Yselle barely had time to process what just happened. Her lips tingled, her mind reeled, and the solid weight of the man beneath her had been too real. Her breath hitched as she scrambled backward, pushing herself off him. Loose dirt and dry grass clung to her palms as she took in her surroundings for the first time.
A massive tree stretched its thick branches overhead, its roots twisting and turning beneath her like ancient veins in the earth. Beyond that, an open expanse of land stretched infinitely—a vast meadow, golden under the dimming sunlight. The sky was painted in hues of deep orange and soft lavender, as if it belonged to a different world entirely. Where the hell am I?
The man sat up, shaking dust from his dark cloak, his piercing eyes narrowing at her. "Hey." His voice was deep, edged with irritation. "Did you not hear me? Who the hell are you?"
Yselle swallowed hard. She was still stuck on the fact that he looked like he had stepped straight out of a historical drama—long, dark cloak, a tunic beneath it, tall boots laced up to his knees.
His face was sharp, almost too perfect, with a bit of stubble along his jaw. He looked intimidating, like one of those anti-heroes in fantasy novels.
She hesitated, then cleared her throat. "I... I'm Yselle. Who are you? And more importantly—where is this place?"
His eyes... they had something in them, but she couldn't tell what. Something hard to read. "Yselle?" He tasted the name on his tongue as if testing its weight. Then his lips curled into a humorless smirk. "Is that supposed to mean something? Are you someone important? A noblewoman? A lost princess?"
She blinked. "No, I—"
"Then what are you doing here?" He leaned forward slightly, scrutinizing her as though she were a strange animal that had wandered too close. "And why were you on top of me?"
Her face burned. "That was an accident! I don't even know how I got here! I just— I was on my way back, and then—!"
The man let out a slow exhale, rubbing his temple. "Great. Another lunatic." His voice was laced with suspicion. "Or perhaps... an assassin?"
Yselle's mouth fell open. "What?"
He shot her a sharp look. "If this is an attempt on my life, it's pathetic. You're sloppy, uncoordinated, and—" his eyes scanned her modern clothes—"dressed like a deranged jester. Did you think this ridiculous outfit would fool me into lowering my guard?"
"Excuse me?!" Yselle sputtered. "You're the one wearing a damn cloak in the middle of nowhere! What are you, some kind of medieval LARP enthusiast? Or am I on a film set?" She turned her head, half-expecting to see cameras hidden among the grass. "Is this a prank? Where's the director? The crew?"
Yselle pushed herself up on shaky legs, brushing dirt and bits of grass from her jeans. The dry blades crunched under her feet as she turned in a slow circle, her breath coming in short, uneven bursts. "Okay… okay, just breathe," she said to herself, voice barely above a whisper.
She scanned the meadow, hoping—praying—for something familiar. A road, a fence, a building. A power line. Anything.
But there was nothing.
Just endless fields glowing gold under the setting sun. No houses, no signs of civilization. Just that huge, twisted tree behind her, and some far-off hills that looked like they'd take hours to reach on foot.
She stumbled forward a few steps, still searching, still hoping. But the sky only added to the weirdness—too bright, too perfect, like it had been painted in watercolors. Even the air felt off. Fresh, clean, like it had never touched a car engine in its life.
Panic tightened in her chest.
"This isn't real," she said quietly. "It can't be."
She turned to look at the man again. He hadn't moved much, but his eyes were locked on her, watching like she was some kind of wild animal. Or a threat.
Yselle swallowed hard, the sound awkwardly loud in the silence.
There was no one else. No sign of help. Just her… and him.
In the middle of nowhere.
The man's expression darkened. "You're either the worst assassin I've ever seen, or you're truly insane."
Yselle let out a dry laugh. "Says the guy who looks like he just walked out of a fantasy RPG. Seriously, what kind of place is this? Are we in some historical reenactment village?"
The man's gaze bore into her like a wolf sizing up its prey. Then, without warning, his hand moved to the hilt of a sword strapped to his side. "Enough games. Tell me who sent you."
Yselle took a step back. "Whoa—hold on, you're seriously pulling a sword on me?! Are you insane?"
The tip of the blade gleamed as he unsheathed it. "I've had enough of this nonsense. Answer me now."
"I did! I don't know where I am, and I don't know who you are! I swear!" Her heart pounded against her ribs. Oh my god, I really did transmigrate, didn't I? It wasn't a dream. It wasn't a prank. She was actually in some medieval fantasy world, standing in front of a hot but clearly dangerous man who thought she was trying to kill him.
The man narrowed his eyes. "Tch. Pathetic liar."
Before Yselle could argue, a sound tore through the air—heavy footsteps, metal clanking. She turned just in time to see a group of men emerging from the distance. Armed men. Swords at their sides, dressed in similar medieval garb, though less refined than the one standing before her. Their eyes gleamed with something vicious as they stalked forward.
Yselle felt her stomach drop. "Uh... who are they?"
The man let out a low chuckle. "Oh? Your reinforcements, perhaps? Your comrades?" He tilted his head, eyes glinting with something dark. "I should've known you wouldn't come alone."
Yselle stiffened. "What?! No! I don't know them! I told you, I just got here—"
He ignored her, rising to his full height and gripping his sword tightly. The approaching men slowed, their eyes flicking between him and Yselle.
"There he is," one of them muttered. "The bastard's still alive."
Yselle barely had time to process those words before the man beside her let out a low, deadly laugh. He turned to her, his smirk sharp as a blade.
"Well, then." His voice was almost amused. "I'll deal with them first. Then, I'll deal with you."