Brain storage!
Cerebellum storage!
Sea Circle Calendar 1520!
The New World, second half of the Grand Line!
On an unnamed island!
A searing pain ripped through the back of his skull.
Lucian Thorn's eyes snapped open.
The damp stench of rotting leaves mixed with the salty tang of sea air and rushed into his nose.
He was lying on the ground, pressed against soft, sticky mud.
All around him were towering trees that blotted out the sky, their massive trunks entwined with thick vines like giant pythons. Sunlight barely trickled through gaps in the dense canopy, leaving only scattered patches of light.
'Where is this?'
Lucian Thorn's mind was completely blank, like a hard drive freshly formatted.
He struggled to sit up, a sharp pain at the back of his head forcing a sharp hiss from his throat.
When he touched the wound, his fingers came back sticky and hot.
Blood.
He looked down at himself.
A plain white T-shirt.
A pair of jeans.
Nike sneakers on his feet.
This outfit clashed completely with the primitive, savage environment around him.
"I was just pulling an all-nighter revising that plan… so how the hell am I here?"
His brain felt stuffed with paste. His last memory was being in the dorm, forcing down three cups of extra-strong coffee to rush a damn project.
For the sake of that project, he had worked overtime for seventy-two hours straight.
The last thing he remembered was slumping over his desk, chest clenching painfully—then nothing.
Overwork… death?
A terrifying thought surfaced.
So now… had he transmigrated?
His heart pounded violently as he staggered toward a puddle not far away.
The water was muddy, but still managed to reflect a blurry face.
A stranger's face.
Around twenty years old, delicate features, but pale as paper.
Short black hair. Black eyes wide with terror and confusion.
Not him!
That was absolutely not the thirty-year-old corporate slave's face that had been battered by society for decades!
Lucian Thorn reached out, trembling, toward the reflection.
The water rippled, shattering the youthful face.
He really… had transmigrated.
The realization struck him like a hammer.
No system.
No cheat ability.
No wise old mentor.
Just one life… and a body dressed in useless modern clothes in this godforsaken place.
"Hahaha…"
A rough, hoarse laugh suddenly echoed from the trees.
It was filled with naked malice.
Lucian froze.
Snapping his head around, he saw three men emerge from the underbrush.
At the front was a one-eyed man with a vicious scar running diagonally from forehead to chin. His lone eye gleamed with the predatory light of a wolf.
The two flanking him were just as hideous: one was a fat brute with a face full of flesh, the other as thin as a bamboo pole. Both carried rusty cutlasses in their hands.
Their tattered clothes reeked of sweat and blood.
Pirates?
Or bandits?
Either way, none of them looked like decent people!
The one-eyed man stared at Lucian Thorn, stunned for a moment, before greed flared in his eye.
His gaze lingered on Lucian Thorn's clean clothes and spotless sneakers.
On this wild island, anyone who looked that neat was either a fat sheep from noble birth—or a shipwreck survivor.
Either way, it meant loot.
"Boss, look! A fat sheep!" Bamboo Pole grinned, showing yellowed teeth.
"Nice clothes. Strip him—should fetch a good price!" the fat brute licked his cracked lips.
The one-eyed man sneered greedily.
"Kill him. The stuff's mine. The body… do whatever you want."
At his order, the two rushed forward like hyenas catching the scent of blood, cutlasses raised high!
"Fuck!"
Lucian Thorn's mind buzzed.
The icy grip of death clutched his heart.
He was just an ordinary modern man—he had never even killed a chicken, let alone faced people who wanted his life!
Adrenaline exploded in his veins.
Survival instinct drowned out fear and confusion.
Run!
That was the only thought in his head.
He scrambled to his feet, not even brushing off the mud, and bolted into the jungle.
His heart pounded like a war drum in his chest.
The wind howled in his ears.
Behind him came jeers and mocking laughter.
"Hahaha! Run! The faster you run, the more fun it gets!"
"Don't let him die too quick—boss said leave him breathing!"
Their voices slithered into his ears like poisonous snakes, making his scalp prickle.
He didn't dare look back.
He just ran.
Roots and stones nearly tripped him multiple times.
Branches slashed his face and arms, leaving burning cuts.
His lungs felt like they were on fire, every breath tasting of iron.
His legs grew heavy as lead.
'Will I die here?'
'Die right after transmigrating?'
'No! I don't want to die!'
Despair and fury screamed inside him.
He gritted his teeth, squeezing out every ounce of strength to keep moving.
He didn't know how long he ran—minutes, maybe longer.
The pursuit behind him seemed to fade slightly.
Hope flickered.
Then—his foot landed on nothing.
He had been running too fast to stop.
The jungle ended abruptly.
Ahead was a sheer cliff!
Pebbles skittered off the edge, vanishing into a misty abyss.
Below, the ocean raged, waves crashing violently against the rocks with deafening roars.
Lucian Thorn skidded to a halt, stopping less than half a meter from the edge.
Cold sweat drenched his body, legs trembling weakly.
The forest behind him rustled.
The three pirates emerged leisurely, spreading out to surround him.
His only escape was gone.
"Run. Why don't you run?"
The one-eyed man wore a mocking smile, like a cat toying with its prey.
"Go on, jump! Maybe you'll keep your corpse intact!"
The other two laughed, brandishing cutlasses that gleamed cruelly in the sun.
Lucian Thorn gasped desperately, chest heaving.
Behind him was the abyss, icy wind whipping at his clothes.
Before him, three murderers advanced step by step, eyes filled with bloodlust.
One step forward—blades.
One step back—shattered bones in the sea.
A true dead end.
The one-eyed man spat on the ground.
"Kid, next life, keep your eyes open."
He slowly raised his cutlass, aiming for Lucian Thorn's throat.
Sunlight reflected off the rusted blade, glinting scarlet.
Lucian Thorn's pupils shrank.
Time seemed to slow.
He could see the one-eyed man's cruel smile.
See the dried blood caked on the blade.
Smell the nauseating stench of rust and gore.
Death's shadow engulfed him completely.
Muscles bunched in the one-eyed man's arm.
The next second—
The bloodstained cutlass whistled down toward his head!