"Ahh, I'm screwed. Absolutely, monumentally screwed."
Arsin groaned, his breath misting in the freezing air. His fingers ached, his boots sank into knee-deep snow, and the mountain wind screamed like it wanted him gone.
"Arsin, are you alright?" one of the three figures shouted — two middle-aged men and a woman, all dressed like travelers.
Arsin?He blinked. Does she mean me?
Countless questions whirled in his head, but one thing became clear: the blinking blue windows, the quest notifications, the text formatting — it all screamed Chronicles of the Fallen. His favorite RPG.
He'd spent eight years grinding every route, every hidden ending, and now… he was inside it. Literally.
His gaze snapped to the translucent message hovering in front of him.
[Time Remaining: 2 hours 00 minutes 00 seconds]
"Great," he muttered. "First I wake up in someone else's body, and now the game's trying to delete me. Perfect start."
The wind howled louder, carrying flecks of snow that bit at his skin like needles.
He clenched his fist. "Think, Arsin. Think."
He knew the game's structure better than anyone. Tutorials were unpredictable — handcrafted nightmares meant to force new players into desperate survival. But this? Starting in a blizzard, surrounded by NPCs? He'd never heard of it.
"If this is really the tutorial phase," he murmured, glancing at the three travelers trudging ahead, "then those three must be story NPCs. And that means... I can ignore them."
He remembered the golden rule among veterans: Never trust Tutorial NPCs.They were designed to die — scripted cannon fodder to teach the player what fear tasted like.
In other words, following them meant joining their funeral march.
"In order to survive," Arsin said under his breath, "there's only one thing I can do…"
He tightened his scarf and turned around.
"Run."
And he did — bolting through the snow, ignoring the shouts behind him.
"Where are you going, kid!?" one of the men yelled.
But Arsin knew better. If the NPCs were here, that meant the phase's Boss wasn't far. Staying with them was suicide. The boss would target the NPCs first… then him.
A low, guttural sound rolled through the valley.
—RRAAAAGGHH!!
The mountains trembled. Snow cascaded from the cliffs like waterfalls of white.
At first it was distant, almost like the growl of thunder. Then it grew — deeper, sharper, closer.
The sound carried through his bones, vibrating in his chest.
"The hell…" Arsin whispered, turning his head toward the horizon.
Dark clouds swirled far in the distance, and within them, faint crimson sparks flickered — unnatural, violent.
"This is no good. That roar… it's the boss. It's close."
He forced his legs to move faster, but every step felt heavier. His shoes slipped on the frost; his breath came out ragged.
"Why is it always me!?"
He could almost hear his heart beating faster than his footsteps. Panic clawed at his chest.
"I have to make an impact to the story? Does that mean I have to defeat the boss? Are you kidding me? I don't even have any skills yet!"
The wind swallowed his words, and then —
—ARRGHHHH!
The screams of the NPCs ripped through the storm.
He didn't dare look back.
[Time Remaining: 1 hour 50 minutes 10 seconds]
"Damn it!" Arsin hissed. "At this rate, I'll be erased before the cold kills me."
He needed something — anything. A plan, a shelter, an advantage.
Then, through the snowstorm, something glimmered.
A faint reflection — like light bending the wrong way.
He squinted. There, amidst the chaos of white and gray, one mountain slope seemed off. Its surface shimmered slightly, as though covered by glass.
For anyone else, it would've gone unnoticed. But Arsin wasn't just anyone — this world was his obsession.
"An illusion zone?" he muttered, eyes widening. "There's no way..."
In the game, illusion zones were hidden pockets of space — cloaked structures created by artifacts to hide secrets or treasures. The only giveaway was the faint distortion of light.
His pulse quickened. "There must be something important there."
He started sprinting toward it, forcing his legs to move even as the snowstorm intensified.
Thunder boomed overhead, and a wall of snow erupted as an avalanche roared down a nearby cliff.
"Great. Nature's trying to kill me too."
Visibility dropped to nothing. The storm was a white void now, howling and merciless.
Then —
—THUD.
The ground shook.
Snow sprayed up around him like mist.
"...Oh no."
A deep, bestial breath echoed from behind. He didn't need to turn to know what it was — but his body betrayed him. Slowly, he glanced over his shoulder.
Through the haze, he saw them — two colossal eyes glowing through the storm, crimson and unblinking.
Each breath the creature took sent shockwaves through the air. Its outline was faint, but the sheer mass of it made the mountains seem small.
Arsin's throat went dry. His fingers trembled.
It was a Frost Warden
A mythical monster from Chronicles of the Fallen. A creature that wiped out entire parties in seconds.
And now, it was staring right at him... right into his soul
Arsin's lips twitched into a disbelieving grin. "Oh yeah, sure. Just defeat a legendary boss with no skills, no weapons, and a borrowed body. Easy win."
He laughed under his breath — part hysteria, part defiance — as the creature began to move.
Each step made the world rumble.
"Well… if I'm going to die," he muttered, raising his head, "I might as well make it look epic."
The snowstorm howled back.
And then, the Frost Warden roared.