Jun opens his eyes; the memory of his near-death is a chilling, recent sensation. He presses a hand to his forehead, recalling the terrifying spectacle of his inevitable demise—a horrifying ordeal he should not have escaped.
He faced an impossible situation, yet now, instead of the cold numbness of death, he is inhaling the soft, familiar scent of woodsmoke and old fabric. A thought surfaces in his head, 'I'm still alive?' as he takes a deep, clean breath—the first one in this world that feels untainted by a heavy, metallic air.
The ruins are gone. His surroundings have shifted to a small, wooden room. Through the tiny, light-seeping window, he can vaguely make out the silhouette of a quiet, unassuming town outside.
Just then, the door creaks open, and a man named Bander Walcroft enters. Roughly fifty-one, with a sturdy build and a face etched with thick lines and a full beard, Bander's gaze holds a mix of concern and simple friendliness.
"You're awake, lad?" Bander says, his voice rough but kind. "I figured I shouldn't leave you out there... brought you inside. You clearly aren't from around here."
Jun slowly sits up and instinctively checks his body.
Astonishing. There isn't a speck of injury. The gaping wound on his right thigh, inflicted by the shadowy fiend, is gone. The shoulder that the gaunt monster savaged is now flawless.
Jun fully expected to be consumed, yet he has woken up completely healed, just like the time he was struck by the terrifying scarlet eyes. This bizarre, repeated recovery leaves him utterly astonished.
As Jun internally wrestles with the inexplicable mystery, Bander continues.
"I'm Bander Walcroft. I've lived in this town with my family for a long time. I found you passed out by the riverbank last night while fishing. You had no injuries, but your breathing was dangerously rapid. I figured I'd bring you home to rest."
Jun speaks softly, his voice still shaky. "Th-thank you... and I... I'm not from here, and I don't know the local terms... I mean—"
"It's alright, lad," Bander interrupts gently. "Just call me Mr. Bander."
"Yes, Mr. Bander... and where exactly is this place?"
Before Jun can voice the hunger of his curiosity, Bander politely supplies the answer. "This is a small town called 'Mistveil'. It's a quiet settlement near the Western Border. A fair distance from the main Central Empire (Nadian Empire). Why?... Where are you from?"
Jun replies without hesitation:
"Actually... I don't even know where I'm from."
Bander asks again:
"Did you lose your memories?"
Jun gives a barely perceptible shrug, his gaze distant as he finally offers a hesitant answer.
"Perhaps."
In truth, Jun is deliberately concealing the fact that he has transmigrated from another world, fearing his revelation would be viewed as strange and unbelievable.
Bander, seeing the lost look in Jun's eyes, and he offers:
"If you have nowhere to go, lad, you can stay here for a while."
Jun's tense shoulders relax slightly. He quickly responds with polite gratitude.
"Thank you very much, Mr. Bander."
Mr. Bander's attire is typical of a seasoned local: an inner tunic of coarse, dingy brown linen is covered by a heavy black leather vest. This thick leather serves as protection against Mistveil's damp, cold climate.
His rough leather belt, securing his thick wool trousers, holds a small hunting knife. His thick beard and long, slightly oiled hair clearly mark him as a tough laborer—someone accustomed to the hard work of fishing and hunting outside the town's perimeter.
Jun fixes his gaze on Bander. "Then, Mr. Bander... when you found me, were there any thick grey mists around me? Or any strange, terrifying monsters?"
Bander furrows his brow. "What are you talking about, lad? I found you right by the river. Grey mists? None of that. Just the usual river mist. As for monsters, those are just old wives' tales we tell the children."
Jun looks at his body again. 'Were those terrifying events all just illusions in my mind? Or was it some kind of temporal or spatial displacement?'
"Then, Mr. Bander... is there a forest nearby that holds an ancient ruin?"
"A forest? There is a small wood not far from town where the Scouters occasionally patrol. But no ancient ruin like you speak of, lad."
Bander's words intensify the questions swirling in Jun's mind regarding his ordeal.
He then notices the complete change in his clothing. His modern garments are gone, replaced by the threads of this world, thanks to Bander Walcroft.
He is wearing a simple off-white linen shirt woven from natural, coarse cotton. The long sleeves puff slightly below the shoulders and are gathered at the wrists with tight cuffs—a medieval design focused on comfort and freedom of movement rather than aesthetics.
The neckline is a simple V bent-neck with a subtle stitch at the placket, a common style for hardworking locals like Bander.
His trousers are thick and rough, charcoal gray or dark brown, tucked neatly into a high-waist. Most notably, a double-layered, heavy dark-brown leather belt cinches his waist, featuring a complex metallic buckle. Two tiny leather pouches, used for coins or medicinal herbs, are attached to the belt.
Jun, now sitting on a dark, rough wooden chair, examines the clothes, his thoughts echoing the realization that his original world is indeed far away.
"By the way, Mr. Bander," Jun finally asks, looking at the tunic. "What happened to my original clothes?"
Bander looks up from mending a piece of linen. "You mean the long trousers you were wearing by the river? They were completely tattered. I burned them. They looked too tight, and I worried they weren't comfortable. What you're wearing now is what the locals wear. Doesn't look bad on you, actually." Bander chuckles.
Jun feels the coarse texture of the linen and the thickness of the leather belt. He recalls the copious blood that must have stained his original windbreaker and undershirt.
"Then... where are the clothes I wore on my upper body, Mr. Bander?"
Bander stops his work. "When I found you, you were only wearing those long, strange trousers. Your upper body was bare, and you were unconscious."
Bander's response is unsettling, yet it offers a strange comfort: at least he wasn't lying in a pool of blood, inviting unnecessary scrutiny.
Jun sits rigid on the chair, his body slightly leaned forward, his hands clasped tightly over his knees—not a position of rest, but of a soldier bracing for the next fight. His face is calm, but his eyes, staring straight ahead, are seeing a constant playback of the bizarre events that have brought him here.
Suddenly, the word "Scouter" from Bander's earlier mention snaps him out of his reverie. He shoots up from the chair and strodes quickly toward Bander.
"Mr. Bander... I—"
Bander, who is busy ladling a scoop of warm stew into a wooden bowl, cuts him off.
"Lad, I know you have many questions right now, but you look starved. You haven't eaten, have you? This is my 'Mistveil Stew.' Don't worry about the whispers of Black Soot from the machines; everyone in town eats it. Eat until you're full... then you can ask all the questions you want."
Bander extends the bowl of steaming stew to Jun.
Jun is indeed desperately hungry, though his mind has been too preoccupied to register it. At Bander's words, a loud, embarrassing 'Grumble!' erupts from his stomach.
Jun takes the bowl and prepares to eat.
He walks to the small table near the hearth. The table is made of thick, roughly assembled wooden blocks. Its surface isn't smooth, scarred by knife marks and burn spots, and stained dark by years of spills and the omnipresent Black Soot. It is clearly a piece of furniture meant only for survival and simplicity. The benches and stools surrounding it are equally rugged, reflecting the unpretentious life of Mistveil's inhabitants.
He takes a deep breath, letting the savory aroma of the stew fill his nostrils, a scent that carries a faint, nostalgic echo of his mother's home cooking. He looks down at the bowl.
The stew possesses an inviting Amber Hue, a mix of Golden Brown and Deep Plum, suggesting a rich, long-simmered broth rather than a thin soup. Golden oil droplets shimmer beautifully on the surface.
The initial aroma is a blend of fresh woodsmoke and earthy notes, followed by the warming scent of strong herbs and rich meat. It is a robust smell, a nourishing meal meant to combat the Mistveil cold.
Bander's stew is a compilation of the best the local area has to offer: lean cubes of game meat (rabbit or deer), evenly cut and tender from hours of cooking. They have a darkened outer layer and a faintly pink, appetizing interior. Roughly chopped turnips and red beets give the stew its thickness and a sweet, earthy depth. Dark grains or barley add to the hearty, starchy texture. A sprinkle of pale green herbs tops the bowl, a final touch that shows Bander's care even in this grim era.
Jun inhales the steam, an ancient, comforting warmth rising from the wooden bowl. It is the first luxury he will afford himself in this new, harsh world—a meal for survival.