Somewhere in the dense forest, a boy stood still, framed against the endless green. From behind, his small figure seemed almost swallowed by the towering expanse of trees, their crowns rising like living fortresses into the sky.
His gaze, however, did not wander. It was fixed upward, unblinking.
The giant before him was not the only one of its kind—this jungle was littered with such colossi, each trunk wide enough to shame a castle tower. Many bore scars of old dwellings, forgotten platforms, and abandoned treehouses left to rot in silence. But this one… this one carried a secret.
Hidden high within its branches, veiled by layers of leaves, sat the faint outline of a home, so subtle that one could pass a hundred times and never notice. Sunlight glimmered on wood, glass flickered faintly behind vines, and the branches curved upward like a vast hand, cradling the structure in their emerald crown.
The boy muttered under his breath, "Come on, Milo… what's there to gape at? Spirit energy runs wild here. People live past two hundred, animals turn into beasts and monsters. So why wouldn't trees be this ridiculous? Just accept it—you've transmigrated into a world of fantasy. Even if the fundamental laws remain the same, life here can naturally harness energy."
Shaking his head, he moved toward the massive trunk, his steps rustling through the undergrowth.
He moved his hand and pulled out a thin piece of metal from what looked like a door hinge up close. Then he looked up and pulled out another piece.
"The pin in the door hinge isn't bent, nor is the one in the door head," he murmured.
He pressed two or three spots on the tree bark, and suddenly a door slid open, revealing a narrow staircase leading upward.
Then he climbed the stairs and soon reached the top.
In front of his eyes was a massive room that branched into several compartments. At one edge sat a large straw bed. At the other end, racks filled with uniquely shaped glassware that seemed not to be from this world. Others held rows of containers filled with colorful compounds, while a few bore red skull marks on their sides.
From one interior compartment came the squeaking of rats, and from another, faint stains of blood marked the floor. Yet the room felt extremely fresh and smelled clean.
Milo glanced toward a corner where a small open bottle held half a measure of red liquid.
He took a deep breath. "Ahh… the mixture of Embermoss spores and oil from river crab glands works wonders."
He stood up in front of a wooden wall covered with parchment and paper containing lots of diagrams, along with a strange script unknown to this world.
I should thank the Order for sending me to spy on the work of a few of the eminent scientists of my previous world.
He stepped into the compartment from which the squeaking had come. Cages lined the walls, and a cluster of rats scrambled at the bars, whiskers trembling. Milo's mouth curled into a crooked, almost fond smile. "Oh, my dear Boomrats, hungry again? I brought you food. Eat up and keep being my test subjects." His voice held a teasing lilt, though his eyes stayed clinical.
On a nearby slab, a few corpses lay slack, fur matted and eyes glazed. A plate beside them held crumbled food. Above it, an empty bottle dangled by a string with a crude tag that read 'lethal poison.'
Milo's gaze slid to the pile of tiny bones at the side. Golden grains clung to the cracks between riblets, glittering like spilled light.
He set to work with steady fingers. The knife bit soft fur and sinew, and the air filled with the thin, metallic tang of blood. As he peeled back the tissue, his face drained of color. "Hmph. No matter what I try, anything with Downshrade Ivy leaves a trace." The words came out low, bitter. "The herb is common and even has healing properties, yet mixed right, it becomes a silent killer. Still, it betrays itself. If only I could find the perfect combination." His breath hissed out, sharp and impatient.
His jaw clenched as he pressed at several points along the compartment wall. With a faint grind, the hidden panel slid aside to reveal a narrow rack.
Rows of glass bottles glinted faintly. Liquids shifted within them, clear as breath or thick as oil, each labeled in neat script: Extremely Lethal, Lethal, Potent, Mild, Harmless. Milo gave a short, harsh laugh, the sound echoing too long in the confined space. "Now this is what I call perfect poison… Orderless… Tasteless… Traceless… With these, I might poison a Manav realm without a trace. Maybe a nonlethal for the next test… and a lethal, just in case."
He closed the rack, eased the panel back into place, then went back and dropped onto the straw bed. Flat on his back, he stared at the ceiling while the sting of disinfectant and herbs clung to the air.
Milo tilted his head, and his gaze snagged on something hanging from the wall. For a moment, his mind refused to register it. Then, his breath caught in his throat.
He jolted upright, springing off the straw bed like a startled cat.
"What the—where did this come from?" His words spilled sharp and thin. The words came out fast, as if saying them aloud might steady him.
It wasn't the crude scrawl he remembered, the half-finished sketch where Driftmoor had once been scratched into the corner. This was different. The parchment stretched wide, filled with lines too clean, too deliberate, too precise to ever have been his.
He stepped closer, the dry scent of old vellum brushing his nose. The huge scale of the drawing pressed on him at once. A massive continent stretched across the parchment, its edges bordered by sea. At the center lay a large inland water body, with islands marked sparsely across its surface.
At the southern rim of that sea, three bold partitions were inked with absolute clarity: the 'Human Empires.' Behind them, a jagged wall of black streaked across the page, a mountain chain so immense it cut the southern edge of the continent off from the ocean beyond.
Milo's gaze drifted to the Empire he knew. Even there, the land was carved again, five neat kingdoms etched across its breadth. His brow furrowed. And then he froze.
A dot. So small it should have been a speck of dust—yet it wasn't. The ink gleamed faintly when the light touched it, deliberate and precise. 'Driftmoor.'
Milo's throat tightened. All three human empires together barely covered a tenth of the continent. Despite that, his village, a place no larger than a smudge in the real world, had been marked. On a map this size, it had no right to exist. It was there for one reason only: to pin him in place.
His eyes traced farther, unwilling but compelled. On one side of the Human borders, a dark circle spread into the inland sea, its center marked 'Lizardmen.' On either flank of the Empires, more circles sprawled outward, each branded 'Beastmen.' Across the parchment, large rings rimmed in red marked the land. Some bore only question marks; others were stamped: 'Danger Zone.'
The room seemed quieter. When Milo blinked, some of the lines appeared to shift at the edge of his vision—but when he focused, they held still.
The map felt aware, as if it reacted to him.
Milo spread his hand across the map, tracing the lines with growing intensity. In his excitement, he forgot to think about how it had appeared.
Then the impossible happened.
The parchment dissolved, its lines fading grain by grain. A chill prickled down his spine. "What the… who?" He stumbled back, breath catching in his throat.
He blinked. The map was gone, wiped clean, but words were scrawling across the blank surface as though written by an unseen hand.
No footprints. No scuff marks. Nothing out of place. Someone had entered… and left absolutely no physical trace. If someone that capable existed in Driftmoor, his hideout would've been discovered long ago. It had to be someone from outside the town, someone powerful beyond anything Driftmoor had ever seen.
[Don't panic. This is my work.]
"Who? Are you the old Reborn bastard? Is this you messing with me?" Milo's eyes widened, his voice rising as he leaned closer to the parchment.
More words appeared, ignoring him.
[Take it as a bonus reward for defeating your opponent in five breaths. I am Colonel Zara.]
"Stop giving me a heart attack, you old hag! Write who you are first. Fuck! Is this even a way to leave a message?" His hands clenched into fists at his sides, shoulders taut with frustration.
Another row of letters burned into view.
[The reward I promised is under the shelf. You only need to drop your blood.]
"At least she remembers." Milo exhaled sharply, tension easing from his face for a heartbeat. Still, the thought pressed into his mind, I need to change my hideout.
The letters continued, one after another.
[I am impressed. You are not a fool like the others in your village. Your hideout is clever; your research is thorough. Hiding your ideas in plain sight with warded runes shows caution. I think it's a waste of talent for you to remain here.]
"Now what? Are you trying to recruit me or something?" His lips curled into a half-smirk, though his eyes narrowed at the shifting script.
New lines appeared, answering as if they had overheard him.
[But you are not ready yet. Every member of the Elite Squad shares your mentality, and each keeps their own secrets. I am not interested in a village boy's secrets. If you wish to join the Elite Squad, first enter the Elite Military Academy. Below, I have left you a map with the location. When you reach the Chakrabarti Realm, come with the token to take the test.]
"Chakrabarti?" Milo frowned, rubbing the scar on his cheek as if the name itself weighed on him. "Is that what the teacher mentioned vaguely, some third level of Mortal cultivation? Either way, it is still too far for me." The words slipped out in an indistinct murmur meant more for himself than the room.
He waited, staring, but the parchment remained blank. No more words appeared.
"That's it? Okay? Bye, maybe. At least leave something so I know it's over." His tone sharpened as he tapped the table with his fingers, restless.
Pulling the parchment free, he tossed it into the fire and watched it curl into ash. The question still lingered heavily in his chest. "How did she come here?"
Maybe the underwater cave near the town's edge would be safer. With air from the bladder plant, I could easily reach it. The place is sealed by water and darkness. No one would ever have imagined a hideout there.
"Whatever." He stretched his arms with a weary sigh, forcing the tension from his muscles. "Let's go home for now, or Granny will be pissed." Milo descended the stairs, footsteps fading into the hollow silence of the trunk.
But before leaving, he had taken the jade slip from beneath the shelf.
***
After a hearty dinner, Milo retired to his room and pulled out the jade slip. Its surface was cool and faintly luminous, like a shard chipped from the moon.
"All I have to do is add a drop of blood…" he muttered. With a shallow cut across his fingertip, a bead welled up and slid onto the slip.
The moment it touched the jade, it drank greedily, ripples of light spreading across its surface. Words flared into being, not written but etched directly into his mind. The knowledge seared clear and sharp, as though he had always known it.
Milo exhaled, both shaken and awed. The slip dissolved into nothing, scattering like mist in the air.
He lay back on his bed, staring at the dark rafters above. So, I need to step into the Manav Realm before I can use this properly. A wry smile tugged at his lips. Still, what a rare way to pass information. In some ways, this world is far more advanced than the one I left behind. And yet… all these wonders are hoarded by the high and mighty, never for the ordinary people.
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth as the flicker of awe faded, replaced by a quiet, simmering resolve.
Soon Milo's eyelids grew heavy, and sleep claimed him.
***
Out on the horizon, a massive ship cut through the waves, its bow carved into the snarling head of a flood dragon. As it loomed closer, its shadow swallowed the harbor of Driftmoor. The groan of its hull and the crash of its anchors rolled like thunder, silencing the docks.
Fishermen, merchants, and guards alike froze where they stood, their faces pale, eyes fixed as though a predator from the depths had risen to the surface.
And while Milo slept in peace, the vessel that would change his fate had already anchored at his doorstep.