Four Years Before the New Calendar
The Kingdom of Re-Estize.
Capital City.
This was the beating heart of the nation. Yet beyond the main boulevards, the streets were paved with weathered, gray stone bricks—worn and cracked, bearing the scars of age and erosion.
Surrounding buildings rose no more than one or two stories high, most of them European in style, their antique charm steeped in the atmosphere of an older world.
However, as one approached the city's center, both the streets and architecture grew noticeably cleaner and more refined. The air was crisp, and while everything appeared normal at first glance, the peculiar liveliness and subtle undercurrent of power made it clear to Sakeer: this was no ordinary world.
Ding, ding, ding—
Clang—
The constant clangor of metal rang out across the streets, produced by the weapons and armor clanking against adventurers' bodies as they walked.
Vendors cried out from their stalls, hawking wares to passersby. Signs above storefronts shimmered faintly beneath the sun, adding to the vibrant chaos.
Lavish carriages crept forward through the throng, moving slowly but never stopping. The crowds parted instinctively to let them pass. Among the passersby were armored warriors, robed spellcasters, and eccentrically dressed figures in flamboyant colors—each one more conspicuous than the last.
It was a scene of living color and variety.
In recent days, the capital had become swollen with citizens from across the kingdom. The atmosphere was charged with excitement. Joy. Anticipation.
Yet not everyone shared in that energy.
Sakeer, clad in a ragged, long-sleeved shirt and faded gray trousers, blended into the crowd with ease. No one gave him a second glance. And while he appeared calm, his heart churned with unease.
His thoughts were heavy, his mood as colorless as his clothes.
Despite the festive city, a creeping dread followed him like a shadow.
He had only arrived in this world yesterday.
And he already knew exactly where he was.
This was the world of Overlord. The very world where Nazarick—the Great Tomb of the Undead—would one day rise to reshape the fate of the continent.
That fact alone filled him with dread.
He remembered stories from the game Yggdrasil—tales of players who had been transported to a real-world version of the game, bringing with them vast arsenals of world-class items, rare classes, and immense magical might.
Those players had the time and resources to prepare. To grind. To dominate.
Sakeer had none of that.
He'd been thrown straight into the world—powerless.
If he'd been given even the slightest head start, perhaps he wouldn't be so terrified.
The only thread of comfort was this: Nazarick had not yet arrived. He was early—years early.
How could he be sure?
Because of the Royal Tournament—the Imperial Trial.
According to future events, Gazef Stronoff would emerge victorious in this very tournament, earning the title of Warrior Captain. And today marked the pivotal duel between Gazef and Brain Unglaus.
That duel alone had drawn the eyes of every adventurer and commoner in the capital. The streets were flooded with people, and excitement hung in the air like electricity.
Though Sakeer had been just an average person back in his world, his years of reading light novels had taught him to stay calm in chaotic situations. When he overheard names like Gazef and Brain, he quickly deduced where—and when—he was.
The label "Four Years Before the New Calendar" wasn't a local term. It was something he coined himself, based on theories popularized by content creators in his previous world. He believed it only natural that Nazarick's future conquest would usher in a new age—and with it, a new calendar.
As for communication, this world had its own strange logic.
By some mysterious force—perhaps a "world law" of sorts—everyone could understand one another. Language barriers between races and nations didn't exist. It was as if the entire world had consumed a magical translation plant.
However, while spoken language came easily, written script was another matter entirely.
The coarse fabric of Sakeer's clothing irritated his skin, but that discomfort paled in comparison to his predicament.
One moment he'd been lying in bed at his rundown apartment; the next, he was here—thrust into a fantastical reality he neither chose nor understood.
It felt like something out of a novel. One of those clichéd isekai stories where the protagonist is plucked from the real world and dropped into another.
He laughed bitterly to himself.
He had no family. No friends. No one who would notice his absence.
He was an orphan. Alone.
His sudden disappearance from the real world would cause no ripples.
Ironically, that made things easier.
Thankfully, the spectacle of the duel between Gazef and Brain kept all attention away from him. Surrounded by adventurers in outlandish garb, even his modern sleepwear went unnoticed.
Realizing the urgency of his situation, Sakeer had sold the only valuable item he still possessed: a gold enamel pendant he wore around his neck. He'd originally bought it for his ex-girlfriend as a gift. She broke up with him before he could give it to her, so he kept it.
Now, it had become his lifeline.
The shopkeeper had exchanged it for three gold coins.
He'd quickly come to understand the local currency system:
169 copper coins = 13 silver coins = 1 gold coin
In addition to those, there were also white gold coins, gem coins, and even mithril coins—higher denominations used by the wealthy and powerful.
For now, he had three gold coins to his name.
---
The three gold coins he received were far beyond the pendant's actual material worth. The shopkeeper had clearly valued its intricate enamel craftsmanship. In a world where artisan techniques were rudimentary and often supplemented by magic, such fine craftsmanship was a rarity.
Sakeer knew the pendant would likely be resold to some noblewoman for dozens—if not hundreds—of times what he'd received. But in his current situation, bargaining wasn't an option.
He had spent five copper coins on a set of cheap, rough-spun clothes and a silver coin on a short sword. Another five copper coins went toward several pieces of hard, black rye bread.
His remaining funds:
2 gold coins, 11 silver coins, and 3 copper coins.
"Four years to go. Just relax... yeah, right," he muttered bitterly.
Sakeer pressed the ball of his left foot against the ground, attempting to steady his nerves. It didn't help. His heart still beat with uneasy rhythm.
Before being transported to this world, his main hobbies were reading light novels and watching anime—especially Overlord. Because of that, he understood all too well: four years might as well be four days. The Kingdom of Re-Estize was doomed. Its destruction wasn't just possible—it was inevitable.
Looking toward the distant castle built against the mountains, ancient and imposing, his anxiety only deepened.
Would being a transmigrator be enough to survive the storm to come?
(End of Chapter)