Arin's fists slammed against the wall one last time. "Fine! If no one's coming… maybe—"
A soft ding echoed in the room.
He froze.
A translucent panel shimmered in front of his eyes, floating in midair. Words in sharp, golden letters appeared:
"Hello, Host."
Arin stumbled backward. "What… what the hell?"
"Welcome to the world of War of Vengeance."
The letters glowed for a moment, then a smaller line appeared beneath:
"Host privileges detected. Initialization complete."
Arin blinked rapidly, heart pounding. He forced himself to speak: "Uh… hello? Who… what are you? Are you a god?"
"I am the System. You are the Host.""Rules: unknown. Goals: undisclosed. Survival: mandatory."
A chill ran down his spine. He had expected guidance, powers, tutorials—even a flashy OP sword—but this… this was nothing like the games he'd mastered.
"Game World: War of Vengeance. Player role: Chosen Host. Note: This world is not a story. Changes may occur unpredictably."
"Not a story…?" Arin whispered, feeling the weight of the words. He glanced down at his jade hands again, then back at the floating text.
Arin's eyes flicked around the room, then back to the system panel. "Okay… okay. Think."
He tried to remember the game he loved—War of Vengeance. Every character he had played, every class, every skill. Surely he could figure out which body he had transmigrated into…
But his mind drew a blank.
Nothing came.
Not a single stat, not a single skill tree, not even the name of the character he was supposed to be.
"What the hell…?" he muttered, panic creeping in. "I should know something! I played this game! I—"
The system panel didn't respond. Silence.
He sank to the floor, leaning against the wall, staring at his jade hands. "No powers, no guidance, no info… I can't even remember who I am supposed to be in this world…"
A bitter laugh escaped him. "Of course. Of course it's never simple."
For the first time, the reality of the situation hit him fully: he was completely blind. No cheats. No prior knowledge. No guarantees.
Arin struggled to his feet. Pain throbbed in his head—and then, suddenly, something snapped.
A flood of memories that were not his own slammed into him.
"Aggrr!"
He staggered, clutching his temples. Faces, voices, events—memories of battles, friends, enemies—raced through his mind.
He blinked, trying to catch his breath. Slowly, the pieces fell into place.
He wasn't just a player anymore. He was Arin Vale—or at least, the body he had woken up in belonged to someone named Arin Vale.
A memory surfaced: a ten-year-old boy, walking out of a small wooden room. The air was crisp, scented with grass and wildflowers.
Arin stepped outside. His eyes widened. Mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks dusted with snow. Rolling grasslands stretched to the horizon. Birds sang. A stream glittered in the sunlight.
He was… inside a village, far from the city, far from the empire.
And from the memories of the body he now wore, he realized something else: he was the child of the village chief.
Arin sank onto a smooth rock, taking in the scenery. Mountains, grasslands, a distant village—it looked peaceful, almost like a painting. But he knew better.
War of Vengeance. The name made sense now, in a way he hadn't realized before.
The game wasn't about cute villages or peaceful NPCs. It was about conflict, power, and survival. Kingdoms clashed. Empires expanded. Noble houses schemed. Every town, every city, every battlefield had a story of blood and revenge.
Beasts roamed the wilds—wolves with fangs like daggers, massive mana-infused boars, and even legendary creatures that could crush entire squads. Players learned early: underestimate the wilderness, and you died.
Then there were the powers. Mana wasn't just magic; it was a system, a lattice of energy flowing differently in every being. Some used elemental mana. Some specialized in combat techniques. Some could bend reality itself. The stronger the mana, the higher your chances of survival… and the higher the stakes.
And this world wasn't fair. Not everyone got a god dropping OP powers in their lap. Some were born weak, some were born strong, and the rest… had to fight tooth and nail to survive.
Arin rubbed his jade-skinned arms. Great. So I'm alone, powerless, in a world designed to kill me unless I learn fast.
He frowned. And then a thought hit him like a jolt of lightning:
If I knew even a little of this world from the game, maybe I could survive…
But a problem nagged him. Despite all the memories of Arin, nothing revealed the kind of mana he had, if any, or even his role in the world's power struggles.
Vengeance. Power. Survival. Conflict. That was the world. And he was in the middle of it.
Arin sank back against the soft grass, letting out a long sigh.
For the first time since he woke up, he felt… calm.
No city. No bosses breathing down his neck. No empire politics. No mana-fueled beasts hunting him. Just the wind through the grass, the distant mountains, and the gentle sun on his jade skin.
Finally… peace.
He closed his eyes, allowing himself a rare smile. Maybe being far from all the chaos of the game wasn't so bad. Maybe this village, this life, could be… simple.
Then.
A soft ding sounded, sharper this time.
Arin's eyes snapped open. Floating in front of him, the familiar golden letters shimmered:
"Host, initialization incomplete. Warning: survival in War of Vengeance is mandatory."
He groaned, slumping back again. "Really? Already? Can I just… live peacefully for five minutes?"
"Peace is a temporary illusion. Your role as Host begins now. Observe, adapt, and survive."
Arin's heart sank. His brief moment of happiness vanished. The wind still blew, the mountains still loomed—but he knew one thing: nothing about this world would be easy.
And deep down, a familiar thrill surged. Challenge accepted....maybe.