The hunt had begun.
Those words echoed in my head like a bad motivational poster as I took my first real steps into this new world. The forest floor was soft under my thin shoes—moss, pine needles, the occasional snap of a twig that made me flinch like a paranoid city boy. Every sound felt amplified: the rustle of leaves overhead, the distant call of some bird that sounded half-song, half-warning.
I had no destination. Just forward. Eldoria Outpost, Lustara had said. Somewhere north, maybe. I tried to orient myself by the sun—rising in the east, same as Earth—but the canopy was too thick for reliable navigation. So I walked. And walked. And tried not to think about how completely fucked I was if I ran into anything bigger than a squirrel.
My body still buzzed with that unnatural energy. Muscles felt coiled, ready. My steps were lighter than they should have been. But mentally? I was still the same awkward data-entry guy who once panic-bought three months of meal kits because social distancing was announced.
The first monster didn't give me time to overthink.
A low, chittering growl came from the right. Something small and fast erupted from a bush—gray fur, red eyes, spines bristling along its back like a porcupine on steroids. The system labeled it instantly when I focused.
[Spineback Hare – Level 3]
[Threat: Low]
It charged straight at my legs.
I yelped—actually yelped—and swung my fist on pure reflex.
The impact was brutal. My knuckles connected with its skull; there was a wet crack, and the hare cartwheeled sideways into a fern, limp and lifeless.
I stared at my hand, breathing hard.
Blood on my knuckles. Not mine.
[Experience Gained: +20]
[Combat Progress: 4%]
"Holy shit," I whispered.
Easy. Too easy.
But the adrenaline crash hit immediately after. My legs shook. I wiped my hand on my pants, trying to ignore how real the blood felt—sticky, warm.
Okay. One down. You can do this.
I kept moving.
The next hour was a clumsy montage of trial and error.
Another Spineback Hare—same thing, one punch, dead.
Then two at once.
They flanked me. I managed to kick one into a tree (it squealed and didn't get up), but the second latched onto my shin with those spines. Pain exploded up my leg—sharp, burning, like stepping on a Lego made of fire.
I roared, grabbed it by the scruff, and smashed it against a rock. It went still.
Blood trickled down my calf. The wound throbbed, but already the edges were knitting together faster than they had any right to.
[Experience Gained: +45]
[Minor Laceration – Healing in progress (Enhanced Recovery +100%)]
[Combat Progress: 18%]
I slumped against a tree, panting.
This hurts. This actually hurts. And I'm supposed to build a harem? Conquer women? I can barely conquer a fucking rabbit.
The fear was real now. Not the abstract "what if I die again" fear. The immediate, visceral one. My hands were shaking. My stomach churned.
I wasn't a protagonist. I was just Alex. And Alex was scared shitless.
Still, I pushed on. Because stopping felt worse.
I took down three more weak monsters over the next stretch—Glowtail Rats, level 4, sneaky little bastards with glowing fangs. Each fight was sloppier than the last. I relied on the stat boosts: faster reflexes, harder hits. But technique? Zero. I swung like a drunk trying to swat flies.
By the time the sun was higher, my tunic was torn in places, my leg had stopped bleeding but ached, and I'd gained another 80 experience.
[Combat Progress: 32%]
I was getting the hang of it—barely. Reading their lunges, using trees to block flanks, aiming for the head or neck instead of flailing. But I knew, deep down, that anything level 10 or higher would end me.
Then I heard voices.
Rough. Male. Laughing in that cruel, mocking way that instantly set my teeth on edge.
I froze mid-step.
The sound drifted from ahead—maybe forty meters through dense undergrowth. Laughter, then a woman's sharp cry of pain. Then more laughter.
My heart slammed against my ribs.
I crouched low and crept forward, moving from tree to tree like I'd seen in too many survival shows. Every snap of a twig felt deafening.
At the edge of a small clearing I stopped, pressed flat against the trunk of an ancient oak, and peeked around.
My breath caught.
Six men—bandits, no question. Leather armor patched together, swords and clubs, scarred faces. They formed a loose circle around a single figure.
An elf.
Golden hair tangled with dirt and blood. Pointed ears. Leather scout armor ripped open at the shoulder and side, revealing pale skin streaked crimson. She clutched a broken short bow in one hand, the other pressed to a wound on her ribs. Two elven bodies lay crumpled nearby—her companions, throats cut, eyes vacant.
She was cornered. Breathing hard. Trembling.
The biggest bandit—scar across his cheek, club in hand—grinned wide.
"Drop the twig, sweetheart. No point making this harder. The slavers in Blackharbor pay triple for live elves. Especially pretty ones who fight back a little."
She bared her teeth, blood on her lips. "I'll kill you first."
Her voice cracked, but the defiance was real.
The leader laughed. "Boys—take her legs. Alive, remember. Bruises heal. Dead don't sell."
They moved in.
She tried to back up, stumbled over one of the bodies. A sword swung low—she dodged, but a club clipped her shoulder. She cried out, dropped to one knee.
I watched, frozen behind the tree.
Six. Armed. Experienced killers. I'm level 9 with no weapon, no armor, bleeding from rabbit scratches. If I jump in, they'll gut me in seconds.
My hands shook so badly I almost dropped the handful of dirt I'd unconsciously scooped up.
I'm not strong enough. I'm not a hero. I should run. Hide. This isn't my fight.
But her eyes—wide, terrified, yet still burning with that stubborn fire—locked toward my direction for a heartbeat. Not seeing me. Just… searching. Desperate.
The aura. Even now, hurt and bleeding, she felt something. A pull. Confusion flickering across her face before pain dragged her focus back.
The leader raised his club for a disabling blow.
Something snapped inside me.
Fuck it.
I burst from cover.
No yell. No dramatic pose.
Just motion.
I closed on the nearest bandit from behind—slammed my fist into the base of his skull. Bone gave way. He crumpled without a sound.
The others spun.
"Intruder!"
I hurled the dirt and sand straight into their faces—two screamed, blinded, clawing at their eyes. The leader roared, swinging wildly.
I didn't wait to see the result.
I lunged for the elf, grabbed her wrist—her skin fever-hot, slick with blood.
"Run!"
Her green eyes met mine—shock, pain, something unreadable.
She didn't resist.
We bolted.
Branches tore at us. Roots tried to trip us. Behind, shouts and crashing pursuit.
She stumbled—wounded leg giving out. I caught her around the waist, hauled her upright, kept dragging her forward.
Deeper. Darker. Thicker trees.
The sounds faded.