"Kid—are you hurt?"
The man in iron armor turned back, his voice rough but not unkind. He reached a gauntleted hand toward Jasper Cole.
Jasper took it.
The instant their palms locked, a ridiculous force hauled him upright like he weighed nothing. Jasper stumbled forward a step, heart still hammering, and stared at the man with a new kind of fear—one that had nothing to do with Zombies.
That strength is insane.
In Jasper's old world—his game—an iron sword didn't carve through mobs like butter unless it was enchanted. And that earlier strike… those pale crescents that had snapped out with each swing…
That was basically Sharpness I, at least. Maybe more. And he one-shot a leatherclad Zombie.
And the fireball?
Jasper's gaze flicked to the scorched road behind them.
Since when does Minecraft have magic?
Footsteps approached.
A second figure emerged from the firelit dark: an elderly man in a white robe, his hair a full crown of silver. Despite his age, his cheeks were flushed with healthy color, and his posture was straight as a spear.
He came close, eyes sharp but gentle. "Child… what were you doing out here, in a place this dangerous? Where is your family?"
The word hit Jasper like a stone to the chest.
Family.
So unfamiliar it almost sounded like a foreign language.
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
Images flashed through his mind—cracked plaster walls, the stink of bleach, an orphanage that taught you early that crying didn't make anyone come faster. Parents who never came back. Years of scraping by until he finally crawled out… only to find the world outside was just another kind of cruelty.
A tiny room. A paycheck that vanished the second it arrived. Every coin hoarded like it mattered.
He'd even saved long enough to buy a secondhand computer, the one thing he'd wanted since he was a kid. No money for internet, so he'd stolen the neighbor's Wi-Fi.
They'd caught him.
He still remembered the beating—fists, boots, shame—and the way he'd sworn he'd never risk it again.
The only escape he'd had after that was offline games. He'd found Minecraft, got wrecked over and over, learned it the hard way, and somewhere along the line he'd become good.
And then—
Then he'd woken up under a square sun wearing nothing but underwear.
"Jasper?" the white-robed elder prompted, softer now. "Child?"
Jasper blinked hard, forcing himself back into the moment.
The elder sighed. "He's in shock."
He turned his head toward the armored man. "Garrick, take him back. I'll search for food."
The man—Garrick—hesitated. "That's not a good idea. Alone out here? It's dangerous. You're a mage. If you get hurt—"
Mage.
Jasper's mind snagged on the word.
Mage? In Minecraft?
He looked between them. The elder in white had thrown a fireball like it was nothing. Garrick fought like a berserker from a fantasy RPG, swinging steel that carved qi through the air.
So this isn't just Minecraft with a weird UI. This is… something else wearing Minecraft's skin.
And then another detail clicked.
The elder had called him—
Garrick.
Not "Old Wang." Not "Uncle Wang." Not anything Chinese.
Which meant the names—like the system messages—were being… translated?
Or rewritten?
Before Jasper could chase the thought, something smacked the back of his head.
"Ow!"
Garrick lowered his hand as if he hadn't just bonked a stranger. "Move. Village first. Thinking later."
Jasper rubbed his skull, half-dazed. "O-okay. Yeah. Okay."
Garrick muttered under his breath, "Hope I didn't knock the sense out of him."
They reached the village after what felt like forever, though Jasper had no real sense of time anymore. Night pressed down on everything, and the farther they got from the burning road, the more the darkness seemed to watch them.
Inside the gate, Garrick shoved a wooden bottle into Jasper's hands.
"Drink."
Jasper didn't need to be told twice. He tipped it back and gulped. Cool water slid down his throat like salvation. The shaking in his legs eased, and the dryness behind his eyes finally stopped burning.
When he lowered the bottle, Garrick was watching him closely.
"You alive again?"
"Yeah," Jasper rasped. "Yeah. Thanks."
They walked deeper into the village, past low houses and dim lantern light. As they moved, Garrick spoke—gruff, practical, like he didn't know how to soften anything.
Jasper listened hard, trying to fit the new pieces into his head without letting them tear him apart.
This world had cultivation.
Real cultivation.
Power was divided into four major tiers, from lowest to highest:
Bronze Tier.
Arcane Tier.
Terrestrial Tier.
Celestial Tier.
And each tier had seven ranks.
Garrick himself was Bronze Tier, Rank 5.
The white-robed elder—Elder Rowan—was Bronze Tier, Rank 7.
Jasper nearly tripped when he heard that.
So the elder is stronger. But Garrick fights like a monster anyway.
And Garrick wasn't just some wandering warrior.
He was the village blacksmith—Garrick Forge—and he'd been out hunting for food because supplies were running thin. Even the blacksmith had to leave the walls now.
Jasper frowned. "So… doesn't everyone help?"
Garrick's jaw tightened.
"Not everyone."
He didn't say the names at first, but the anger in his voice did the talking.
There were men in the village who contributed nothing—parasites who ate without working, lounged all day, and spent their nights harassing women like it was entertainment. Worse, they took it out on children when they were bored.
Their leader was Bronze Tier, Rank 7.
Strong enough that even Elder Rowan had to tread carefully.
"He's been warned," Garrick said, bitterness scraping every word. "More than once. Doesn't change anything. They eat, then they go looking for trouble."
"And when you bring food back…?"
Garrick's mouth twisted. "They shout about their share. They take most of it. Every time."
Jasper's hands clenched around the empty bottle. A hot, familiar rage rose in his chest—rage he'd swallowed his whole life because it was safer to stay quiet.
In this world, staying quiet didn't just cost dignity.
It cost lives.
Jasper exhaled slowly, forcing the fury into something sharper.
A village starving while a gang hoards food and terrorizes people…
He didn't say the vow out loud, but it settled in his bones anyway.
Someday, I'm going to cut them out of this place.
Garrick glanced at him as if sensing the change, then looked away.
They stopped in front of a squat house near the inner wall.
"We're here," Garrick said. "Village is cramped. Not enough rooms. You'll stay with me."
Jasper blinked. "With you?"
"Unless you want to sleep outside."
"…No. No, I'm good."
He stepped past Garrick and looked back toward the village's edge—and froze.
It wasn't like the villages in the game.
There was an actual dirt wall, packed high and reinforced, circling the settlement like a desperate brace against the night. In the center stood a massive wooden gate—easily five meters across and eight meters tall—thick planks bound with iron.
Jasper swallowed.
Yeah… this is not the village I remember.
And whatever lived beyond that gate… wasn't going to care that he used to be good at a game.