CHAPTER 18: Arrival in Torak
The dirt road was long, cracked, and silent.
No wagons. No travelers. No rustle of distant caravans making their way through trade routes. Just me, my boots sinking slightly into the dry earth, and the steady weight of everything I didn't say back there.
The path curved gently through low hills and open plains, with forest on my left and open field on the right. The occasional stone marker cropped up like a forgotten gravestone covered in moss, numbers faded, as if even the land had stopped caring which way you were going.
Every so often I glanced behind me.
Not because I thought they were following me.
Because some part of me… expected them to.
Maybe to yell.
Maybe to fight.
Maybe to tell me I still had time to change my mind.
But they didn't.
Of course they didn't.
I told them who I was. And they believed me.
I don't know why that left such a pit in my stomach.
The wind rolled across the grass like a slow breath. It was quiet out here. Peaceful in that threatening way, like the world was holding its breath just long enough for someone to let their guard down.
I didn't.
I walked for hours, sun climbing higher, then slowly drifting west. The heat wasn't terrible, but I could feel the sweat slicking under my shirt. Eventually I found a break in the trail, an old marker stone split at the base, moss creeping up the sides and decided to stop.
Just long enough to practice.
I pulled out the sword. Not Dux, the black monster still far beyond my current limits but one of the bronze blades I'd stolen from the goblins. Crude. Worn. But familiar now. An extension of what little I knew.
I planted my feet and started swinging.
Not mindlessly. Not like a lunatic. I didn't have technique, but I had rhythm. Momentum. Breath. I visualized opponents. I also had visions of proper sword techniques of anime and movies I had seen over the years. Recalled how the goblins moved. How their guards fought. How the Chief struck like a damn boulder dropped from the sky.
And I kept going.
Step, pivot, slash. Reverse. Guard. Thrust. Pull back. Breathe. Again.
Every swing chipped away at something in me, tension, anger, guilt, frustration.
But it didn't replace it with peace.
Just silence.
When my arms started to ache, I stopped.
The sun was slipping past the horizon now, turning the dirt road gold. I exhaled, planted the sword tip in the earth, and wiped sweat from my brow with the back of my hand.
"Better than nothing," I muttered.
I continued walking another hour or so until I saw it, a small clearing off the path, lined with thick grass and half-wild shrubs. And at the edge of it?
A tree.
A real one.
Old. Thick-trunked. Gnarled branches twisted like reaching arms. And nestled about twelve feet up was a half-hollow nook between two massive limbs, wide enough for a person to curl up in if they weren't picky about comfort.
Perfect.
I dropped my pack, set up a small fire with a stone ring and a handful of kindling, and took out the food the villagers had given me. Some idiot must be thinking I am enjoying their food while I refused to help them. Well fuck you, I have too much to do. What would you have done in my situation, against a bunch of creatures mutated by wild mana into ridiculous beasts. I am still incredibly weak and inexperienced.
Anyway, back to the food. The bread, dry but not stale.
Cheese. Hard. Crumbly. Sharp on the tongue.
Jerky. Salty, dense, probably goat or some forest animal, but not green-skinned and sentient, so I called it a win.
I ate in silence, eyes constantly flicking between the edge of the clearing and the path beyond it.
I didn't know the name of this region, but from what little I'd gathered, this wasn't a heavily traveled stretch. Still, these "normal" woods had a reputation. Not for magic like that Edelmere thing, but for something far more common.
Bandits.
Even in a world of Ki and mana and god-tier swords, people still stabbed each other for bread and boots. That's how I knew I was still in reality.
So once the food was done, I killed the fire.
Smothered it good. Let the smoke die slow and low.
Then I hoisted the pack, slung it over my shoulder, and walked to the tree.
The bark was rough. Splintered in places. I grabbed the lowest branch and pulled myself up. My muscles still burned from the sword drills, but adrenaline and survival instinct were better than any protein shake.
A few minutes later, I was settled.
Up in the nook. Half-curled. Cloak wrapped tight.
Not comfortable. But safer than the ground.
I kept the sword nearby, resting across my lap. My eyes scanned the dark horizon one last time.
The forest was quiet.
The wind had stilled.
Somewhere out there, a village waited to be attacked.
And I'd walked away from it.
I told myself I made the right choice.
But right now?
High above the ground, wrapped in night and the echo of firelight?
I didn't feel like a survivor.
I just felt alone.
---
I woke up falling.
Not full-body plummeting, but that heart-stopping half-drop where your leg twitches and your whole chest seizes up like you're about to die.
My foot had slipped off the edge of the branch and was dangling into open air, which wouldn't have been a problem if the rest of me wasn't twisted sideways and pinned between bark and muscle cramps.
I groaned as I righted myself, blinking blearily into the early morning sky. Or at least I hoped it was morning. Judging time here was like trying to read a sundial blindfolded.
Still… no goblins, no bandits, no pissed-off magical beasts.
Which meant the tree plan worked.
Or maybe someone had come and just hadn't bothered checking ten feet off the ground. Either way, I counted that as a win.
My whole body disagreed.
I started climbing down slowly, carefully, limbs aching like I'd been beaten with wooden poles all night, which honestly wouldn't have felt much different than that gnarled branch I'd slept on.
Every stretch was a new discovery in pain. My spine popped in three places. My right shoulder felt like it had dislocated and popped itself back in sometime while I slept. My legs were stiff, my neck sore, and my ass numb from being pressed against unforgiving wood for what had to have been over ten hours.
The night here was long. Stupidly long.
It wasn't my first, but it was the first time I tried to sleep through the whole thing.
Big mistake.
I'd woken up at least five times. Each time thinking the sun had to be coming soon. Each time, I was wrong. The darkness had just sat there. Unmoving. Watching.
"Stupid long-ass planet," I muttered, stretching my back as I reached the ground and nearly buckled over from how tight my calves were.
A few deep breaths, a swig from the flask one of the village women had handed me—lukewarm water, but gods it tasted amazing—and I was on my feet.
No sword drills this time.
This morning was about speed.
I adjusted the strap on my pack and started jogging, light at first, not full sprint. I wasn't in the mood to puke my organs onto the trail before I even found breakfast.
The road was dry, scattered with small rocks and wild tufts of grass, but mostly flat. My boots slapped the dirt in rhythm with my breath. In, out. In, out. I tried to pace myself, pushing just hard enough that my legs started to burn.
This wasn't just cardio.
This was **training**.
Because if I wanted to grow my Ki reserves?
There were no shortcuts.
From everything I remembered back on Earth, years of watching Goku drag his broken body through gravity fields and mountain-top sparring sessions, the key was twofold: brutal physical conditioning, and absolute rest.
The first part was obvious. Pain. Sweat. Repetition.
The second?
It could be proper rest… or meditation. Probably both.
Meditation would have to wait.
I focused on the here and now.
I kept jogging. Listening. Watching the woods to either side of the road. I made it about an hour before my legs were on fire and my lungs felt like they were hosting a barbecue.
I stopped and collapsed near a dry stump, panting hard, sweat pouring down the back of my neck.
"Fuck," I gasped, wiping my face with a sleeve. "I am so not built for this."
Still.
Progress.
Small, brutal progress.
After a few minutes of catching my breath, I pulled out the water flask again and took long, grateful gulps. Then I just sat there, leaning back against the stump and watching the empty road ahead of me.
It was quiet. Peaceful. The kind of peace that makes you suspicious if you grew up anywhere real.
I must've rested for about an hour, if I had to guess.
Guess being the key word. Because time here?
Still stupid.
I had no way to tell if I was on schedule, behind, or walking in circles. The longer days meant my sense of pacing was useless.
"First order of business in Torak," I muttered to myself, "is finding a damn library."
Get some real facts.
Time, maps, calendars. Anything.
Should've done it sooner.
Only reason I hadn't was… well, I didn't know if I could read this world's language. It hadn't come up yet. There weren't any road signs or menu boards in the caves, just magical HUDs beaming text straight into my face in perfect English like some AAA game tutorial.
But physical books?
Ink on parchment?
That was a different story.
Still... I'd find out soon enough.
Because after walking fast for what felt like maybe two hours more, the world opened up.
I crested a shallow rise in the trail and saw it… Torak.
Or at least the silhouette of it.
A dark smear on the horizon with long, sharp outlines that screamed walls tall, stone-forged barriers surrounded by hazy smoke columns and the faint shimmer of distant windows catching sunlight.
Fields stretched out in front of it like a patchwork quilt, rows of golden wheat, green stalks, and brown soil, all sectioned by rough wooden fences. Dozens of people were working the land, farmers guiding oxen, kids carrying baskets, merchants tugging carts, travelers on horseback.
All of it leading toward the distant gates.
I slowed.
Watched.
Most of them were dressed in clothes that reminded me of Earth's late 1800s. Vests, suspenders, rolled-up sleeves, work boots, aprons. Some wore long coats with buttoned collars and strange runic embroidery. A few had magical bracelets glowing faintly with stored energy, probably for tools or healing.
I caught some stares.
Side-eyes. Not hostile. But curious.
My clothes, a mix of wool tunic and scavenged goblin gear didn't exactly scream "civilized."
But no one stopped me.
And no one drew a weapon.
So I kept walking.
Toward the walls. Toward the city.
Toward whatever the hell came next.