"You absolute donkey of a sultan—PUT THE LADDER DOWN!"
Levi Hallow slammed his fist on the desk. His castle in Stronghold: Crusader was burning, archers were panicking, and the AI was cheating again not that he could talk, considering Cheat Engine was open on his second monitor, frozen like a smug little ghost.
"Ugh, not now!" he groaned, jabbing at his keyboard. Nothing. He mashed Ctrl+Alt+Del like a man trying to revive a corpse. Still frozen.
Then he did the dumbest thing imaginable: he reached behind the tower to press the restart button—barefoot, sweaty, and gripping a metal chair frame.
That's when the old surge protector gave up on life.
CRACK!
An electric jolt exploded up his arm, like lightning had just punched him in the spine. His vision went white. His knees buckled. The last thing he saw before everything went black was a tooltip from the game still stuck on his screen:
"Your troops are under attack."
Somewhere far colder…
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—"
Levi Hallow screamed like a man freshly betrayed by both electricity and fate.
Birds scattered from half-frozen trees. Mud splashed beneath his boots wait, boots? and his voice echoed across the icy swamp.
Sadly, he was still alive. Questionably, unfortunately and ironically still alive.
Or something like it.
He collapsed to his knees in freezing, sticky mud, gasping like he'd just come out of a coma mid-marathon. His clothes were no longer boxers and a worn-out hoodie but rough, too-warm furs wrapped over a linen shirt that itched in places he didn't know he had.
The air was cold enough to make his teeth ache. The sky above was the color of wet stone. The ground below? All puddles, muck, and mossy patches like the Earth itself had decided.
"Yeah, comfort is overrated."
He looked up—slowly, shakily.
A dirt road snaked through the marsh ahead, leading to a small village with thatched roofs and wooden fences. Smoke rose from crooked chimneys. A few figures stood at the edge of the path—villagers. Wrapped in cloaks, mud-caked boots, and pure confusion.
They stared at him.
A few kids pointed. An old woman crossed herself. One man whispered, "Is that a wildling?" Another said, "Looks too soft to be a wildling." Then added, "But not too bright."
Levi blinked.
He raised a gloved hand. "Uhhh… Hi?"
Silence.
Then a goat bleated in the background like it had seen this kind of nonsense before.
Levi slowly looked down at his clothes. Then at the swamp. Then back at the villagers.
He sighed.
"…God damn it, I got isekai'd into a mudhole."
The villagers didn't approach.
They just… watched—like he was a rabid animal that might either collapse or explode. A few muttered to each other before retreating down the road, fading back into the misty cluster of huts and huts pretending to be houses.
One child lingered, staring at him with huge eyes. Levi raised a hand weakly. The kid threw a rock at him and bolted.
"…Cool," Levi muttered. "Good talk."
The squelch of his boots in the mud brought his attention back to the now-quiet path. Steam puffed from his mouth in short breaths. The wind howled across the swamp like it was laughing at him.
He exhaled hard, rubbing his face. "Okay… Okay, let's not panic. Deep breaths. Think."
He patted down his coat, checking the inside. Nothing. No phone. No wallet. No snacks. No inventory. Just mud-soaked boots, scratchy underlayers, and whatever fur-lined cloak someone in history class might call "a gambeson."
Next pocket. Empty.
Other pocket. Still empty.
Inner tunic?
Nothing.
"Seriously?" he muttered. "No beginner loot? Not even a crusty starter dagger? What kind of low-effort reincarnation is this?"
Desperate, he checked the back of his belt, hoping for a pouch, a coin—a power cord for his PC? Nope. Just a strap and more dirt. Shit could have used the power cord to shock myself and die for a 2nd time. who know i could do it for a 3rd time. maybe 3rd times the charm. "sigh"
The chill seeped into his fingers. He looked around. No HUD. No tutorial pop-up. No fairy guide. Just reeds. Fog. And whatever that was moving under the water.
He stood there in silence. Wind in his face. Swamp muck in his boots. Confusion in his soul.
And then, because sometimes it's all you can do...
He tilted his head back, stared into the pale, uncaring sky, and screamed again.
"WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!?!?"
A flock of ravens flapped overhead in protest. Somewhere in the mist, a frog croaked in judgment.
Levi dropped his arms to his sides, breathing hard. "Cool. Real mature, sky. You win."
Levi had managed to disturb the peace like a very loud, very confused thunderclap.
And again, the villagers looked at him.
This time, they didn't even flinch. Just turned their heads like, "Oh, he's screaming again."
A few shook their heads. One woman sighed and pulled her shawl tighter. Another muttered, "Must be touched in the head."
Levi slowly dropped his arms again. "Oh cool, nothing. Literally screamed at the sky and even God ghosted me."
Then—a soft plop. Something bounced off his shoulder.
He looked down. A pebble. Again.
He turned his head slowly, eyes narrowing.
Same kid from before. Same giant-eyed stare. Holding another rock.
"You little—"
But before the child could launch it, a sharp voice cracked through the swamp air.
"Jory, I swear on the Old Gods, if you throw one more rock at that boy, I'll tan your hide 'til summer!"
An old woman marched forward with the kind of energy only grandmothers and angry geese possess. Her cloak was fraying, her cane looked like it had broken knees before she did, and her scowl could curdle milk.
The boy yelped and dropped the rock immediately, bolting behind a post.
The old woman reached Levi with a suspicious glance—but didn't flinch. Up close, she smelled like herbs, smoke, and judgment.
"You lost, are you?" she asked, eyeing his clothes. "You don't look like swampfolk. Don't look like much of anything, truth be told."
Levi, still muddy, still confused, offered a half-shrug.
"I think I respawned in the wrong patch."
She frowned. "What?"
"Never mind."