Jax walked toward the faint flicker of light, each step crunching over brittle grass and cracked stone. The horizon was slowly bleeding gold and lavender—dawn had finally broken. The oppressive silence of the graveyard gave way to faint sounds carried by the morning wind: the distant call of birds, rustling trees, and... something else.
Voices.
Faint. Human.
Hope surged in his chest. "Finally… finally," he breathed, a half-laugh escaping his dry throat.
The flickering light wasn't a torch—it was the reflection of sunrise bouncing off rooftops and glass. Through the thinning trees, past the last rows of crooked tombstones, a settlement came into view.
It wasn't a village.
It was a city.
Stone walls framed the edges, rising from the earth like a protective shell. Beyond them, rooftops of varying sizes stretched into the distance—some thatched, others tiled, even a few that shimmered with glass or metal. Towering buildings stood here and there like watchful giants, casting long shadows in the morning light. From this distance, he could see smoke curling lazily from chimneys, and silhouettes of people moving.
He stood frozen for a moment, overwhelmed.
A city. Civilization. People.
"I made it," he whispered.
His joy was cut short as reality tugged at his awareness. He looked down at himself. Even with the mismatched clothes he had scavenged from corpses, parts of his body still peeked through—his ribs, shoulder joint, parts of his legs, and most obviously, his left hand, where flesh had rotted away completely.
"I look like… a walking corpse," he muttered, face twitching.
His right hand and face were mostly intact, though they carried a sickly pale tone. If someone saw him up close, the illusion wouldn't last long.
"I'll need to cover up more."
He reached for the cloak he'd tied around himself earlier, adjusting it to conceal his arms and chest better. He tore a strip of cloth and wrapped it around the exposed hand. Then, tugging his hood low, he inspected himself again.
"Good enough from a distance," he muttered.
Then a thought struck him.
"Hey, system," he said aloud. "You said everyone in this world has unique powers, right?"
[ YES ]
"Then would it really be that weird if someone looked like me?" He gestured to his exposed bones. "I mean, maybe there are people who can turn into animals, or breathe fire, or… look half-dead?"
[ …MAYBE ]
The answer was vague.
Jax narrowed his eyes. "You're not very reassuring, are you?"
[ MY KNOWLEDGE IS LIMITED TO UNIVERSAL FUNCTIONS. INDIVIDUAL PHENOTYPES VARY WIDELY. IT IS PLAUSIBLE THAT YOUR APPEARANCE COULD BE INTERPRETED AS A POWER. ]
"Huh. So you're saying there's a chance." He exhaled. "Well… let's find out."
Jax took one last glance at the graveyard behind him before stepping forward. He adjusted his hood, tightened his cloak, and walked toward the city gates.
The gates were open.
Not grand and guarded like some medieval castle, but more like an open archway into a bustling town. No guards stopped him. No checkpoints. Just people coming and going—riders on strange creatures, merchants pushing carts, and children darting past.
"Just act natural," he whispered to himself, nerves tight.
His boots clunked against the stone road as he passed through the gate and into the city.
Immediately, his senses were assaulted by a world far removed from Earth.
The streets buzzed with energy—vivid colors, strange smells, unfamiliar noises. Stalls lined the road, selling fruits that glowed faintly, meat that sizzled without fire, and trinkets that floated in the air.
A vendor stood over a pot, stirring soup while a flame flickered from her palm.
A man with fur-covered arms was hauling barrels with ease—his muscles bulging unnaturally.
Another floated by, casually levitating several feet off the ground as if gravity were merely a suggestion.
Jax's eyes widened.
"Whoa… damn," he muttered. "I really am in a fantasy world."
But the awe didn't last.
Reality hit fast and hard.
"I need shelter," he murmured, "and food. If I can afford it."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out the coins he'd collected from the corpses earlier. Nineteen silver-like ones and two brown, duller ones. No markings, no faces—just simple, solid pieces of currency.
"System," he whispered, lowering his voice, "what's the currency here?"
[ CURRENCY IS MEASURED IN CROWNS. THEY COME IN THREE FORMS: BRONZE CROWN (COMMON), SILVER CROWN (STANDARD), AND GOLD CROWN (HIGH TIER). BRONZE IS USED FOR LOW-COST ITEMS. SILVER FOR AVERAGE TRANSACTIONS. GOLD IS RARE AND RESERVED FOR HIGH-VALUE EXCHANGES. ]
"Alright… nineteen silver and two bronze. Not rich, but not broke either."
He spotted a passerby—a man in a leather coat with a scabbard on his back—and hesitated for a moment before asking, "Uh… excuse me. Is there an inn nearby?"
The man turned. He had sharp eyes, but didn't glare or react strangely to Jax's appearance.
"Down this street, second left. Can't miss it," the man replied easily.
His voice was gruff but not unfriendly.
Jax blinked.
The language felt… natural.
He could speak fluently. No accent. No awkwardness. It felt like he'd spoken it all his life.
"Thank you," he said.
The man nodded and moved on.
Jax stood for a moment, stunned. "Huh… I really can understand them. That's… good. That's really good."
He followed the directions, weaving through the crowds, until he found the inn.
It was nothing fancy. A two-story building with wooden beams, a faded sign that read "The Sleeping Willow," and smoke gently curling from the chimney.
When he stepped inside, warmth greeted him instantly. The scent of roasted meat, hot bread, and woodsmoke filled the air. The inn was alive with voices—laughter, arguments, drunken singing.
At one table, two men argued loudly while sparring mid-meal. One had arms that resembled a tiger's—striped, clawed, powerful. The other had fur on his hands and sharp canines like a lion.
Jax avoided eye contact and approached the counter.
A woman stood behind it, her hair tied in a braid and sleeves rolled up. She glanced at him with mild curiosity, but no disgust or suspicion.
"How much for one night?" Jax asked, keeping his voice steady.
"Eight silver crowns. Includes a morning meal," she replied briskly.
Jax reached into his pouch and handed over six silver coins.
"Here."
She looked down, took the coins without a word, and handed him a small iron key.
"Room Nine. Meal's in thirty minutes. Dining hall's to your left."
"Thanks."
He climbed the stairs slowly, finding the room. It wasn't much—just a single bed, a wooden chair, and a small window letting in the early light. But the bed was real. The room was warm. The door had a lock.
Jax closed the door behind him and let out a long breath.
He collapsed onto the bed like it was a cloud.
"This… this is heaven," he muttered, burying his face into the mattress.
After all the running, the pain, the confusion—this moment of stillness felt like a reward.
Thirty minutes later, he made his way down to the dining hall.
Breakfast was served without fanfare: a thick vegetable soup and a slice of toasted bread. Steam rose from the bowl. Jax hesitated for a second, then took the spoon and tasted.
Surprisingly… it was good.
He could taste it. He liked it. The warmth spread through his body, calming his nerves.
His hands stopped trembling.
"I guess even corpses can eat," he joked under his breath.
As he ate, he kept his ears open.
People gossiped freely—about monsters in the western woods, about prices rising in the southern market, about noble scandals and city festivals. But a few pieces of information caught his attention.
He learned the city was part of a kingdom called Zorathia.
It was ruled by a monarch with one prince and two princesses, each said to possess terrifying powers. There was also mention of an elite institution: Zorathia's Grand Academy, where the gifted and powerful trained. Nobles from across the kingdom sent their children there. Those who graduated held titles, influence, and command over cities.
It was the kind of place Jax knew he didn't belong… yet.
After finishing his meal, he cleaned himself with cold water from a pump in the inn's courtyard. He wiped down what he could, adjusted his clothes again, and stood in the alleyway.
He looked up at the morning sky, filled with drifting clouds and the sounds of a waking city.
"Time to explore," he murmured.
And with that, he stepped into the streets of Zorathia.
Ready to learn. Ready to adapt.
A walking half-corpse in the land of the living.