The world didn't end with a bang, or a whimper. For me, it ended with the fizz of a lukewarm can of soda.
My name is Alex, and until about an hour ago, I was what you'd charitably call a "dedicated gamer." Less charitably, a twenty-four-year-old with a liberal arts degree, a dead-end data entry job, and a relationship status that could best be described as 'in a long-term, committed relationship with my PC.' My apartment was a testament to this life: a controlled cave of artificial light, the hum of cooling fans a constant companion. The walls were adorned with posters from games long since conquered, their epic landscapes a stark contrast to the mundane reality of my third-floor walk-up.
My existence was a comfortable, predictable loop. Wake up, commute, stare at spreadsheets until my eyes blurred, commute back, and then, finally, dive headfirst into a world where I was someone else. A legendary assassin, a master tactician, a dragon-slaying hero. In those worlds, I wasn't just Alex, the guy who could type 120 words per minute and spot a misplaced comma from ten paces. I was powerful. I was important.
Tonight's escape was Aethelgard Online: The Crimson Omen, the latest expansion to a notoriously difficult MMORPG. My guild, the 'Midnight Marauders,' was attempting a world-first clear on the new raid boss, a multi-phase monstrosity called the 'Chronomancer of the Shattered Void.' It was a grueling, six-hour slog. We'd wiped forty-seven times. My fingers were aching, my eyes were burning, and my entire body was running on a cocktail of caffeine, sugar, and pure, unadulterated stubbornness.
"He's shifting to the temporal-flux phase! Dispel teams, get ready! Alex, you're on primary interrupt for the chronal shatter!" shouted Kenji, our raid leader, his voice a distorted crackle through my headset.
My character, a lithe Shadow-Thief named 'Nyx,' moved with a grace I could only dream of. I danced between shimmering pools of arcane energy, my eyes scanning the boss's cast bar, my fingers poised over the '3' key. The bar was almost full. Almost… almost…
Now!
I hit the key. My character lunged forward, a blade of solidified shadow plunging into the Chronomancer's ethereal form. A satisfying SHING sound effect echoed, along with the glorious text: [INTERRUPT SUCCESSFUL].
A chorus of cheers erupted in my ears. "Nice one, Alex!" "Clutch!" "We got this, guys!"
A rare, genuine smile touched my lips. This was it. This was the thrill. This was the validation that made the monotonous hours of my day job bearable.
Thirsty from the adrenaline, I reached over to my desk, my eyes still glued to the screen. My hand fumbled, knocking over an almost-empty can of cheap energy drink. A sticky, effervescent puddle began to spread across the worn wood surface, creeping dangerously close to my keyboard.
"Crap," I muttered, my focus momentarily broken. I pushed my chair back, grabbing a wad of tissues. As I leaned down to mop up the mess, a strange sensation prickled the back of my neck. The hum of my computer's fans seemed to warp, deepening into a low, resonant thrum that vibrated through the floor. The RGB lighting on my keyboard and mouse, usually cycling through a soothing rainbow pattern, began to flicker erratically, flashing a blinding, pure white.
"Power surge?" I wondered aloud, squinting against the light. On my monitor, the epic battle of Aethelgard froze. My character was stuck mid-motion, the Chronomancer a static image of cosmic rage.
Then, the sound in my headset cut out, replaced by an unnerving, perfect silence. The flashing white light intensified, pouring out of my peripherals, engulfing my desk, my monitor, my entire field of vision. It wasn't just bright; it felt… heavy. Physical. It pressed against my eyeballs and filled my head with a pressure that made my teeth ache.
My heart hammered against my ribs. This wasn't a power surge. This was something else. Something wrong. I tried to stand, to pull away, but my body felt like it was encased in lead. A dizzying sense of vertigo washed over me, the kind you get when you stand up too fast, but magnified a thousand times. My small, cluttered room seemed to stretch and distort at the edges, the posters on my wall smearing like wet paint.
The last thing I remember was the fizzing sound of that spilled soda, somehow amplified to a deafening roar, and a single, bizarre thought flashing through my mind: I hope Kenji isn't too pissed I bailed on the raid.
Then, nothing.
Consciousness returned not as a gentle dawn, but as a violent, head-splitting system reboot. My first sensation was pain. A dull, throbbing ache resided at the base of my skull. My second was the feeling of damp, rough earth beneath my cheek. My third was a smell. It was an overwhelming symphony of scents I'd never experienced before: the rich, loamy aroma of soil, the sweet, almost cloying perfume of unknown blossoms, and a clean, crisp air that felt so pure it almost hurt to breathe.
I groaned, pushing myself up with trembling arms. My muscles screamed in protest. I was lying face-down in a patch of ridiculously green moss, soft as velvet. I looked down at myself. I was still wearing what I'd been wearing in my apartment: a faded black t-shirt with a pixelated video game logo, a pair of worn-out jeans, and my comfortable, but thoroughly indoor, sneakers. Nothing seemed out of place on my person, but everything around my person was a complete and utter paradox.
I was in a forest.
But this wasn't any forest I'd ever seen in a documentary or a camping trip. The trees were colossal, their trunks wider than my car, soaring so high into the sky that their tops were lost in a canopy of emerald leaves. Sunlight filtered down in hazy, golden shafts, illuminating a forest floor teeming with life. Ferns with spiral patterns that glowed with a soft, blue light unfurled in the shade. Mushrooms grew in clusters, their caps shimmering with all the colors of an oil slick. The air was alive with the flutter of wings and the chirps and clicks of unseen creatures.
Above, the sky wasn't the familiar pale blue of home. It was a deeper, richer azure, and hanging in it were not one, but two suns. One was a brilliant, familiar yellow-white. The other was smaller, a soft, pale lavender, casting long, ethereal violet shadows alongside the normal ones.
My brain, which had been valiantly trying to process this information, promptly blue-screened.
"Okay, Alex," I said aloud, my voice sounding small and hoarse in the vast quiet. "Let's be rational. This is a dream. A very, very vivid dream. Probably brought on by sleep deprivation, malnutrition, and way too much caffeine."
I slapped my own cheek. Hard. The stinging pain was sharp, immediate, and utterly real.
"Okay. Not a dream," I conceded, rubbing my face. "Plan B: I was kidnapped by some eccentric billionaire who built a hyper-realistic nature reserve. A 'Truman Show' situation." I looked around for cameras, for hidden speakers, for any sign of artifice. I saw nothing but the overwhelming, alien nature. "Right. Unlikely."
"Plan C: I've had a complete psychotic break. The Chronomancer raid was the final straw that snapped my tenuous grip on reality." This one, distressingly, felt the most plausible. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the heels of my palms into them, trying to force the world to revert to my dimly lit apartment. I just wanted to see my monitor, my messy desk, the sticky soda puddle.
And that's when it happened.
The moment my eyes closed, the blackness behind my eyelids wasn't empty. Text appeared. It wasn't like reading a book; it was more like the information was being inserted directly into my consciousness. It was sharp, clean, and rendered in a simple, sans-serif font that reminded me of a minimalist UI from a modern indie game.
[Alexander 'Alex' Vance]
[Race: Human (Anomalous)]
[Level: 1]
[Title: The Transmigrator]
[Stats]
Strength (STR): 10
Vitality (VIT): 10
Agility (DEX): 14
Intelligence (INT): 14
Wisdom (WIS): 10
Charisma (CHA): 10
Luck (LCK): 10
[Skills]
- [Transmigrator's Blessing (Unique)]
- [Analysis (Unique)]
I gasped, my eyes flying open. The forest was still there, two suns and all. The text was gone. I shut my eyes again. It reappeared, solid and unwavering in my mind's eye.
My breath hitched. I'd spent thousands of hours of my life staring at screens exactly like this. Character sheets. Stat pages. Skill lists. It was the fundamental language of the worlds I escaped to. And now, it was seemingly hard-wired into my brain.
This wasn't a psychotic break. This was something else. This was a system. A real-life, honest-to-gods status screen.
My gamer brain, honed by years of analyzing mechanics and optimizing builds, kicked into high gear, momentarily shoving aside the panic. I began to dissect the information.
Alexander 'Alex' Vance. My name. Simple enough.
Race: Human (Anomalous). Human, okay. But 'Anomalous'? What did that mean? Out of place? Different from the humans here? The parentheses felt ominous.
Level: 1. Of course. The starting point for every RPG protagonist in history. A blank slate. A weakling. Great.
Title: The Transmigrator. This sounded important. A title is usually something you earn, or something that defines your character class. Transmigrator... like someone who has migrated across… worlds? It fit the circumstances, I supposed.
Then the stats. A base of 10 for most of them. In game terms, this was perfectly, painfully average. 10 Strength? I could carry my groceries, but I wasn't winning any arm-wrestling contests. 10 Vitality? I could probably catch a cold just by thinking about it. 10 Charisma? Explains my stunning success with the opposite sex.
But then there were the outliers. Agility and Intelligence, both at 14. A +4 bonus. It wasn't a god-tier stat, but it was significant. It was a specialization. Why those two? I thought back to my life. My job was data entry. Hours upon hours of it. My fingers flew across the keyboard. Maybe that constant, repetitive, precise motion had somehow translated into Dexterity? And Intelligence… I wasn't a genius, but I had a degree. I read a lot. And more than anything, I played games. Complex, strategic games that required constant learning, pattern recognition, and problem-solving. Maybe my "gamer brain" wasn't just a turn of phrase anymore. Maybe it had literally become my highest stat.
Finally, the skills. The real meat of any character build.
Transmigrator's Blessing (Unique).
Analysis (Unique).
Two skills, both with the 'Unique' tag. In any game I'd ever played, 'Unique' meant one-of-a-kind. It meant powerful. It meant game-changing. But what did they do? There were no tooltips, no pop-up descriptions explaining their function.
"Okay," I whispered, opening my eyes again. The alien forest seemed a little less terrifying and a little more like a starting zone. "If this is a game, there have to be rules. And if there are skills, I have to be able to use them."
How do you activate a skill that exists only in your head? In games, you'd click a button or say a command word. I focused on the first skill.
"Transmigrator's Blessing," I said aloud. Nothing happened. "Activate Transmigrator's Blessing." Still nothing. I tried focusing my intent, thinking really hard at the skill's name in my mental status screen. The world remained stubbornly unchanged.
Maybe it was a passive skill? One that was always active? That seemed plausible. If it was a "blessing" for a "transmigrator," maybe it was the reason I was even alive and breathing this weirdly clean air.
Okay, let's try the other one. "[Analysis]," I said, trying to emulate the bracketing I saw in the menu.
Again, nothing. A wave of frustration washed over me. What was the point of a system if it didn't come with a tutorial? Was I supposed to just guess? I kicked at a small, gray rock at my feet. It skittered across the moss.
I stared at the rock, an idea sparking in my hyper-INT brain. In many games, analysis or identification skills required a target. You couldn't just cast 'Identify' into the air; you had to cast it on something.
I crouched down, focusing my gaze on the rock. It was a perfectly ordinary, uninteresting piece of stone. I closed my eyes, picturing the rock in my mind. Then, I focused on the skill, mentally 'pushing' the concept of [Analysis] towards the mental image of the rock.
A subtle ding sound, like a soft chime, echoed in my head. And new text bloomed in the darkness behind my eyelids.
[Common Feldspar Rock]
[Rarity: Mundane]
[Description: A common silicate mineral. It's a rock. Useful for throwing or building very basic things. Not particularly interesting.]
My jaw dropped. I opened my eyes, staring at the rock as if it had just recited poetry. It worked. It actually worked. The description was even a little sarcastic, which I found both unnerving and weirdly charming.
A giddy, half-hysterical laugh escaped my lips. I was a man who could identify rocks. It was, without a doubt, the stupidest superpower I could have imagined, but it was real.
My gaze swept across the forest floor, a new hunger in my eyes. Everything was a target now. I pointed my finger at one of the glowing, spiral-patterned ferns. I focused, thought "[Analysis]."
Ding.
[Glimmerfern]
[Rarity: Common]
[Description: A species of fern native to the Veridian Labyrinth. The faint bioluminescence in its fronds is a result of mana absorption from the soil. Harmless.]
Mana absorption? Veridian Labyrinth? The names were fantastical, but the skill was giving me concrete, usable information. This was more than just an identification skill; it was a Pokedex for an entire world.
I looked up at one of the colossal trees. "[Analysis]."
Ding.
[Ironwood Elder]
[Rarity: Uncommon]
[Description: An ancient tree known for its incredible density and resilience. Its wood is notoriously difficult to work with but is prized for its strength, rivaling that of common steel. Currently, you would have a better chance of biting through it than cutting it down.]
Again, that slightly snarky tone. "Thanks for the vote of confidence," I muttered to the system in my head.
This skill was a game-changer. In a world where everything was unknown and potentially lethal, knowledge was the ultimate weapon. I could tell what was safe, what was valuable, what was dangerous.
The thought of danger sobered me up instantly. I was still a Level 1 weakling in an alien forest. My 14 INT told me that my first priority wasn't cataloging flora; it was survival. And survival 101, a lesson drilled into me by countless survival games and TV shows, started with three things: water, shelter, and fire.
Water was first. Dehydration would kill me faster than any monster. I listened intently. Past the alien chirps and clicks, I could hear a faint, promising sound. A gentle, continuous rushing. The sound of moving water.
Hope surged in my chest. I turned in the direction of the sound and began to walk, my steps cautious. Every few feet, I'd pause, scanning my surroundings, my head on a swivel. I was treating this like a stealth section in a game, sticking to the shadows cast by the giant trees and using thick patches of Glimmerferns as cover.
As I moved, a small creature with iridescent wings, like a hummingbird crossed with a dragonfly, zipped past my face. It hovered for a moment, its wings a blur. Instinctively, I used my skill. "[Analysis]."
Ding.
[Sun-Kissed Pixie Moth]
[Level: 1]
[Rarity: Common]
[Description: A harmless insect that feeds on the nectar of mana-infused flowers. Its powdered wings are a minor alchemical ingredient, used in potions of illumination.]
Level 1. So creatures had levels, just like me. And they dropped loot. Alchemical ingredients. This world was operating on full-blown RPG logic. This was good. This was a system I could understand.
The sound of water grew louder, and soon I broke through a line of trees to find a stream. It was beautiful, the water so clear I could see every colored pebble on the streambed. It gurgled and splashed, flowing over smooth stones.
I knelt at the bank, cupping my hands to drink. But I paused. This was an alien world. The water looked clean, but what if it was full of brain-eating amoebas or magical parasites?
I dipped my finger in the water, closed my eyes, and focused. "[Analysis]."
Ding.
[Pure Stream Water]
[Rarity: Mundane]
[Description: Clean, fresh water originating from the Starfall Mountains. Perfectly potable. Contains trace amounts of restorative mana, though not enough for any significant effect on your current level.]
"Potable. Best word I've heard all day," I sighed in relief. I drank deeply, the cool water a balm to my parched throat. It was the best-tasting water I'd ever had, crisp and clean with a faint, almost minty aftertaste. I drank until my stomach felt bloated, then splashed my face, washing away the grime and sweat.
Okay. Water, check. Next up, shelter and fire. The suns—both of them—were already beginning to arc across the sky. I had no idea how long the days were here, but I didn't want to be caught out in the open when darkness fell. Who knew what came out at night?
I decided to follow the stream. It was a lifeline. It provided water, and settlements are often built near water sources. If there were other people in this world, following a stream was my best bet to find them.
For the next hour, I walked, my sneakers squelching slightly. I was constantly using [Analysis] on everything that caught my eye. A purple-capped mushroom was a [Dreamlure Toadstool], mildly toxic and hallucinogenic. A vine with sharp-looking thorns was a [Razorvine], capable of inflicting deep cuts. A patch of red berries was [Sunberries], sweet and edible, a good source of energy. I carefully picked a handful of the Sunberries, my gamer instincts screaming at me to hoard any and all consumables. I analyzed one.
[Sunberry]
[Rarity: Common]
[Description: A common, edible berry. Restores a small amount of stamina. Tastes vaguely like a strawberry and a peach had a baby.]
[Effect: Recovers 5 Stamina over 10 seconds.]
Stamina. So that was a thing, even if it wasn't a visible bar on my status screen. I popped one in my mouth. The description was accurate; it was delicious. A small wave of energy washed through me, lessening the ache in my legs. It wasn't a huge boost, but it was noticeable.
As I walked, I began to hear a strange noise up ahead, a rhythmic, wet, squelch-plop sound. It was accompanied by a low, gurgling noise. It set my teeth on edge. I slowed my pace, creeping forward and peering around the trunk of an Ironwood tree.
About twenty yards away, in a marshy clearing next to the stream, was my first monster.
It was a slime. A classic, entry-level RPG monster. But seeing one in the flesh—or, well, in the gel—was completely different from seeing a cute, animated blob on a screen. This thing was about the size of a large beanbag chair, a wobbling, translucent blue dome of goo. Inside its semi-transparent body, I could see the half-dissolved bones of some small animal and a few dull-looking rocks. It moved by extending a pseudopod of ooze forward and then pulling the rest of its body along with that disgusting squelch-plop.
My heart hammered in my chest. Fear, cold and sharp, lanced through me. My first instinct was to run. But my gamer brain, my 14 INT, took over. Information is power.
Hiding behind the tree, I focused on the creature. "[Analysis]."
Ding.
[Lesser Blue Slime]
[Level: 2]
[Rarity: Common]
[Description: A primitive, mindless creature driven by a single instinct: to absorb and dissolve organic matter. Its gelatinous body is highly resistant to physical impact.]
[Warning: Its acidic touch can cause chemical burns to unprotected skin.]
Level 2. One level higher than me. And resistant to physical impact. My fists, with their pathetic 10 STR, would be useless. The warning about its acidic touch sent a shiver down my spine. This wasn't a game where a health bar just went down. Getting touched by that thing meant real, agonizing pain.
The slime gurgled, its body quivering, and it secreted a small, perfectly round blue orb from its side. The orb rolled a few inches and then dissolved back into the ground.
What was that? I was about to dismiss it when I heard a faint sound. It wasn't a gurgle or a squelch. It was… words. Faint, simple, and bubbling.
"Hungry… dissolve… more… hungry…"
The voice was inside my head, just like the system notifications, but it felt different. It was guttural, alien. It took me a second to connect the dots. The slime. I was hearing the slime's thoughts.
My eyes widened in realization. [Transmigrator's Blessing]. It wasn't just a passive buff. It was a universal translator. Not just for spoken languages, but for the thoughts of creatures. Even a mindless blob of goo.
This changed everything. I could understand monsters. I might be able to predict their actions, to understand their motivations, however simple.
The slime continued its slow, squelching advance along the stream bank, directly on my intended path. I could try to sneak past it through the dense forest, but the undergrowth was thick with Razorvine. I could backtrack, but that felt like giving up.
Or… I could fight it.
The idea was terrifying. But this was my new reality. I couldn't run forever. I was a Level 1 character in the starting zone. This slime was my tutorial boss. If I couldn't handle this, I was already dead.
Okay, Alex. Think. Be the 14 INT character. Don't be the 10 STR idiot.
[Analysis] said it was resistant to physical impact. That meant hitting it was a bad idea. But what wasn't physical impact? Fire? I had no way to make fire. Electricity? I wasn't about to stick my hand in a lightning socket, assuming they even existed here. What about changing its state? Like freezing it, or… drying it out?
Slimes are mostly water, right? What happens when you pour salt on a slug? It shrivels up. It was a long shot, but it was a plan based on Earth logic. The question was, where the hell was I going to find salt in this magical forest?
My eyes scanned the environment, my [Analysis] skill at the ready. Rocks, ferns, trees… nothing. I looked at the stream. Pure water. Wait. The analysis said the water came from the Starfall Mountains. Mountains could have salt deposits, right? Maybe there were minerals in the streambed.
I crept back to the water's edge, well away from the slime, and started picking up different-looking rocks from the stream. I analyzed each one.
[Smooth River Stone]. Mundane.
[Quartz Crystal Fragment]. Uncommon. (Ooh, shiny.)
[Mossy Granite]. Mundane.
I was about to give up when my hand closed around a whitish, chalky-looking rock. It was gritty to the touch. "[Analysis]."
Ding.
[Alkali Stone]
[Rarity: Common]
[Description: A soft, porous rock rich in alkaline salts. When crushed into a powder and mixed with water, it creates a highly caustic solution. In its powdered form, it is also a powerful desiccant.]
A desiccant. A drying agent. This was it. This was my salt.
My heart began to pound with a mixture of fear and excitement. I gathered as many of the Alkali Stones as I could find, stuffing them into the pockets of my jeans until they bulged. They were surprisingly light.
Now for the plan. The slime was slow. I was faster (14 DEX, thank you very much). I needed to crush these stones into a powder and then dump it on the slime. Smashing them between two harder rocks seemed like the best bet.
I found a large, flat slab of granite a safe distance away and used a heavy, smooth river stone as a makeshift hammer. I placed an Alkali Stone on the granite and brought the river stone down hard. CRUNCH. The soft stone shattered, breaking into smaller chunks and a fine, white powder. It was working.
My hands, accustomed to the soft clicks of a keyboard, quickly grew sore. The repeated impacts sent jarring vibrations up my arm. But I gritted my teeth and kept going, the image of the slime's acidic touch motivating me. After ten minutes of grueling work, I had a respectable pile of white powder, maybe about two cups' worth. I looked for something to carry it in. A large, sturdy leaf from a broad-leafed plant (which [Analysis] called a [Shield Leaf], conveniently enough) would have to do. I folded it into a makeshift pouch, carefully scooping the powder into it.
Phase one, complete. Now for the execution.
My plan was simple. Get close, dump the powder, and run like hell. My 14 DEX gave me confidence in my speed, but my 10 VIT made me terrified of taking even a single hit.
I took a deep breath, my hands clammy. I could hear the slime's bubbling thoughts growing more distinct as I got closer. "Hunger… need food… dissolve… absorb…"
It was unnervingly single-minded. There would be no reasoning with it.
I crept forward, using the trees as cover, my makeshift bag of alkali powder clutched in my hand. The slime was now about ten feet away, its gelatinous body jiggling. It seemed to sense my presence, or maybe my scent. The gurgling intensified, and a pseudopod stretched out in my general direction, questing.
"Something… near… warm… food…"
My blood ran cold. It knew I was here. It was now or never.
I burst from behind the tree. "Eat this, you jiggly piece of crap!" I screamed, the words more for my own courage than anything else.
I sprinted the last few feet, my sneakers slipping on the damp moss. The slime reared up, its blue form swelling. I saw a glob of goo beginning to form on its surface, preparing to launch at me. A ranged attack. Crap.
I didn't have time to aim carefully. With a desperate heave, I flung the entire contents of my leaf-pouch onto the creature's main body. The white powder showered over its translucent blue surface.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then, the slime began to scream.
It wasn't a sound made with lungs or a voice box. It was a psychic shriek of pure agony that blasted directly into my mind, thanks to my [Transmigrator's Blessing]. It was a sound of a thousand nails scraping on a thousand chalkboards, amplified inside my skull.
"BUUUUUUUUUUUURN! PAIN! IT BUUUUURNS!"
I staggered back, clutching my head, the mental scream overwhelming my senses. The slime was convulsing violently. Where the white powder touched it, its body sizzled and smoked, rapidly dehydrating. Its smooth, gelatinous form turned cracked and rubbery, like drying glue. It was shrinking, losing its cohesion, its blue color fading to a murky gray.
It writhed and spasmed, its psychic screams echoing in my head, until finally, with a soft, wet pop, it collapsed into a pile of steaming, brittle gray flakes and a puddle of viscous liquid.
The psychic screaming stopped. The silence that replaced it was blissful.
I stood there, panting, my body trembling with leftover adrenaline. My ears were ringing. I had done it. I had killed it. I, Alex Vance, data-entry clerk and professional nerd, had defeated a monster with some rocks and a leaf.
A triumphant, slightly manic grin spread across my face. And then, something even more amazing happened. A new sound chimed in my head, a clear, satisfying fanfare, the kind of sound you hear in a game when you achieve something great. And new text overlaid my vision, even with my eyes open.
[You have defeated a Lesser Blue Slime!]
[You have earned 15 EXP!]
[LEVEL UP!]
[You are now Level 2!]
[You have gained 5 Stat Points!]
[You have gained 1 Skill Point!]
I stared at the floating text, my jaw slack. Experience points. A level up. Stat points to allocate. A skill point. This was it. This was the core gameplay loop of every RPG I'd ever loved, made manifest in reality. The fear and terror of the last hour melted away, replaced by a pure, unadulterated thrill. This world was dangerous, yes. But it was also a world where effort was directly and immediately rewarded. Where growth was quantifiable.
"Status," I whispered, closing my eyes.
[Alexander 'Alex' Vance]
[Race: Human (Anomalous)]
[Level: 2] (15/200 EXP)
[Title: The Transmigrator]
[Stats]
Strength (STR): 10
Vitality (VIT): 10
Agility (DEX): 14
Intelligence (INT): 14
Wisdom (WIS): 10
Charisma (CHA): 10
Luck (LCK): 10
[Unallocated Stat Points: 5]
[Skills]
- [Transmigrator's Blessing (Unique)]
- [Analysis (Unique)]
[Unallocated Skill Points: 1]
Five stat points. It was a fortune. Where to put them? My first instinct was to shore up my weaknesses. A point in Strength, a point in Vitality. But then the min-maxer in me took over. In the early game, it's almost always better to specialize, to lean into your strengths. My victory over the slime wasn't because of strength; it was because of my high INT allowing me to form a plan and my DEX allowing me to execute it.
My biggest problem right now was my survivability. My HP, which I assumed was tied to Vitality, was dangerously low. One solid hit from a stronger monster and I'd be dead. So, Vitality was a priority. I decided on a balanced approach, for now.
'Put two points into Vitality,' I thought, focusing on the stat line. The number flickered and changed. VIT: 12. A subtle warmth spread through my chest, a feeling of... solidity. I felt a little hardier, a little less fragile.
'Put two points into Intelligence.' INT: 16. My mind felt sharper, clearer. The thoughts came faster, more ordered. It was like upgrading my brain's RAM.
'Put the last point into Dexterity.' DEX: 15. A lightness filled my limbs. I felt more balanced, more coordinated.
This felt right. I was tougher, smarter, and faster. Strength could wait. I wasn't planning on getting into a fistfight with an ogre anytime soon.
Now for the skill point. This was a much bigger decision. I focused on the skill section. A new option appeared.
[Available Skills]
- [Stealth (Common)]
- [Sprint (Common)]
- [First Aid (Common)]
- [Tool Crafting (Common)]
A list of basic, common skills. They were all tempting. [Stealth] would make sneaking past monsters easier. [Sprint] would be a lifesaver for escaping. [First Aid] was self-explanatory. But [Tool Crafting]… that seemed fundamental. The ability to create tools was what separated early humans from every other animal. It was the foundation of technology, of civilization. With my high INT, I might be able to make some decent gear.
'Spend one skill point on Tool Crafting,' I commanded.
The skill point vanished, and a new entry appeared in my skill list.
- [Tool Crafting (Common) - Lvl 1]
I immediately focused on it, hoping for a description.
Ding.
[Tool Crafting (Common) - Lvl 1]
[Description: The basic knowledge of how to shape raw materials into simple tools. Allows you to create items like crude stone knives, basic cordage from vines, and simple wooden spears. Success and quality of crafted items are dependent on your INT, DEX, and the quality of the materials used.]
Perfect. This was exactly what I needed.
My attention turned back to the remains of the slime. In the middle of the gray, flaky dust, something was glowing with a soft blue light. I cautiously approached it. It was a smooth, marble-sized sphere of gelatinous blue material, pulsing with a gentle energy. It was the only part of the slime that hadn't been destroyed by the alkali powder.
"[Analysis]."
Ding.
[Lesser Slime Core]
[Rarity: Common]
[Description: The condensed mana core of a Lesser Blue Slime. It contains a small amount of pliable elemental essence. A common ingredient in basic alchemy and enchanting.]
[Value: Approx. 10 Coppers]
Loot! And it had a monetary value! 10 Coppers. That implied a whole economic system. Coppers, probably Silvers, maybe even Golds. This little blue ball was my first piece of treasure. I picked it up. It was cool and slightly squishy to the touch. I carefully wrapped it in a leaf and tucked it into my pocket, separate from the Alkali Stones.
The suns were noticeably lower in the sky now, casting long, dual shadows. The lavender sun's light was growing more prominent, bathing the forest in an eerie, beautiful twilight. I needed to find shelter, and fast.
With my new [Tool Crafting] skill, my options had expanded. I wasn't just looking for a hole to hide in anymore. I could make my own defensible space.
I followed the stream for another twenty minutes until I found a promising spot: a shallow overhang in a rocky cliff face next to the stream. It wasn't a deep cave, more like a wide, curved indent in the rock, about five feet high and ten feet deep. It was open on one side, but it offered protection from above and from three sides.
First, I needed a weapon. My bare hands and a bag of powder weren't going to cut it. I searched the area for materials. I found a fallen branch from a sturdy-looking tree ([Analysis] called it [Toughwood], a common but resilient wood). It was about five feet long and reasonably straight. I also found a piece of flint, which [Analysis] helpfully labeled as [Sharp Flint - Common - Can be knapped to create a cutting edge].
Now to use my new skill. I sat down with my materials. I held the flint in one hand and a hard river stone in the other. I focused on the idea of a knife, a sharp edge. The [Tool Crafting] skill seemed to guide my hands, feeding me instinctual knowledge. I knew, without knowing how I knew, the right angle to strike the flint, the amount of force to use.
Chip. Chip. Crack. My first few attempts were clumsy. I smashed my thumb once, letting out a yelp of pain. My 10 STR meant my blows were weaker than I'd like, and my hands, uncalloused and soft, were already getting sore. This wasn't an instant process like in a game menu. It required real, physical effort. But my high DEX gave me the fine motor control to make precise adjustments, and my high INT helped me learn from each failed strike.
After about half an hour of frustrating, painstaking work, I had something. It was a crude, ugly thing, but it was unmistakably a sharpened piece of flint. It was about four inches long, sharp on one side, and dull on the other where I could grip it.
[Crude Flint Knife]
[Rarity: Trash]
[Attack Power: 2-3]
[Description: Your first attempt at tool making. It's ugly, uncomfortable to hold, and liable to break. But it's better than a sharp stick. Barely.]
"Hey, I'm proud of you, you ugly piece of trash," I told the knife. It felt good to have made something. Attack Power 2-3. It wasn't much, but it was infinitely better than zero.
Next, the spear. I used my new knife to laboriously strip the bark off the Toughwood branch and sharpen one end to a point. It took forever. The wood was, as its name implied, tough. My hands were red and blistering by the time I was done.
[Crude Wooden Spear]
[Rarity: Trash]
[Attack Power: 4-6]
[Description: A pointy stick. The pinnacle of early-game weaponry. Gives you a slight advantage in reach. Try not to poke your eye out.]
Attack Power 4-6. Now we were talking. With my base 10 STR, I wasn't going to be one-shotting anything, but the reach was a huge advantage. It meant I could poke things from a safer distance.
With my new arsenal, I turned my attention to my shelter. I used the spear to clear out the undergrowth in front of the rock overhang. Then, I gathered a pile of fallen branches and Razorvine (which I handled with extreme care, using two sticks as tongs). My plan was to create a simple, thorny barrier across the open front of my shelter while I slept. It wouldn't stop a determined attacker, but it might deter or at least slow down anything that wandered by in the night.
As the last sliver of the yellow sun dipped below the horizon, the lavender sun began to glow more brightly, casting the world in shades of purple and deep blue. The bioluminescent Glimmerferns and mushrooms on the forest floor began to shine more intensely, creating a breathtaking, otherworldly landscape of moving lights. It was beautiful, but also deeply unsettling. New sounds began to fill the air—low hoots, distant howls, and strange, chittering clicks from the darkness between the trees.
I retreated into my shelter, pulling my thorny barricade of Razorvine into place. It was a flimsy defense, but it was better than nothing. I sat with my back against the cold stone, my new spear held tightly in my hands, my crude knife tucked into my belt.
I was alone, millions of miles from home, in a world full of monsters. I was tired, sore, and scared. But for the first time since I'd arrived, I felt a flicker of something other than fear. I felt a sense of accomplishment. I had survived my first day. I had leveled up. I had crafted tools and secured a shelter.
I closed my eyes, looking at my status screen again. It was a comforting sight in the darkness. Level 2. My stats, slightly improved. My new skills. It was proof of my progress.
A low growl echoed from somewhere deep in the woods. My eyes snapped open, my knuckles white on the shaft of my spear. I heard the scuttling of something with too many legs just beyond my barricade.
"Flesh… warm flesh… so close… must feed…" the thought, scratchy and venomous, seeped into my mind.
My heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs. This was my new reality. There were no save points. No respawns. There was only me, my wits, and the system that governed this world.
I took a shaky breath. "Alright," I whispered into the glowing, dangerous night. "Come on, then. Round two."
The next few days passed in a blur of cautious survival. I didn't dare venture far from my streamside shelter, which I began to slowly improve. I spent hours using my flint knife to cut down smaller saplings, weaving them into my Razorvine barrier to make it thicker and more formidable. I learned to make cordage from the fibrous inner bark of a certain vine ([Analysis] called it [Tangleroot]), which I used to lash my flint knife to a short, sturdy stick, creating a crude but effective hatchet.
[Crude Flint Hatchet]
[Rarity: Trash]
[Attack Power: 3-5]
[Description: An ugly but functional tool for chopping wood and desperate self-defense. Your craftsmanship is improving, but don't submit this to any artisan guilds just yet.]
My life fell into a simple, primal rhythm. Wake with the dual suns. Forage for Sunberries and clean water. Hunt small, low-level creatures for EXP. Work on improving my tools and shelter. Sleep fitfully, spear at the ready.
My [Transmigrator's Blessing] was both a gift and a curse. It gave me unparalleled intelligence on my enemies. I learned to distinguish the mindless hunger of the slimes from the cunning, pack-based thoughts of the [Shadow Weasels] (Level 3, fast and vicious) that hunted at dusk. I once hid motionless for an hour, pressed into a crevice, while a [Grave Beetle] (Level 5, heavily armored) lumbered past, its thoughts a slow, grinding monologue about finding corpses to lay its eggs in. The ability was horrifying, but it kept me alive.
My primary source of EXP became the Lesser Blue Slimes that frequently appeared along the stream. I had perfected my alkali powder technique. I was a professional slime-genocider. Each one gave 15 EXP. It was a slow grind, but it was safe. After two days of dedicated slime-slaying, I dinged again. Level 3. Five more stat points. I put two more in VIT (up to 14), two more in INT (up to 18), and one more in DEX (up to 16). I was becoming a true glass cannon—smart and fast, but still liable to shatter if something big looked at me funny. My new skill point went into [Stealth].
[Stealth (Common) - Lvl 1]
[Description: The ability to move silently and reduce your presence. Effectiveness is based on your DEX, your environment, and the target's perception. Reduces noise from movement by 20%.]
The change was immediate. As I moved, my footsteps seemed lighter, the rustle of my clothes quieter. It was a subtle but powerful advantage.
On the fourth day, I got bold. I'd seen a creature several times near a grove of Sunberry bushes: a [Tusked Hare], Level 4. It looked like a rabbit the size of a beagle, with two small, sharp tusks curving up from its lower jaw. [Analysis] told me it was a herbivore but would charge aggressively if threatened. Its meat was supposedly tough but edible.
Food was becoming an issue. Sunberries were great for a quick energy boost, but my body craved protein. I needed real food.
I spent half a day observing the hare from a distance, using my new [Stealth] skill. I learned its patrol path, where it ate, where it rested. Its thoughts were simple, concerned with berries and avoiding the shadows where weasels lurked.
My plan was a trap. I used my hatchet to sharpen several stakes of Toughwood. Then, I found a narrow game trail the hare used and dug a shallow pit with my bare hands and a flat rock. It was exhausting work. I lined the bottom of the pit with the sharpened stakes, pointing upwards. Then I covered the pit with a flimsy lattice of twigs and leaves, camouflaging it perfectly.
I hid in a nearby bush and waited. And waited. After two hours, the Tusked Hare came hopping down the trail. "Berries… good berries… sun is warm…"
It hopped directly onto my trap. There was a crack of breaking twigs, a surprised squeal, and then a sickening thump. The hare's thoughts cut off in a burst of pure pain and then silence.
I waited a full ten minutes, heart pounding, before approaching. The hare was impaled at the bottom of the pit. It was a gruesome sight, but a wave of pride washed over me. I had used my intelligence to hunt, to outsmart a creature stronger and faster than me.
[You have defeated a Tusked Hare!]
[You have earned 40 EXP!]
40 EXP! Way more than a slime. The risk had been worth it. Hauling the heavy carcass out of the pit was a struggle for my 10 STR, but I managed it. Now came the hard part: butchering it. I had my flint knife, but no experience. The next hour was a messy, bloody affair that I would rather not describe in detail. But by the end of it, guided by a grisly sort of trial and error, I had several cuts of meat and a [Tusked Hare Pelt].
[Analysis] on the meat confirmed it was edible, and the pelt was a [Common] material used for basic leatherworking. More resources.
But I had a problem. Raw meat. I needed fire. I had flint, but I needed tinder and a steel striker. I tried striking my flint knife against a piece of iron ore I'd found, but it only produced a few pathetic sparks. I needed a better solution.
My 18 INT churned. Fire… friction… a bow drill? I'd seen it on survival shows. It was notoriously difficult. But I had the tools. I could make a bow with a flexible sapling and some Tangleroot cordage. I had a spindle and a fireboard made from dry, soft wood.
It took me the rest of the afternoon. My arms ached from the sawing motion of the bow drill. My hands were raw. I failed over and over. But I refused to give up. As the lavender sun painted the sky, a thin wisp of smoke finally curled up from the fireboard. I gently transferred the glowing ember to a small bundle of dry moss and bark shavings I'd prepared. I blew on it, carefully, gently.
The ember glowed brighter. A tiny flame flickered to life.
I have never felt a sense of triumph so profound as in that moment, watching that small, dancing flame. It was more satisfying than any raid boss I had ever defeated. It was light. It was warmth. It was safety. It was cooked meat.
That night, for the first time, I ate like a king. The Tusked Hare meat was gamey and tough, seasoned only with a sprinkle of crushed alkali salt (I used it sparingly), but it was the most delicious meal I'd ever had. I cooked it on a spit over my precious fire, the flames keeping the eerie glows of the forest at a distance. For the first time, the chittering and howls from the darkness sounded a little less threatening.
I saved the pelt and the tusks. The tusks, [Analysis] told me, could be carved into arrowheads or sold for a few coppers. I was accumulating wealth, bit by bit.
On my fifth day, I made a discovery that changed my objective. While following the stream further downstream than I'd ever gone before, my path was blocked by a massive, sheer cliff face. But carved into the base of the cliff was a path. It wasn't a natural game trail; the stones were too evenly spaced, the sides too deliberately cleared. It was a road. Or the remains of one.
My heart leaped. A road meant people. It meant civilization.
I followed it for hours, my excitement growing with every step. The forest began to thin, the colossal Ironwood trees replaced by smaller, more familiar-looking pines and oaks. I saw signs of recent passage: a cut stump that [Analysis] said was only a few weeks old, the faint tracks of a wheeled cart.
Finally, as the twin suns began to set, I crested a low hill and saw it.
Nestled in a wide valley below was a town.
It wasn't a grand city. It was a small, rustic settlement, encircled by a high wall made of sharpened wooden logs. A plume of gray smoke curled up from a chimney within the walls, promising warmth and hearths. I could see the thatched roofs of several dozen buildings and a single stone tower that might have been a watchtower or a chapel. A dirt road led from my position down to a large, fortified gate.
I had found it. Civilization. The end of the tutorial zone.
I didn't rush down. I was a stranger, dressed in bizarre clothes. My jeans and t-shirt, now filthy and torn, would mark me as an outsider instantly. I retreated back into the woods, finding a concealed spot on the hill that gave me a perfect vantage point over the town's entrance. I would watch. I would learn.
I used [Analysis] on the wall.
[Sturdy Pine Palisade]
[Rarity: Common]
[Description: A defensive wall made from sharpened pine logs, reinforced with iron bands. Offers decent protection against low-level monsters and opportunistic bandits. A sign of a community that values its safety.]
I watched the gate. Two guards stood watch, armed with spears and wearing leather armor. They looked bored. I focused on one.
[Milo, the Town Guard]
[Level: 5]
[Race: Human]
[Description: A guard of the town of Oakwood. He's thinking about the stew his wife is making for dinner and wishes his shift was over.]
Level 5. A normal town guard was a higher level than me. That was a humbling thought. And my [Analysis] was giving me his name and his thoughts? No, not his thoughts. Just a snippet of his current state. A subtle but important difference from the raw, unfiltered thoughts I got from monsters via [Transmigrator's Blessing].
And the town had a name: Oakwood.
As I watched, a farmer driving a cart pulled by a large, six-legged bovine creature approached the gate.
"[Analysis]."
[Ox-Beast (Domesticated)]
[Level: 3]
[Rarity: Common]
[Description: A common pack and farm animal valued for its strength and docile nature. Can be milked or raised for its meat.]
The guards greeted the farmer by name. Thanks to [Transmigrator's Blessing], I understood their conversation perfectly.
"Evenin', Hobb," said one guard. "Bit late on the road, ain't ya?"
"Aye, Milo," the farmer replied, his voice weary. "Had a wheel get stuck in a rut two miles back. Took me an hour to get it free. These woods ain't safe after sundown."
"You can say that again," Milo grumbled. "Heard a pack of Howlers up on the ridge last night. Keep your doors locked tight."
The cart rumbled through the gates, which were then closed with a heavy, wooden groan.
I processed the information. The town was called Oakwood. The people were human. They spoke a language I could miraculously understand. They faced threats from the woods, just like me. They had a functioning community.
This was my goal. I needed to get inside that town. I needed to find a way to blend in, to earn a living, to gather information about this world. Was there a way back home? Were there other people like me? These were questions I couldn't answer hiding in the woods.
My current appearance was a major problem. I looked back at my Tusked Hare pelt. An idea began to form. It was a crude, barbaric thought, but it might just work.
I spent the night carefully cutting the pelt with my flint knife. I used Tangleroot cordage to fashion it into a rough, sleeveless tunic that I could wear over my t-shirt. I used mud and dirt to further stain and disguise my jeans, making them look like roughspun trousers of an indeterminate brown color. I ditched my sneakers, which were falling apart anyway, and used the leftover pieces of the pelt to create crude foot-wrappings, tied on with more cordage.
When I was done, I looked like a savage. A wild man from the woods. But, crucially, I no longer looked like someone from another world. I just looked poor and desperate. In a rustic frontier town, poor and desperate might just be common enough to go unnoticed.
I gathered my meager possessions: my spear, my hatchet, my water-pouch made from a hollowed-out gourd, and my small collection of loot—the slime core, the hare tusks, and a few shiny quartz fragments. This was my starting capital.
The next morning, as the twin suns rose, I took a deep breath and began my descent toward Oakwood. My heart was a drum in my chest. This was a bigger risk than fighting a slime or a hare. People were more complicated, more judgmental.
As I approached the gate, the guards, Milo and another one I hadn't seen before, straightened up, their hands tightening on their spears. Their eyes raked over me, taking in my wild appearance and crude weaponry.
"Halt! State your business!" the new guard called out, his voice sharp.
This was it. My first social encounter. My CHA was a measly 10. I couldn't rely on charm. I had to rely on my story. I was a survivor from the wilds. Lost. Looking for safety.
I stopped a respectful distance away, holding my hands up slightly to show I meant no harm. I made my face look weary and haggard, which wasn't difficult.
"I… I seek entry," I said, my voice raspy. "My name is Alex. I've been lost in the woods for… for days. My camp was overrun by beasts. I'm all that's left."
The guards exchanged a skeptical look.
Milo, the one from yesterday, stepped forward. His eyes were wary, but held a hint of pity. "Lost, you say? From where?"
"A prospecting camp, east of here," I lied, pulling a detail from a generic fantasy backstory I'd once created for a D&D character. "We were searching for iron veins in the hills."
"The eastern hills are crawling with Goblins this season," the other guard grunted. "You're lucky to be alive."
"I know," I said, letting my shoulders slump. "I have a few things… monster parts. I was hoping to sell them. Just for enough coin for a hot meal and a bed for the night."
I showed them the slime core and the tusked hare tusks in my palm. Milo's eyes flickered to the items. [Analysis] had told me they had value. This was the proof.
Milo nodded slowly. "They look genuine. Alright, listen up, wild man. We'll let you in. But there's a two-copper entry tax for non-residents."
A tax. Of course. "I don't have any coin," I said honestly. "But… maybe one of these is worth two coppers?" I offered him one of the small hare tusks.
He looked at the tusk, then back at my pathetic state. He sighed, a long, drawn-out sound of a man who was tired of his job. "Fine. Keep your tusk. Consider it an act of charity. But no trouble, you hear me? Any trouble, and you'll be dealing with me and the Captain. Head to the 'Gilded Griffin' inn if you need a room, or the market square to sell your junk. Now get in before you attract something."
He stepped aside. The heavy wooden gate creaked open just enough for me to slip through.
I mumbled my thanks, my head bowed, and walked past them. The moment I stepped over the threshold, from the wild, untamed forest into the man-made order of the town, I felt a profound sense of transition.
The tutorial was over. The real game was about to begin.
The air inside the walls was different. It smelled of woodsmoke, livestock, baking bread, and unwashed bodies. It was a dense, human smell. The town of Oakwood was bustling with morning activity. A blacksmith's hammer rang out from a nearby smithy. Merchants were setting up stalls in a central square. Children chased a stray dog down the muddy main street. People of all shapes and sizes, dressed in simple tunics, leather jerkins, and roughspun dresses, went about their business, occasionally throwing curious or suspicious glances my way.
I was an anomaly, a glitch in their system. But I was inside. I was safe, for now.
I clutched my spear tightly, my eyes wide, taking in everything. My gaze fell upon a sign hanging over a large, two-story building: a carved wooden griffin painted a garish gold. The Gilded Griffin.
I looked down at the slime core in my pocket. My ticket to a meal and a roof over my head.
Taking another deep breath, I started walking towards the center of town, a Level 3 Transmigrator in a world I was only just beginning to understand, with 18 INT, a pocketful of monster parts, and a desperate, burning desire to survive. And maybe, just maybe, to thrive. The first chapter of my new life had just begun.