[You died. You have been selected to be transferred to another world of swords and sorcery.]
[Select chosen skill system]
Combat Skill System: A life of combat and glory awaits you.
Production Skill System: A life of crafting and trade awaits you.
Slow Life Skill System: A life of survival and solitude awaits you.
Mixed Skill System: A life of varied experiences awaits you.
Those lines hang in front of me like glowing text on a massive, transparent screen.
Everything around me is blank white; an endless void without walls, ceiling, or floor. I seem to be standing on something solid, though I can't see it. The air is neither cold nor warm, and my body feels lighter than it should. The whole scene feels like standing inside a dream, or perhaps a video game's loading screen that forgot to finish loading.
I blink several times, but nothing changes. The screen patiently waits for my input.
A few minutes ago, I was just crossing the street on my way home from work. Then... nothing. No warning, no pain, no time to react. Just… here. I suppose this really is what people mean by a 'truck-kun moment.'
It's kind of funny, in a tragic way.
Not that I had much to live for back there anyway. My parents died when I was still in my teens, leaving behind a mountain of debt that I inherited like some cursed heirloom. The loan sharks wanted their money, and I gave them everything I could, but construction work barely paid enough for rent and instant noodles.
I didn't have a girlfriend, no friends outside my coworkers, no real future to speak of. Just work, sleep, repeat; with the occasional video game marathon to remind myself that life could be fun.
Honestly, if that truck hadn't finished me off, those thugs wanting money probably would've eventually.
So maybe this isn't such a bad turn of events after all.
I look back at the screen.
Alright. "Select chosen skill system," huh?
The first option, Combat Skill System, immediately gets crossed off in my mind. Glory? No thanks. I've had enough bruises and broken bones from falling scaffolding; I don't need sword wounds added to the list.
Slow Life Skill System sounds peaceful, but this is apparently a "world of swords and sorcery." That means monsters. Probably lots of them. I can imagine myself ending up as lunch for some oversized wolf within a week.
Mixed Skill System... no. Being a jack of all trades sounds nice, but it probably means I'll have to fight at some point too.
That leaves Production Skill System. Crafting, trading, maybe some shopkeeping or blacksmithing. That, at least, sounds doable. If I can earn my keep making things, maybe I can live quietly and not end up dead again.
Decision made, I reach toward the floating text. My hand doesn't pass through it; instead, it ripples like water.
[Production Skill System selected.]
[Confirmed… Checking host memories… Adapting personality matrix… Installing.]
A stream of progress percentages fills the air.
[10%... 35%... 67%... 99%... Complete.]
[Survival Game Production System installed.]
"Survival Game?" That doesn't sound as relaxing as I'd hoped, but fine. It's still better than Combat.
The screen flickers, and new text appears.
[Avatar Creation: Select appearance and physical attributes.]
"Oh, nice," I mutter. "At least I can stop being average."
A 3D model of myself appears, rotating slowly in front of me. It's uncanny how natural the interface feels; sliders, color palettes, dropdown menus. Almost like a custom character creator from one of the coop survival games I used to play after work.
I get to work.
Taller: six feet even. A lean, athletic build instead of my scrawny frame. Silver hair, tanned skin, sharp features, and eyes the color of steel. I make myself look like someone who could actually be considered a desirable man.
For age, I choose early twenties. Feels like the right balance between youthful energy and adult capability.
Then I reach the Race selection tab. The options are endless: elves, dwarves, beastkin, draconic hybrids, demons, fairies, and several I can't even pronounce. I scroll until one catches my eye:
Primordial Human.
According to the short description, they're a long-lived, slightly enhanced form of humanity. They are rare, but not so rare that people would immediately suspect me of being special. Perfect. I select it.
Next comes clothing. There's a whole wardrobe available, but without knowing where I'll spawn, practicality wins. I choose durable boots, layered tunics, and a sturdy cloak. Enough layers to handle both cold and heat.
[Select chosen Spawn Point]
Urban
Rural
Wilderness
Random
Tempting. I don't want to be surrounded by people right away, but I also don't want to get eaten in the woods five minutes after spawning. Rural sounds like a safe compromise; villages usually mean food and shelter.
I select it.
[Select chosen Starter Pack]
General
Melee Combat
Ranged Combat
Magic Combat
Production
Each option lists its contents. The Production pack offers rare crafting items, but I remember my survival game instincts: early-game difficulty doesn't always mean long-term value.
Those "rare" items are probably things I could get easily later.
The General pack, on the other hand, includes food, water, a defensive weapon, and some coin; exactly what a newbie like me needs.
I select General Starter Pack.
Finally, the screen fades, leaving only one line of text.
[Enter your name.]
No surname option. Just one name.
I scroll through the suggested list and stop on one that feels right. Short, simple, but strong.
Abel.
The moment I confirm it, the void shudders. My stomach drops as if the floor just vanished beneath me. It's like the lurch of a roller coaster: weightless and dizzying.
Then, just as suddenly, everything stabilizes.
The blinding white fades into a soft, ambient glow. I'm now sitting, not standing, on a plush, cream-colored couch. In front of me sits a polished wooden coffee table. On it rests a steaming cup of tea, the scent floral and calming.
Across from me sits a woman.
She's radiant. Almost too perfect to look at directly.
Long, golden hair that seems to shimmer in the light, eyes the color of a clear summer sky, and a figure that would've made any model jealous. She's dressed entirely in white, elegant yet simple, like a goddess from a painting.
And maybe she actually is one, because the air around her feels divine; serene yet overwhelming.
She meets my gaze with a faintly amused smile, lifting her own teacup with grace.
"Well, hello there," she says, voice soft but carrying easily in the still air. "Welcome, Abel. I like that name, by the way."
I blink, trying to form words, but she continues before I can.
"My name is Lilian; though you can call me Lily. I'm the god of the world you're about to be reincarnated into."
She sets her cup down gently, her expression brightening like someone greeting an old friend.
"I brought you here for a little chat before sending you down," she says with a playful wink.
Her tone is light, almost teasing, but something in her eyes tells me she's far more powerful than her casual demeanor suggests.
As I sit there, still processing everything that's happened, one thought floats to the front of my mind.
If this really is a new world… then maybe, just maybe, this time I'll get to live a life worth remembering.