"Ugh..." A groan echoed through the dump, filled with dirt and filth, as a figure sat on his butt, looking around in confusion.
"How did I end up here?" he muttered, anger evident in his voice. His disgust deepened as his eyes darted across the foul surroundings.
"What the fuck…" he whispered under his breath, forcing himself to get up — but the moment he tried to stand, his legs gave out. A sharp wave of pain tore through his body, sending him crashing back to the ground. Beads of sweat poured down his face as his expression twisted in agony.
Then suddenly, a rush of foreign memories flooded his mind. It was as if another life had been imprinted within him.
"Oh... so that's how it is." He exhaled shakily. "So I'm called Javon Sparta."
In his previous life, he had been a prince — the son of a mighty clan leader. His father was a man revered across their lands. But despite his noble birth, Javon had been born a trash — one who couldn't cultivate.
Even so, his father had never cast him aside and had still intended for him to inherit the clan. But his cousin, the clan's young prodigy, had felt unwilling to accept that fate… and schemed his death.
"So that's how I ended up here," Javon murmured in a daze. "I'm actually what they call... a transmigrator."
His memories blurred for a moment, a haze fogging his mind.
Crack...
"You have been chosen to represent your world. Survive and walk to greatness."
The voice boomed inside his head like thunder, so loud that it made him dizzy for what felt like an eternity.
"Survive and walk to greatness... Chosen by my world?" he repeated, bewildered.
"Hey, you! Have you forgotten where we are? Get your ass out of this dump before you get burned to death!"
Another voice shouted in his ears — this one human, sharp, and impatient.
The first had sounded divine, like the will of the universe itself. This one… belonged to someone else.
"It's you…" Javon whispered as memories aligned.
When he transmigrated, his soul had fused with that of a doomed servant — a man killed by an expert who coveted his sister.
The mishap had occurred during the transmigration itself. At the very instant Javon's soul arrived, there had been no dead body available in this new world — until a servant, mortally wounded and on the brink of death, appeared.
He had been forced to bargain with that dying soul to claim the body. It was his one-time transmigrator's ability — a desperate deal for survival.
"Yes, it's me," the voice replied coldly. "Now get the hell out of this dump. Don't stain my body any further."
"You're so rude..." Javon sighed helplessly at the harsh tone.
"Tsk, tsk. What would you do if you saw someone sitting comfortably in a trash heap — with your own body?" the voice retorted gloomily. "Huh, Javon Sparta or whatever you're called?"
"You..." Javon gritted his teeth. "Aren't you the one who got these grave injuries? You think you can endure this pain? By the way, this is my body now."
Silence.
Javon sighed. "Alright then, tell me — how should I address you?"
"…Javon Ewen."
Javon's face twitched. "How about this — I'll call you Ewen, and you'll call me Javon. Sound fair?"
"Fine," Ewen muttered.
With a relieved sigh, Javon endured the pain and forced himself to his feet, limping out of the dump toward the city. Along the way, he kept questioning Ewen about the world. Sometimes the man answered with excitement, sometimes irritation, and outright disdain.
"You mean to tell me you know nothing about this world?" Ewen asked in disbelief.
Scratching his nose awkwardly, Javon nodded. He didn't dare admit he was a transmigrator — who would believe such a thing?
He shrugged it off and kept walking toward the city gates.
"I'd advise you not to enter the city," Ewen warned suddenly, his tone cautious.
---
Outside the City
A formation of martial cultivators and cannon fodder marched toward the wilderness, ready for a raid. From afar, they looked like an army heading to war.
Among them, a man in the lead caught sight of Javon standing near the city gate, dazed. He frowned, signalling for his companions.
"Look at that young man," he said coldly. "He seems in good shape. He'll be useful for the raid."
"Oh? That one? He looks about eighteen or nineteen. Are you sure?" another asked.
"He seems strong enough," the leader said after a glance.
"Red Head, go bring him over," the leader ordered arrogantly.
"Yes, Leader Seth."
The man called Red Head, easily identified by his crimson hair, nodded and strode toward Javon, halberd in hand.
"Why can't I enter the city?" Javon asked, confused.
"I've been labelled dead meat," Ewen said grimly. "The guards will make things difficult for you."
"What about your sister?" Javon asked.
"She's not in the city anymore," Ewen replied. His voice grew heavy with grief.
Knowing better than to pry, Javon nodded silently.
"Alright then," he muttered, turning to leave — only to be stopped by the red-haired youth.
"What do you want?" Javon asked, frowning.
"Hmph." The red-haired man sneered. Before Javon could react —
Pah!
A red handprint bloomed on Javon's face. His eyes went cold with anger.
"How dare you talk back to me?" the man scoffed.
Javon's voice came out calm, but cold enough to freeze the air. "How dare you?"
"Hmph. Follow me," the man ordered, a faint glow of spiritual energy flickering around him as he turned away.
Javon's face darkened, but he followed in silence.
"Join the raid group," the man said curtly, pointing toward a cluster of weary figures behind him.
Javon glanced over — they looked exhausted, pale, and hollow-eyed. A chill ran down his spine.
"Ewen," he muttered inwardly, "where do you think they're taking us?"
"If I may correct you," Ewen replied dryly, "it's not them — it's us. They're going on a raid, probably near a newly discovered mine. You and those others are just cannon fodder."
"Oh, I see," Javon sighed. "But don't you think you're being a bit too calm about this situation?"
When the red-haired man noticed Javon's uneasy expression, he sneered but said nothing. To him, Javon was just trash.
With a quiet sigh, Javon joined the group. Some of the other cannon fodder gave him pitying looks, others smirked, and a few seemed outright glad to see another victim added to their ranks.
He nodded silently and marched with them. Along the way, he witnessed countless scenes that showed how harsh and alien this world truly was. But above all, he felt one emotion — terror.
The terror of weakness.
In his past life, even as a useless prince, his status had protected him. But now, he was just a servant. If he died here, no one would even remember his name.
The pressure weighed on his soul like a mountain.
Then, just as despair settled in —
"We have arrived."