The lightning didn't look like it did in the simulation. In Ancestral Wars, a bolt was a white texture streaked with blue, a particle effect that saturated the screen before a loading prompt. Here, it carried the scent of burnt ozone and the metallic taste of iron.
Lukas Fischer felt his lungs crushed under an unbearable atmospheric pressure. The ground—soft, wet, and heavy with mud—struck him like a concrete wall. He remained still, his face pressed into the cold muck, while thunder continued to tear the sky with its primordial roar. His heart hammered irregularly, each pulse echoing against his temples like a war drum.
Where is the helmet? Where is the chair?
He tried moving his fingers. They hit rough roots and sharp stones. This wasn't the synthetic leather of his office chair. Lukas slowly raised his head, fighting a violent vertigo. The forest around him was nothing earthly—at least, not the Earth of the 21st century. Colossal trees, their trunks flaring like cathedrals of dark wood, stretched toward a purple sky choked with ash and storm clouds. The vegetation glowed a harsh green, almost luminescent under the lightning.
Suddenly, a sharp pain radiated behind his eyes. A fine line of translucent blue light appeared in his vision.
[ETERNAL ARCHITECT SYSTEM: INITIALIZING…]
[USER: LUKAS FISCHER]
[SYNC 100%: WELCOME TO THE ERA OF ORIGINS]
Lukas grimaced, pressing a hand to his forehead. This was not a hallucination. The characters were in High-Gothic font—the same he had configured for his kingdom management interface. But there was no "Logout" button. His own body had changed: beneath his fingers, he felt dense muscles, firmer skin, and the scar of his avatar on his left forearm.
"This… can't be…" he muttered, his voice strangled by panic.
A dull crack behind him made him start. He spun around, breath short. Through the giant ferns, an enormous shadow took shape. This was no ordinary predator. The creature emerging from the foliage resembled a wolf—but the size of a polar bear, with fangs glowing an ethereal light. Its eyes, a sickly yellow, fixed on Lukas.
The survival game genius felt his player instinct kick in over fear. Threat Level: Extreme. Armament: None. Environment: Hostile.
He stepped back, desperately searching for something, a branch, anything. That's when the System vibrated.
[IMMEDIATE OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE]
[ENVIRONMENTAL ANALYSIS: OBSIDIAN DETECTED AT 2 METERS]
Lukas dove to his right, fingers clawing through the mud until he grasped a fragment of black, glassy rock. Obsidian—razor-sharp as a scalpel. But before he could rise, a whistle cut through the rain-saturated air.
A spear, its tip made from polished bone etched with blue runes, landed with millimeter precision between Lukas and the wolf-monster. The beast recoiled with a surprised yelp.
Lukas looked up. On a rocky overhang five meters above him stood a figure straight out of a brutal legend. A woman, impressively tall, clad in dark animal hides that revealed arms sculpted by war and covered in white ritual paint. Her hair, blond and nearly white, was braided with amber beads. She didn't look at him with compassion, only predatory curiosity.
It was Mathilde de Valois. Lukas immediately recognized the features of the legendary NPC from the Silver Wolves faction—but here, she radiated a physical and magical power no screen could convey.
With a graceful yet heavy leap, she landed in front of him. She was a head taller than him. She pointed a second javelin at his throat, barely glancing at him while keeping watch on the still-circling wolf.
"A lone male? In the Lands of Awakening?" she said in a hoarse voice, in a dialect Lukas strangely understood thanks to the System. "You bear no clan marks, no trace of magic. Are you a storm spirit… or exceptionally lucky meat?"
Lukas didn't lower his eyes. He gripped his piece of obsidian, blood flowing from the cut in his palm. The pain was real. The woman's scent—a mix of musk, rain, and smoke—was real.
"I'm not meat," Lukas said, steadying his voice. "I'm the one who'll keep you from starving this winter, Mathilde de Valois."
The warrior froze. The tip of her spear grazed Lukas's Adam's apple. Her blue eyes narrowed, filled with lethal distrust.
"How do you know my blood-name, stranger? The males of my tribe speak only when told to breed or carry burdens."
"I know many things," Lukas continued, his genius mind spinning. "I know your clan is losing territory. I know your bone spears shatter against Wyvern scales. And I know you're hungry."
The warrior's stomach betrayed a growl even thunder couldn't cover. She remained silent for a long moment, eyes flicking between the strange outsider in unknown fabrics and the threatening forest.
"If you lie, I will feed you to the Great-Claws," she finally said, lowering her spear slightly. "But a male who speaks with such arrogance deserves either death… or a chain."
She stepped closer, grabbing Lukas by the collar with astonishing strength, lifting him almost off the ground. She sniffed his neck, nostrils flaring. A possessive gleam passed through her eyes. To her, Lukas wasn't just a prisoner; he was a precious anomaly.
"You come with me, stranger. If your hands are as skilled as your tongue, you live. Otherwise…"
She left the threat unfinished, but Lukas understood the alternative. Behind her, other female silhouettes emerged from the woods, encircling the area with military efficiency. They all bore the colors of the Silver Wolves tribe.
Lukas was shoved forward. As he trudged through the mud, escorted by these prehistoric Amazons, the System interface glimmered again.
[QUEST UPDATE: CLAN INFILTRATION]
[RELATION STATUS: MATHILDE DE VALOIS — INTRIGUED / POSSESSIVE (5%)]
[ADVICE: DEMONSTRATE TECHNICAL SUPERIORITY TO AVOID RITUAL CASTRATION]
Lukas let out a bitter smile. The game was truly beginning. And in this world of warrior women and wild magic, he wouldn't just survive. He would become indispensable. He would become their master.
As they reached the top of a hill, Lukas finally saw what awaited him: a rudimentary hut settlement nestled in a valley, surrounded by rotting wooden palisades. Pathetic. Primitive. The blank canvas he had been waiting for.
He looked at Mathilde's back, admiring the power in her shoulders under the fine rain. She was the first piece on his chessboard. All that remained was to build the empire deserving of such a queen.