Chapter 01

"Speak! How is it that you’re still alive? Who are you!?"

Several rusted swords, yet sharp enough to cause the death of an average person, pressed against the soft skin of his neck. Dorian swallowed with difficulty as he felt the metallic graze of a notched blade against his Adam's apple.

He would be lying if he said he wasn't afraid.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to prevent the panic beginning to rise from within from stealing the little air he had left in his lungs.

"M-My friends," he stammered, his voice coming out broken and nervous. "I’ve already told you… I simply woke up in this place. I didn't come to harm you, I’m harmless!"

"Shut your mouth!"

Slap

The dry sound of the blow echoed through the forest.

A violent slap threw him against the damp earth.

"Aniki, be careful!"

"He could be an immortal in disguise!"

"Don’t stop pointing at him! Any strange movement, kill him!"

The familiar metallic taste of blood was felt almost immediately; his lip had split from the blow.

It wasn't the first time Dorian had received a hit; like everyone, he had his rebellious stage in his youth where he participated in a couple of street fights. But until now, he had never been beaten in such a terminal and critical context.

He was about to be murdered.

Perhaps it sounds too dramatic for a beginning, but he wasn't joking.

He was truly in danger.

In front of him, a group of men dressed in filthy, off-white rags surrounded him like a pack of wild dogs. Spears and swords that, despite their neglected appearance, gleamed under the moonlight and reflected before his eyes.

Dorian, a simple office worker who until recently only worried about spreadsheets and arriving at work on time, now looked exactly like a cornered animal.

The tension in the air was so thick that the slightest wrong move would turn him into an impaled cactus.

But why did he end up in this state? How did all of this happen?

Dorian had no answers for that.

He had simply gone shopping at a nearby supermarket.

He was returning home carrying a small bag of groceries—some meat and a couple of beers—when he stopped to light a cigarette.

He took out his lighter and gave it a couple of click clicks.

He took a first puff of smoke, and when he looked up again, the environment had changed.

Now he was standing in the middle of a forest.

His first reaction was to foolishly rub his eyes, tired from so many hours of work.

He thought he might simply be dreaming; perhaps he fell asleep at his desk and never went out to shop.

That was his first thought.

But as he rubbed his eye and gave himself a small pinch, he noticed that his hand felt soft and tender.

He didn't remember the skin of his hands being tender or his fingers being so thin, almost like the hand of a woman.

Or rather, the hands of a child.

…a brat?

Unconsciously, he let the cigarette drop from his hand to the ground.

"A brat?" he repeated, this time aloud. Surprised, again. His voice… his voice also sounded different than usual.

That characteristic deep, raspy voice that had characterized him since college now sounded youthful. It wasn't the high-pitched voice of a child, but it didn't have the resonance and stability of an adult either.

It was the voice of a… teenager?

Dorian brought his hand to his chest, feeling how his breathing began to accelerate.

Shit, shit.

This can't be what I think… It can't be!

Panic began to flood his body.

Control yourself, Dorian. This is no time to break down!

He took a deep breath, very deep.

Then he exhaled.

He took another deep breath.

The air smelled of vegetation, a scent that calmed him a bit, though he also detected the smell of smoke.

It smelled of burnt soot.

Where is the smell coming from?

He turned his gaze, observing the unfamiliar surroundings. A forest of large trees and extensive bushes, damp ground, and a sky in the process of dusk, though the sun had not yet finished setting completely. He decided to move, following the smell of the smoke.

He advanced through the bushes, moving faster and faster.

His anguish and nerves led him to want to find someone desperately.

He wanted to find someone who could explain his situation.

Someone to ask where the hell he was.

He ran at full speed, jumping over several bushes and dodging trees along the way.

As he approached the source of the smoke, he noticed the air was getting hotter.

The smoke was also becoming denser.

And there were… screams?

Screams seemed to be heard in the distance.

When he finally broke through the last of the bushes and reached the origin of the smoke, a burning tide of heat hit him.

He shielded himself with his arms from the intense fire in front of him.

"Agh! Fuck!" he complained, taking a couple of steps back.

A massive fire.

From a distance, he observed a village engulfed in immense flares of fire. The voracity of the flames was so intense that tongues of fire rose up and tinted the sky a deep red.

Wooden houses, stables, trees… everything was being consumed by the voracious flames that showed no mercy, consuming the village with no intention of extinguishing anytime soon.

This was the smoke he smelled.

Dorian approached carefully.

Previously, I heard something like a scream.

If there were people still alive inside who needed his help, Dorian wouldn't hesitate and would try to help them.

He approached, wandering through the streets and the burning houses. His eyes scanned the horrific scene, looking for any sign of survivors.

"Hey, is anyone there!? Anyone!?"

There were no answers; the intense flames drowned out the air.

Dorian coughed as he covered his mouth and nose with the fabric of his clothes.

He noticed that his clothes were also not the same ones he had been wearing, but now was not the time for that.

He continued shouting, trying to find someone alive.

So far he hadn't seen any bodies in the area; that gave him a slight relief. It meant the inhabitants of this place had managed to escape before the fire consumed everything. Perhaps they were nearby, he thought.

I have to find them.

They might be the only ones who can explain to me what is happening, where I am, or perhaps…

Dorian stopped upon seeing an old metal pot lying on the ground.

It seemed to have been forgotten.

He lowered his gaze, observing his wrinkle-free and dirty hands, then his clothes—old clothes that looked like ancient rags, nothing like the shorts and local shirt he was wearing when he visited the supermarket. Everything was different; even his height felt strange. Much lower than he remembered.

With all these clues, he already had an idea of what might have happened.

But even so, he resisted.

Dorian resisted accepting this idea.

He didn't have the best of lives, but it wasn't a bad life either.

He was single (temporarily) and rented a nice apartment in the city center.

His job, while sometimes leaving him without much sleep for several days, also had its positive sides like good pay that allowed him to enjoy his hobbies; besides, sometimes he could simply work from home and not attend the office.

All in all, Dorian considered that he was comfortable.

And he didn't want to change anything.

His parents were still alive and healthy, and he was starting to get to know a girl online.

They had already had dinner together a couple of times and things were progressing well.

So why would he want to change things?

Dorian wasn't religious or anything like that, but now he was really praying that it wasn't real. That everything was a mere dream, a hallucination, that he would wake up and be in his bed.

With his eyes closed, Dorian picked up the metal pot. He held it in his hands, feeling the metal hot from the heat of the place; even so, he didn't care, he could endure it. What he couldn't endure was the anguish and anxiety of knowing… but at the same time, he felt fear. Fear of the answer.

He waited a few seconds, reflecting inwardly.

Reflecting on his life, his work, who he was, and even the aspirations he had for the future.

When he finally felt ready (although he didn't really believe he was ready), he opened his eyes and looked at the reflection in the metal pot.

A brat.

Brown hair, clear greenish eyes, young and pale skin.

Yes, no matter how you looked at it, it was a face he had never seen.

The face of a teenager no more than 15 years old in the prime of youth.

That was his reflection.

Dorian already had a theory, but it was here that he confirmed it… he had transmigrated.

***

There must be survivors nearby.

Perhaps they could… tell me who I am now.

Whose body is this that I’m possessing?

Clearly, it’s not my original body; I’m an office worker headed toward thirty, while this body is that of a brat around fifteen.

What was the name of the owner of this body? Who was he? Did he have parents? Did he come from somewhere?

He knows nothing.

At the very least, he had to understand his situation before starting to look for a way to return to his original world.

If only his soul traveled to this world and ended up in this body, that must mean his original body is still in his world. Perhaps in a deep coma or something like that. Perhaps it’s in a vegetative state due to not having a soul. He doesn't know. He doesn't have a fixed answer, but as long as his body hasn't come to this world, he believes there might be some way to return to his original body.

There has to be some way to go back!

Dorian grit his teeth.

He looked at the forest and looked at the burning village.

Then he looked at the sky; he saw that night had arrived and the sky was adorned with stars and a huge, bright moon that illuminated the world and made the night less intense.

He doesn't know what kind of world he has transmigrated into, but the first impressions were not good for Dorian. Waking up in a forest and stumbling upon a burning village was a bad omen for his taste. Obviously, such events happened in his previous world almost every summer. Forest fires that wipe out entire houses were news every day.

But first impressions are always the most impactful on the image you will have of a place you visit for the first time.

And his first impression of this new world was not very pretty.

A town in flames was not something pleasant to see.

He swallowed hard as he began to run to get away from the intense fire.

He sighed in relief as he shook the soot and ashes from his clothes and hair. His face was also blackened by the smoke. He wiped his face with the edge of his clothing, spat the soot from his mouth, and began to walk, circling the village in search of a path.

Fortunately for him, it didn't take long to find a dirt road which showed recent tracks of people and several carriages.

They must be the people who fled, right?

He followed the tracks, guiding himself solely by the moonlight from above.

He was lucky that the tracks were recent and very marked; otherwise, it would be difficult to find his way in the middle of the night.

It wasn't long before he heard voices talking ahead and saw the light of some campfires.

"The Lord will be happy with us, and maybe he'll even take us to the immortals' paradise with him!"

"We had a great harvest this time; it was good to deviate and run into that brat wandering through the forest who showed us the location of the village."

"Hahaha, weren't you a bit mean, Aniki, killing that kid? We could have left him for the Lord!"

"He helped us locate the village, so I was condescending and finished him off. That's better than ending up in the Lord's hands. It was my thanks to the brat! He should be grateful in the afterlife!"

"Hajajaja! I can't wait for the Lord to free himself from that curse and be able to guide us to the immortal realm!"

"Hajajajajajajajaja!"

Voices of people!

I finally reached them!

Dorian got excited and started to run.

"Hey!" Dorian shouted, raising his hand and waving.

"Help, please! I need help!"

The people were startled by his shouts; they quickly stood up and unsheathed their swords.

From a distance, Dorian couldn't see the appearances of these people, but now, seeing them up close illuminated by the campfire, he felt something was wrong.

The appearance of these subjects, really… they didn't look very kind, so to speak.

Dorian thought that, maybe, and only maybe… it would have been more prudent and intelligent to lurk and observe from a distance before revealing his presence.

However, the terror of finding himself in a totally alien and unknown place drove him to act without weighing the consequences. His only goal was to find someone, anyone, who could offer him some minimal explanation: where he was, who he was, and to whom the body he inhabited belonged.

But…

Now he felt that he had really screwed up.

"You, brat," a tall, muscular man pointed at him, his eyes wide as saucers. His expression was one of horror and disbelief, as if he were seeing something impossible, as if a walking ghost had appeared before him.

"...How is it that you’re still alive!?"