. One by one, they squeaked what I could only assume were speeches or oaths. The crowd erupted into cheers, their tiny voices blending into a cacophony of sound that echoed through the clearing.

I should have felt proud. Instead, I felt a flicker of unease. I’d created something powerful, something dangerous. These weren’t just rabbits anymore—they were soldiers. And soldiers had a way of turning on their leaders if they didn’t like the direction they were being led.

Still, I couldn’t show weakness. I straightened my back, letting the firelight cast long, imposing shadows behind me. I was their leader, their creator, their savior. And under my rule, this village would become an empire.

Later that night, as the village celebrated below, I sat alone at the edge of the cave, staring out into the darkness.

“Humans,” I muttered, my voice barely above a whisper. “We’re not the biggest, or the fastest, or the strongest. We don’t have claws or fangs or wings. Hell, we’re barely built for survival. And yet…”

I looked down at the village, at the flickering fires and the tiny silhouettes of rabbits moving through the shadows.

“And yet we dominate. Not because of what we are, but because of who we are. We adapt. We endure. We take what’s weak and make it strong. We take chaos and make it order. And if we can’t do that, we burn it all to the ground and start over.”

The thought brought a bitter smile to my face.

“That’s the human spirit. Indomitable. Unyielding. We’re either going to conquer this world, or we’re going to drag it down with us. Either way… I’ll be remembered.”

For a moment, I let the silence wash over me, the weight of my words sinking in. Then I stood, brushing the dirt from my hands.

“Let’s see what happens next.”

Author's Note

Well, I think playing Space Marine 2 and Helldivers 2 gave me a bit of inspiration for this chapter. It's relatively short and serves as an introduction to the militia of the rabbit village.

These events take place long before the chapter Unexpected Arrivals. It seems like the human is gradually shaping the rabbits' behavior, culture, and society—don’t you think?

Thank you so much for all the comments, ideas, and feedback on the previous chapters. I truly appreciate them and make sure to read every single one.

Once again, if you have any comments, suggestions, ideas, or opinions, I’d be delighted to hear them!

I hope you enjoy this short chapter while I finish adapting and translating the next batch of chapters!