Honkai: Strijder
Chapter 1: The First Thing to Do After Transmigrating Is Survive
Cold and hunger. These were the two clearest sensations Sigurd experienced when he opened his eyes.
He was dressed in thin, tattered clothes and wrapped in a filthy, foul-smelling piece of rag. With disheveled hair and a dirty face, he lay curled up inside a small bridge alcove that offered neither shelter from the wind nor protection from the snow. Outside was a desolate, modest European-style town.
However, Sigurd clearly remembered that not long ago, he had been nothing more than an ordinary office worker living in a peaceful world.
In the blink of an eye, the world had changed. His previously strong and healthy adult body had suddenly become that of a tiny homeless child, no more than ten years old.
"Is this a dream? But things in dreams shouldn't feel this clear and real, should they?"
"Or have I transmigrated into another world? But this starting situation is a little too miserable. I haven't exactly committed any heinous crimes in my previous life, have I?"
"No, I can't fall asleep here. With a body this weak, if I fall asleep, I might never wake up again."
The situation was absurd, but Sigurd had to remain clear-headed and rational. Whatever had happened to him, and whoever was responsible, he didn't want to die. Surviving was his absolute first priority.
There was no food inside the filthy, dilapidated bridge alcove, while outside lay a frozen landscape covered in snow and ice.
If he stayed curled up inside, his body would only grow weaker. If he ventured outside, he risked freezing to death. But at least there was still a glimmer of hope. Perhaps he could find some food or something else that would help him survive.
Sigurd shivered and struggled to his feet. After stumbling a few steps, he gradually adapted to his frail body and decided to venture outside in search of a chance to survive.
The moment his feet touched the snow and ice through his worn-out shoes, which exposed his toes on both sides, an icy sensation shot straight into his bones.
"Hiss..."
Sigurd couldn't help sucking in a breath of cold air before resolutely taking another step.
Time was precious. The longer he hesitated, the lower his chances of survival became.
Before long, he struggled his way onto one of the town's streets.
There were few pedestrians. Most were wrapped in thick clothing, hurrying along with their heads down.
Occasionally, someone would glance at Sigurd, casting either a pitying or disgusted look before silently quickening their pace and walking away.
It seemed that everyone was having a difficult time. Nobody had the spare energy to show compassion toward a little beggar like Sigurd.
So, should he resort to stealing or robbing someone?
When survival was at stake, such moral boundaries weren't necessarily that difficult to cross.
However, his small body and feeble strength clearly limited his ability to obtain food through these quick methods.
Whoosh...
A cold wind carrying snowflakes swept past, forcing Sigurd to tighten the thin, tattered cloth wrapped around his body. Even so, it did little to keep out the cold.
It seemed that begging was his only remaining option.
Sigurd was so cold that his teeth were chattering, but he shook his head inwardly.
It wasn't a matter of pride or embarrassment. When survival was at stake, dignity was irrelevant. The real problem was that, under these circumstances, begging probably wouldn't get him very far either.
Clenching his teeth, Sigurd continued walking, desperately thinking and searching for a way to survive. If there really was no other option, he would have to try begging first.
Rustle! Rustle! Rustle!
Suddenly, a sound different from the footsteps of the other pedestrians came from nearby.
Sigurd turned his attention toward it and saw a middle-aged man pushing a bicycle.
First, the man himself. He had a noticeably hunched back, and snowflakes clung to his face, which bore an expression of exhaustion and impatience. He was an ordinary man whose edges had been worn down by the hardships of life.
But what mattered most was the brown paper bag tucked under his arm. Peeking out from its opening, Sigurd spotted a corner of black bread.
Next, the bicycle...
A three-dimensional model instantly took shape in his mind. Force analysis, transmission system, structural decomposition, possible causes of failure—an entire series of details became crystal clear.
Then Sigurd glanced at the snow-covered ground nearby. His eyes settled on a suitably shaped stone and a dry branch of just the right thickness.
In another instant, a complete repair plan had taken shape in his mind.
'Wait! Hold on! How did my comprehension and analytical abilities suddenly become this powerful?'
'Forget it. Whatever the reason, I need to get something to eat first.'
"Sir, please wait!"
Sigurd immediately called out to stop the man.
The man, who was exhaling clouds of white vapor, paused and looked at Sigurd. His gaze fell upon the tiny, emaciated child whose entire body was trembling from the cold. Then he glanced at the food tucked under his arm.
After hesitating for a moment, he shook his head.
"I don't have any extra food. Go ask someone else."
He suppressed the compassion he felt deep down.
It wasn't that he was heartless. The problem was that he was genuinely poor. Every last bit of his income was needed to keep himself and his family alive. If he gave away food out of sympathy now, his own household might end up struggling later.
"I can fix your bicycle!"
Sigurd tried to make his voice sound a little more confident and composed to improve his chances of convincing the man. However, the words that came out of his mouth were still trembling from the cold.
"Don't mess arou—"
"My father used to do this for a living! I've watched him repair bicycles ever since I was little, and I often helped him out, too. I know how to do it! I can fix it!"
"Well, this..."
"Twenty minutes—no, ten minutes is all I need! Just give me ten minutes, and I can get your bicycle working again! All I ask for in return is three pieces of black bread! It's only ten minutes. Even if I fail, you won't lose anything. But if I succeed, all you'll have to pay is three insignificant pieces of black bread, and you'll be able to get home and warm up sooner. You won't be late for work tomorrow morning, either, and you'll save yourself a repair bill. Surely you can see what a profitable deal this is!"
Sigurd poured every ounce of his strength into delivering that speech as fluently and coherently as possible. It exhausted the energy he had managed to gather over quite some time, leaving him with no choice but to widen his eyes as much as he could and look at the man before him with desperate anticipation.
The man could see the pitiful, pleading expression on Sigurd's face, but he still hesitated.
"I'm just a little kid. What harm could I possibly do in front of a grown man like you? Please! I only want to exchange some work for a little food, just enough to keep me from starving to death today. I'm begging you. Please give me a chance!"
Sigurd pleaded once more.
Finally, he managed to move the man.
"Alright, but be careful. If you damage my bicycle, I'll be very angry."
The middle-aged man spoke helplessly, letting out a sigh.
He might get angry, but even if the child messed things up, the worst he would do was leave. He wasn't about to take his frustration out on a pitiful little homeless child.
'Oh, damn my soft heart!'
The man grumbled inwardly, somewhat worried that the situation might turn out even worse. If his bicycle ended up completely broken, where would he find the money to repair it?
Perhaps he should simply give the child a few pieces of bread and be done with it?
"Alright! Don't worry, sir. I'm a professional!"
While the man was still hesitating, Sigurd didn't give him time to reconsider. He quickly crouched beside the bicycle, and with a small stone, a wooden stick, and his hands already red from the cold, began the repair.
The man held the bicycle steady, watching in utter bewilderment as Sigurd used a small stone to slightly pry open the metal casing around the wheel before inserting the wooden stick inside.
After a series of smooth but completely incomprehensible movements, it was as though he had performed a magic trick.
Sigurd stood up and spoke with the air of someone presenting a miracle.
"It's fixed. You can try it now."
The man froze for a moment, then looked down at the bicycle. He turned the pedals and tested it for a while before looking at Sigurd in disbelief.
"You really fixed it just like that?"
"Someone who knows nothing about medicine could end up killing a person while trying to treat a common cold. A proper doctor, on the other hand, only needs a few doses of medicine and a couple of days. It's the same principle here. Someone who doesn't understand bicycles might spend half a day trying to repair one, while someone who knows what they're doing only needs a little skill and time. So, sir, could I have my bread now?"
The man glanced at the paper bag in his arms and sighed before handing the entire bag to Sigurd.
"There are six pieces of bread in here. You can have them all. If the bicycle is working again, I can just go back and buy some more. That won't take long. You're quite impressive, kid. Thank you!"
"I'm the one who should be thanking you for your generosity. Your honesty and kindness will save a helpless life. Without a doubt, that is a virtue worthy of praise."
"Ahahaha! You're exaggerating! Anyway, make sure you stay alive, alright? If things really get too difficult… My house is the third one after the corner over there. I think I can spare a few pieces of bread for you. Well, I'd better get going!"
Amid the ringing of the bicycle bell, the man rode away.
Meanwhile, Sigurd held the paper bag of bread, which still retained a little warmth. He took out a piece and bit into it with a satisfying crunch.
Dry, bitter, and tough.
But to someone on the verge of starving to death, it tasted like an unparalleled delicacy.
Filled with gratitude toward the kind stranger whose name he didn't even know, Sigurd ate a little less than half a piece of bread before stopping himself with tremendous willpower.
His current body was far too weak. Eating too much all at once would overwhelm his digestive system. He needed time to digest the food and gradually readjust to eating.
"Phew——"
Sigurd let out a long breath, tied the paper bag shut, and held it against his chest, using its residual warmth to keep himself warm.
Next, he needed to return to that bridge alcove. It wasn't an ideal place to rest, but at least it offered some protection from the falling snow.