Since waking up in the body of the boy several days had passed.
The routine of the farmer's life was unnaturally natural to Jun, as if he was truly the farmer boy and he himself was just a bad dream—18 year-long bad dream.
"Eating time!"
His grandpa, whose name was Huan, was a ball of emotions—one moment he would smile from ear to ear and the next he would turn into a ball of red fury just because the soup was too hot.
They lived alone together on a remote farm. He hadn't seen another person since taking over the grandson—who weirdly enough had the exact same name as him.
Weird
He started to put the puzzles, that were the farmer Jun's memories, together. He was a simple boy whose parents died when he was little and his grandpa, who owned a big farm, has been taking care of him ever since.
Jun looked at a tattered map hung next to his bed. It revealed something to him—this was a different world.
The entirety of the west was painted a raven black.
"The undead are, a real hassle." Grandpa Huan had explained. "Never go to the west!"
The east side, much like the west side was covered in one color—crimson red.
"The east?" Grandpa Huan grumbled. "Been there once—never again. Beasts rule that territory."
Grandpa grew angry when he had continued asking questions.
"Just stay in the Middle Plains!"
Jun hadn't dare ask about the map ever since.
This must be a cultivation world, but why does it seem so familiar?
Jun felt a pang of excitement, but it was drowned with dread.
Can I survive in such a world?
He looked at the map, remembering Grandpa's words.
I should be okay as long as I stay in the safe zones.
Turning his gaze away from the map, he went back to work.
Chickens again
Jun sighed. The work on the farm was constant and repetitive. When there are only two people for all the work it gets tough, but Grandpa Huan seemed to be enjoying it.
Even Jun smiled and continued to hum the not-so-foreign melody when he worked. Jun wasn't the biggest fan of the manual labor, his modern soul recoiled at the thought of more chores, yet his body told a whole different story.
"Go fetch water!"
Something hard hit Jun in the back, sending him crashing into the chickens, who parted, leaving him to fall into the muddy ground.
"Hahahahha!"
While Jun was cleaning the mud off his face, Grandpa Huan was laughing his soul out, to the point his eyes started to water.
Wiping the tears, Grandpa Huan offered him his hand—even helping Jun to clean himself up.
"Sorry, Jun. Forgot to call out soon enough."
Jun picked up the thing Grandpa threw at him—a wooden bucket, almost twice as big as his head.
Their source of water was a well. It was a ten-minute walk away, close to the entrance of the forest.
"The Green Forest…"
Jun thought about the name of the forest. He came to an unmistakable conclusion about the name.
"Very creative."
The well must have been as old as Grandpa Huan—it had a strong smell similar to the iron tools they used at the farm. Vines stretched around it—disappearing deep into the woods.
The clearing was quiet, only filled with the songs of birds and the rustle of the trees.
Jun grabbed the end of the windlass, it was rough and had many splinters in it. He began to rotate it—creating a rhythmic creak-clack sound.
This is harder than I thought it would be.
Finally, the well bucket full to the brim came to sight. It was similar to the one Jun had—just older and with iron parts.
Jun put the bucket on the edge of the well and sat on the ground catching his breath.
Carefully Jun poured the content of one bucket into the other one. Sweat began to slide down his forehead—his focus absolute.
Please, don't spill
...
He took a heavy breath wiping the sweat off his forehead. He threw the empty bucket back into the well—a loud splash resonated from the inside of the well.
Picking his bucket, he looked at his reflection.
He was young, no older than fifteen. His hair was short and brown, the same as his eyes. His skin was sun-kissed. He looked…
Just how I imagined a farmer would look.
As he was studying his appearence, something caught his eye—something black was behind the well. He came closer to examine it.
His eyes widened as he saw what it was.
It was a black blood-like liquid. It trailed from the forest and then back another direction into the forest. The grass covered in the ink-like substance looked as if it was starved of sun for days.
Jun covered his nose—it smelled like rotten eggs.
The bushes where the trace disappeared rustled. Jun felt a shiver run down his spine.
Without hesitation, Jun took the bucket and bolted back to the farm—not daring to stop and look back.
Number one rule of survival—don't investigate.
The journey back was fast—it took him only half the time.
The sun was now illuminating only the crowns of the trees. Grandpa was already cooking dinner—chicken soup.
Jun put down the heavy bucket full of water and steadied his breath.
He looked back at the entrance to the forest—a figure stood there.
Jun squinted his eyes—trying to make out the figure.
The figure's head was angled wrong—an angle at which necks get broken. It limped forward rather than walked.
Jun took a step forward to see better, but felt a sharp pull behind.
Grandpa Huan had grabbed his hand and was dragging him back home in a hurry.
"What's wrong?"
He didn't answer, making sure they got inside as fast as possible.
"Grand..."
Before Jun could finish his sentence, he noticed something—the figure's mouth was covered in blood red. Its clawed hands dripping with the same color.
The figure's leg had a deep cut in the ankle area—the ink-like liquid identical to the one that was at the well left a trail behind it.
He felt a chill run down his spine—the same biting chill he felt when he woke up in this world for the first time...
"That's an undead."
Grandpa began to explain as he searched for something.
"It must have wandered off..." his face darkened. "but we should be far enough from the dead zone."
Grandpa disappeared into the workshop.
Moments later he returned, in his right hand the axe they used to chop wood. In his left hand a torch.
"Stay here Jun and don't make a sound."
Jun looked at the old man's face—it was lined with worry and…
Fear?
Jun nodded, realizing the seriousness of the situation.
Huan strengthened his grip on the axe and started to quietly leave through the back door—muttering something barely audible.
"Is the second Age of Death coming?"