Agonizing pain.
That was the only thing Yuhran could perceive when he regained consciousness.
It felt as if someone had taken his bones apart and pieced them back together again.
He tried to open his eyes, but they felt filled with lead. After struggling four or five times, he managed to pry them open just a sliver.
—Stars.
That was the first thing that entered his vision.
Against an ink-blue sky, countless stars were scattered like grains of sand, stretching all the way to the edge of his sight.
In a daze, Yuhran was reminded of the Milky Way he'd seen as a child in his rural hometown—but the night sky here felt even more… unreal.
The arrangement of certain constellations was something he had never seen in any astronomy guide.
"Uh…"
He tried to speak, but only a breathy sound escaped. As his consciousness grew clearer, the pain became sharper and more vivid.
The crackling of a campfire came from nearby. Yuhran tried to turn his head.
When a mass of orange-red flames entered his vision, his memories began to piece themselves together.
That tiger—no, not an ordinary tiger, but a monster with a spiral horn growing from its forehead.
The instant the crossbow bolt hit its left eye. The sensation of being sent flying…
"I should be dead…" The realization jolted Yuhran fully awake, cold sweat seeping from his back.
Thrown from several meters up, his spine should have snapped like a dead branch.
He tried to wiggle his toes—
Thank heavens, they responded.
Only then did he notice the layers of bandages wrapped around his body.
"You're awake?"
A cool female voice drifted over. Yuhran snapped back to attention and saw the owner of the voice.
A figure sat atop a fallen log, shrouded in firelight, a pair of pale pointed ears faintly visible.
When she leaned forward to stir the firewood, Yuhran finally saw her face.
An elf.
A word he'd only ever encountered in fantasy novels leapt into his mind.
Seeming to notice his gaze, she lifted the crossbow beside her, mimed pulling the trigger, then pointed toward the shadows on the other side of the fire.
Yuhran squinted and saw the massive corpse of the horned tiger lying there.
Though he didn't know why only half of it remained, a crossbow bolt was embedded in its throat.
"So that's how it is…"
Yuhran smiled bitterly to himself. His weapon had ended up being the key to killing the monster—and this elf had saved him.
But why?
As if answering his question, the elf suddenly spoke a string of melodious syllables.
Yuhran blinked in confusion. She frowned and switched to another language.
After four attempts in a row, a look of realization flashed through her eyes.
—An outsider. No wonder that hair color is unfamiliar. The pupils as well.
Yuhran suddenly remembered something and frantically gestured with his eyes to his left.
He'd just seen his backpack.
Although his phone had inevitably shattered and was unusable, he'd brought a spare phone just in case.
Being flung away wasn't the issue—he'd taken protective measures. He hoped it still worked.
...
Moments later, the elf returned carrying the backpack.
She sat cross-legged beside Yuhran and took out the items one by one: a waterproof flashlight, a multifunctional military knife, a first-aid kit…
Each item made her look increasingly puzzled.
When she found the black device roughly the size of a phone, Yuhran urgently let out an "ah" sound.
The screen was shattered into a spiderweb of cracks, but when the elf pressed the side button as Yuhran indicated, a dim blue glow still lit up.
Yuhran let out a long breath of relief and awkwardly tapped the screen with his left hand.
"Say something," he mouthed.
Then he waited.
After a brief hesitation, the elf spoke into the device.
"Miliarde." She pointed to her chest. "My name."
"Yuhran," he replied after adjusting his breathing.
"The horn fluid of a horned tiger can heal fatal wounds," Miliarde said, pointing to the beast's forehead. "I took the horn fluid to save you."
Yuhran looked at the spiral horn. Its tip had been neatly severed, amber-colored crystals still clinging to the cut surface.
Seeing this, he let out a long sigh. So that was it.
"You're very strange," Miliarde suddenly leaned in, her nose almost touching his face.
"I've never seen clothes like yours. Never seen skin like yours. Never seen hair like yours."
She reached out and pinched a lock of Yuhran's hair between her fingers.
Rubbing it lightly—very clean… no, too clean.
At this distance, Yuhran could even smell a scent on her—pine needles mixed with something cool and faintly fragrant.
"Where are you from? And what is that weapon of yours?"
He noticed two tiny moles beneath her left eye—perhaps just an illusion.
Although Miliarde's questions came one after another, Yuhran had no energy to answer.
The dizziness from blood loss surged again. His eyelids grew heavy, the edges of his vision darkening.
In the final moment before slipping into unconsciousness, he heard the translator output in broken fragments:
"Fell asleep already… so be it."
"In that case, see you tomorrow."
...
When intense pain woke Yuhran again, daylight was already bright.
Morning dew dripped from the grass beside his ear. He realized he had been moved near the dying embers of the campfire, covered with some kind of animal fur.
He tried moving his fingers and was pleasantly surprised to find sensation had returned to his right arm.
Then he noticed something off—
Steady breathing came from his left.
Yuhran stiffly turned his head.
Miliarde was lying beside him, silver-white hair spread across the fur.
Her cheek was almost pressed against his, her elven eyelashes nearly translucent in the morning light.
Too close.
Far too close.
Yuhran could even feel her breath.
At that instant, he quickly turned his face away.
His heart began pounding wildly.
He wasn't sure whether it was from shock—or something else.
"Mmm…"
Miliarde stirred awake. A languid murmur slipped from her nose, like a feline stretching lazily.
She propped herself halfway up, first rubbing her messy hair—she'd drunk too much yesterday and was slightly hungover.
Only then did she turn her hazy, drowsy eyes toward Yuhran.
Seeing how he seemed to be avoiding her, a faint, ambiguous smile curved her lips.
"You're awake."
Miliarde suddenly leaned closer again, and Yuhran caught a stronger whiff of that cool fragrance.
She gently lifted the bandages wrapped around his body with her fingers.
The bloodstains had long since dried.
"Hiss…"
"Not bad. You're recovering well. With another week of rest, you should be fully healed."
Yuhran sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. Hearing that number, his eyes widened slightly.
The faintly intimate atmosphere he'd sensed earlier vanished instantly.
In its place was overwhelming shock and relief.
One week?
A wound this severe—and it would heal in just one week?
This world…
He turned his head and met Miliarde's gaze as she studied him closely.
Noticing his disbelief, she let out a soft chuckle.
On her normally indifferent face, the smile should have looked out of place—but at this moment, it felt oddly comforting.
She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her gaze drifting toward the horned tiger's corpse in the thin morning mist. Her voice was calm and elegant.
"No need to be surprised. This is what magic beasts are."
"A very small number of them drop materials after death."
"Rest well. In seven days—then we depart."