Chapter 01 OFICIAL

"Speak! How are you still alive? Who the hell are you!?"

Several rusty swords—pitted with age but still sharp enough to end an average man’s life—pressed against the soft skin of his neck. Dorian swallowed hard, feeling the jagged metal edge graze his Adam’s apple.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t terrified.

He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the panic rising from his gut before it could rob him of what little air he had left. Forcing the most amiable smile he had ever practiced and raising his hands as if he were being arrested, Dorian spoke:

"M-my friends, I’ve already told you..." he stammered, his smile twisted into a grimace of pure nerves. "I simply woke up here. I’m not lying! I didn’t come to hurt you or cause trouble. I’m harmless!"

"Just look at these scrawny arms...!" he added, shaking his pale, noodle-thin limbs. "I couldn't kill a fly with these, let alone you, my strong, well-armed friends!"

"Enough! Shut your mouth!"

SLAP!

The dry sound of the blow echoed through the forest. The violent slap threw him abruptly onto the damp, dirty ground. His face slammed into the mud, and the familiar metallic taste of blood filled his mouth almost immediately; his lip was split.

"Aniki, be careful! This is all too weird!"

"He could be an immortal in disguise!"

“Don't take your eyes off him! At the slightest wrong move, kill him!”

The menacing figures surrounding him shouted over one another.

This wasn't the first time Dorian had been hit. In his teens, his "geeky" profile had made him an easy target for several beatings that marked his high school years. But until now, he had never been struck in a context so terminal, where his life was in actual, immediate danger.

He was about to be murdered.

Maybe that sounds too dramatic for a beginning, but he wasn't joking. He was truly in peril.

In front of him, a pack of heartless men dressed in filthy rags surrounded him like wild dogs. Spears and swords—which, despite their neglected appearance, glinted under the moonlight—hemmed him in from every flank.

Dorian, a simple office worker who until recently only worried about spreadsheets and clocking in 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 a human pincushion.

But how had he ended up in this situation?

Dorian had no answer for that.

He had simply gone grocery shopping. He was walking home carrying a small bag of supplies—some meat and a couple of beers—when he decided to stop for a smoke. He pulled out his old lighter and gave it a couple of clicks.

He took his first drag, inhaling the sweet mint flavor and letting the nicotine relax his mind and muscles. He let out a sigh, cracking his neck. And when he opened his eyes again, his surroundings had changed.

The paved street was gone. So was the crooked lamppost and his apartment building.

Everything had changed.

Now, he was standing in the middle of an unknown forest. Completely alone. Even the pedestrians who had been crossing the street beside him, chatting and laughing, had vanished.

His first reaction was to rub his eyes, weary from long hours of work. He thought he might simply be dreaming—maybe he’d fallen asleep at his desk and never actually left to go shopping.

That was his first thought.

But after opening and closing his eyes multiple times only to see the same forest, his body began to tremble.

He tried to pinch his cheek hard to wake up, but noticed his hand looked... strange. It was no longer the pale, somewhat neglected but soft hand of an office worker who sat at a desk all day. Instead, he saw younger hands—wrinkle-free but more weathered; fingers thin but long, with callouses.

...The hands of a kid?

Unconsciously, Dorian dropped his cigarette.

"A kid!?" he repeated, this time out loud. Surprised, again. His voice... his voice sounded different too.

The deep, gravelly tone that had characterized him since college now sounded youthful. It wasn't the high-pitched voice of a child, but it lacked the resonance and stability of an adult.

It was the voice of a teenager.

Dorian clutched his chest, feeling his breath quicken.

Shit, shit.

This can't be what I think it is... It can't be!

Panic began to flood his body.

Control yourself, Dorian. Now is not the time to fall apart! There must be an explanation for all of this!

He took a deep breath. A very deep breath. Then he exhaled.

He inhaled again. The air smelled of vegetation, a scent that temporarily calmed him. However, he also detected an invasive smell in the air. It smelled of smoke. Something nearby was burning.

Where is it coming from?

He turned his gaze, scanning the unknown environment. A forest of massive trees and sprawling bushes, damp ground, and a sky caught in the transition to dusk, though the sun hadn't quite finished setting. He twitched his nose, sniffing the air. After pinpointing the direction of the smoke, he decided to move.

Night was falling, and though Dorian was no survival expert, he knew that being stranded in the wild after dark was dangerous. Night is when predators hunt, and the lack of natural light makes everything a death trap.

He pushed through the bushes, running faster and faster. His anguish and nerves drove him; he was desperate to find someone. Anyone.

He wanted to find someone who could explain his situation. Someone to ask where the hell he was.

He ran at full tilt, leaping over strange plants and dodging trees. As he drew closer to the source of the smoke, the air grew hot and thick. And then... screams? He seemed to hear screams in the distance. When he finally burst through the last of the undergrowth, a wall of heat hit him head-on.

He shielded himself with his arms from the intense blaze before him.

"Agh! Fuck!" he groaned, stumbling back a few steps.

A massive fire was engulfing what appeared to have been a village. The voracious flames were so intense that the heat could be felt from several meters away, and the tongues of fire rose high, staining the sky a deep, angry red. Wooden houses, stables, trees... everything was being consumed by a fire that showed no mercy.

Was this the smoke I smelled?

Dorian approached cautiously. He had heard something like screams earlier. If there were still people alive inside who needed help, he wouldn't hesitate to try. He walked carefully, wandering through the village streets, watching the houses vanish into the inferno.

His eyes scanned the horrific scene, searching for any sign of survivors. The heat was stifling.

"Hey! Is anyone there? Anyone alive!?"

No answer.

The only sound was the thud of his own footsteps and the roar of the flames choking the air.

Dorian coughed, covering his mouth with a piece of his clothing. He noticed then that his clothes weren't the ones he had been wearing either, but now wasn't the time. He kept shouting, trying to find someone—any survivor.

So far, he hadn't seen any charred bodies. That gave him a slight sense of relief. It meant the villagers might have managed to escape before the flames consumed everything. Maybe they're still close, he thought.

I have to find them. They might be the only ones who can explain what’s happening, where I am, or maybe…

Dorian stopped when he saw an old metal basin lying on the ground.

It seemed to have been forgotten in the chaos.

He looked down, observing his wrinkle-free, youthful hands, then his clothes—old rags that looked like ancient tunics, nothing like the shorts and polo shirt he’d been wearing to the supermarket. Everything was different. Even his height felt off. Much shorter than he remembered.

With all these pieces of information in place, Dorian already had an idea of what had happened.

But even so, he resisted. Dorian resisted accepting this new reality.

He hadn't had the best life, but you couldn't say his life was bad either. He was single and rented a nice apartment in the city center. His job, while sometimes leaving him sleep-deprived, had its perks—like pay good enough to indulge his hobbies. He also had the privilege of working from home occasionally.

All things considered, Dorian was content with his life. He didn't want abrupt changes.

His parents were still alive and healthy. He’d recently met a nice girl online; they’d even gone out to dinner a couple of times, and things seemed to be moving in the right direction.

So why the hell would he want to change anything?

Dorian wasn't religious, but faced with this new reality that was beginning to suffocate and crush him, he prayed for the first time in his life. He prayed that none of this was real. That it was all a simple dream, a hallucination, and that he would wake up back in his apartment.

Closing his eyes, he picked up the basin. He felt the hot metal, but he didn't care. He could handle this level of heat. What he couldn't handle was the anguish and anxiety of knowing... but at the same time, he was afraid. Afraid of the answer.

He waited several seconds, reflecting. He thought about his life, his job, who he was, and his aspirations for the future. He’d always believed he’d be promoted to manager in a few years, but now, it all seemed like a distant dream.

When he finally felt ready (though he really wasn't), he opened his eyes and looked at the reflection in the metal.

A brat stared back at him.

Brown hair, light green eyes, and young, pale skin.

Yes, no matter how you looked at it, it was a face he had never seen before. The face of a teenager, no more than fifteen years old, in the prime of youth.

That was his reflection. His new body.

Dorian already suspected it, but only here, crashing head-first into this new reality, could he finally accept it for what it was...

He had transmigrated.

There must be survivors nearby.

Maybe they could... tell me who I am now.

Whose body is this?

Clearly, it wasn't his original body. He was an office worker pushing thirty, while this body belonged to a kid around fifteen. What was the owner of this body named? Who was he? Did he have parents? Where did he come from?

He knew nothing.

At the very least, he had to understand his situation before he could start looking for a way back to his original world.

If only his soul traveled to this world and ended up in this body, that had to mean his original body was still in his world. Maybe in a deep coma. Maybe in a vegetative state because it lacked a soul. He didn't know. He didn't have a solid answer, but as long as his body hadn't come to this world, he believed there might be a way to return to it.

There has to be a way back!

Dorian grit his teeth.

He looked at the forest and the burning village. Then he looked at the sky. Night had fully arrived, and the heavens were adorned with stars and a massive, glowing moon that illuminated the world, taking the edge off the darkness.

He didn't know what kind of world he had transmigrated into, but first impressions weren't great. Waking up in a forest only to stumble upon a burning village was a bad omen. Obviously, things like this happened in his old world too—forest fires were in the news every summer.

But first impressions are everything when you visit a place for the first time.

And his first impression of this new world was ugly. A village in flames is not a pleasant sight.

He swallowed hard and began to run, putting distance between himself and the intense fire. He sighed in relief as he brushed the soot and ash from his clothes and hair. His face was blackened by smoke. He wiped it with the edge of his tunic, spat the soot out of his mouth, and began to walk, circling the village in search of a path.

Fortunately, it didn't take long to find a dirt road with fresh footprints and carriage tracks.

This must be the people who fled, right?

He followed the tracks, guided only by the moonlight above. He was lucky the tracks were fresh and deep, or it would have been nearly impossible to navigate in the dead of night.

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

"The Lord will be happy with us! He might even take us to the immortal paradise with him!"

"We had a great harvest this time. It was a good thing we took that detour and ran into that brat wandering the woods who showed us where the village was."

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

"He helped us find the village, so I was merciful and finished him off. Better that than ending up in the Lord's hands. Think of it as my way of saying thanks! He should be grateful in the afterlife!"

"Hajajaja! I can't wait for the Lord to break that curse so he can lead us to the immortal realm!"

"Hajajajajajajajaja!"

Voices! Real people!

I finally caught up!

Dorian was thrilled. He started to run.

"Hey!" Dorian shouted, waving his hand. "Help, please! I need help!"

The men jumped, scrambling to their feet and drawing their swords in a flash.

From a distance, Dorian couldn't make out their appearances, but now, seeing them up close in the firelight, he felt a cold chill. These guys... they didn't look very "helpful."

Dorian realized, perhaps a second too late, that it might have been smarter to watch from the shadows before revealing himself.

However, the terror of being in a completely alien place had pushed him to act without thinking. His only goal was to find someone—anyone—who could offer a shred of explanation: where he was, who he was, and who this body belonged to.

But...

Now he realized he might have fucked up barely after starting his journey in this new world.

"You... brat." A tall, muscular man pointed at him, his eyes wide as saucers. His expression was one of pure horror and disbelief, as if he were seeing a ghost.

"...How the hell are you still alive!?"

2400P