my head was still a whirlpool of questions and confusion.

What on earth was a video game orc doing here? Was I still dreaming? Or had I really died, and this was the afterlife?

What I had once dismissed as a dream—the memory of being hit by a truck—now seemed all too real. I had died in the accident, and somehow, I had woken up here. But… where here exactly?

As the slightly nervous orc carried me to the water’s edge, I turned my head, desperate for any clue about my surroundings. The horizon stretched endlessly, the ocean glittering under a sun that reflected off the waves like liquid gold. The sky was a pure, deep azure, free of clouds, pollution, or any trace of the modern world. It was the most vivid blue I had seen in years.

Beyond the beach, fruit trees swayed gently in the breeze. A small pier jutted into the water, constructed from rough timber and logs. There were no large ships—only a few small boats—and some people were training with wooden spears, flexing their muscles, as if preparing for a day of fishing.

Fishing… without rods or hooks?

Further inland, clusters of wooden rural homes lined dirt paths. A grander house towered above the rest, crowned with a bell tower, clearly the residence of someone important. Smoke curled lazily from chimneys. A modest tavern blended seamlessly with the village. Small crop fields dotted the landscape. On the surface, everything seemed as it should in a quaint fishing town.

But something was missing.

The absence was immediate and undeniable: smartphones. Not a single person clutched one. No beeps, no screens glowing, no sign of twenty-first-century technology anywhere. It was as if this place had never known the modern world.

Could it be… another world?

The answer was obvious. I had read countless novels and watched endless series about protagonists transported to other realms—always medieval, often magical.

The orc holding me like a princess said it all. I was no longer in Florida, nor in my own world.

Looking down at my reflection in the water, I noticed another shock: I was not in my original body. My hair was now blonde, my frame slender and almost childlike.

I had transmigrated.

Frowning, I tried to sift through memories that could explain whose body I now inhabited. But a sharp headache struck, forcing me to pause. The orc noticed my discomfort and tilted his head with concern.

“Is something wrong, young master?”

“I… I’m fine,” I muttered, waving him down to set me on the sand. Slowly, his massive hands released me. My feet sank into the warm, soft grains as the pounding in my head eased. From the fog of jumbled memories, one piece surfaced clearly: my name.

Arthur Collins. Third son of the Collins family.

I attempted to dig deeper, to understand why I had awakened in water, but every probe of memory brought pain. I needed comfort, a place to rest, before I could sort through this tangle.

The orc twitched an ear and looked off into the distance. I followed his gaze, spotting movement on the horizon.

A sandstorm rose along the beach. Something—or someone—was approaching.

“…Young… master!!!”

I squinted and finally made it out: an old man sprinting like Usain Bolt, a miniature tornado of sand trailing him.

A mayordomo?

Clad in a traditional suit—the most familiar clothing I’d seen since waking—he barreled toward me. The name hit me with a slight throb in my temples: Sebastián. The Collins family’s faithful but often dramatic butler.

“Young master! I’m overjoyed you are safe! Had anything happened to you, this poor Sebastián would never have forgiven himself! Your father… he would have—oh, no, no, no!”

The old man clutched me in an overwhelming embrace, sobbing rivers of tears.

I blinked, caught between confusion and irritation. The Arthur inside me—whatever residual personality remained—grimaced. Really, old man? This is unnecessary. Yet Sebastián seemed oblivious, his tears soon smearing my clothes.

“Oi! Let go, Sebastián! You’re making a mess!”

I pushed, tugged, and twisted, but the old man’s grip was impossibly strong, like velcro glued to my body. A fight of sheer stubbornness ensued, while the orc looked on, scratching his head in awkward uncertainty, clearly unsure how to react.

Finally, I broke free, leaping several paces back, chest heaving, sweat slicking my forehead. The old man adjusted his suit, suddenly composed, the theatrical tears gone. Now he stood upright, eyes sharp and discerning—a truly capable butler.

Sebastián’s gaze swept to the orc. The enormous creature froze, sensing authority it hadn’t encountered before. The orc, who had moments ago saved the young master without a trace of arrogance, now felt a chill of respect—or fear.

“Were you the one who rescued the young master from the water?” Sebastián asked, eyes scanning the orc from head to toe, lingering on his barely-covered body. The orc flushed.

“Y-Yes, sir,” he stammered. “I saw the young master struggling, so I acted.”

“I see,” Sebastián nodded. “And your name?”

“Oglu… my lord.”

“Very well, Oglu. The Collins family is grateful. Naturally, in honor of your deed, the Vizconde Collins wishes to meet you personally. But first, you must prepare. It would be improper to appear before him in… your current attire.”

Oglu nodded silently. Sebastián produced a small pouch from his coat. “Take this. It is not much, but it will suffice for proper clothing. Once ready, present yourself at the Collins estate. I will escort you to meet the master and receive your full reward.”

The orc’s enormous eyes widened as he accepted the coins. He barely had time to process before familiar voices approached.

“Oglu! You lucky bastard! Rescuing the vizconde’s son—people at the tavern will talk about this for weeks!”

“Did you hear? The vizconde promised you a reward!”

“Bet your next drinks are on you now that you’ve got gold! Hahaha!”

Oglu laughed, swept up by old comrades, unaware he was already spending the coins Sebastián had given him. Tomorrow, another reward would come, he thought.

Even if something felt off… tonight, he reveled in drunken camaraderie until sunrise.