The air was thick with the scent of damp earth, decaying leaves, and a coppery sweetness that made the stomach churn. A distant, guttural croak echoed through the oppressive quiet of the forest.
Oliver groaned, his head throbbing. He pushed himself up, his limbs feeling heavy as if he'd slept on a slab of stone. His hand landed on something slick and cold. He flinched, pulling back to see a dark stain on his palm. The sight that greeted him sent a jolt of ice through his veins.
Bodies. Dozens of them. They lay in a sprawling circle, contorted in final, desperate poses. Their skin was pale, almost translucent, and a strange, arcane symbol—painted in what looked like dried blood—was etched into the ground at the center of the macabre arrangement. He recognized the pattern; it was a distorted version of the insignia emblazoned on the rough-spun robes they all wore—robes he now realized he was wearing, too.
Emmet sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. "Damn, what the hell..." he muttered, stretching. As he looked around, his voice dropped. "Well, hell. What happened to these guys?"
"Doesn't matter," Oliver said, catching his breath. "We need to leave. We don't want to find out why they're dead."
"What are you doing?"
"Looking for anything useful," Emmet replied, already rummaging through the belongings of the corpses. "All we know is that we were sent here by some goddess to save the world, but as you can see, there's no one here to welcome us. theirs no saint or mage hear to help us so we've got to do what we must to survive and I'm not leaving empty-handed."
After a grim search, the duo found fresh clothing and two peculiar bracelets.
"Wear this," Emmet said, tossing a bundle of clothes to Oliver.
"Isn't this... a bit weird?" Oliver asked, eyeing the dead man's gear.
"Of course it's weird," Emmet snapped. "But we know nothing about this world. It's better to blend in than to walk around looking like we just stepped off a college campus. Hopefully, these bracelets are actually items we can use."
Oliver slipped the bracelet on. The moment the metal touched his skin, a translucent screen flashed in front of his eyes.
"Hey! You were right," Oliver said in amazement. "It's an item."
"See? My intuition is always on point," Emmet grinned.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Put yours on and tell me what your ability is."
Emmet slid the second bracelet onto his wrist and watched as his own status screen flickered into existence.
Oliver leaned back, adjusting the fit of his new tunic. "Soul Bound Blade," he read aloud. "It says I can summon a weapon that scales directly with my strength. Even crazier, I can mimic the form of any weapon I've seen before."
Emmet whistled, his own screen casting an orange glow over his face. "Solid. Mine is called Fist Sentinel. I can transform into an 'unstoppable engine of destruction'—a knight capable of conquering the stars if I get strong enough." He grinned, but then the light flickered. "Better memorize the details quick, Oliver; the power in these things is draining fast."
"Got it," Oliver muttered, watching the screen dim and vanish as the jewelry went cold. "No system, no guide, and now no screen. We really are on our own."
"Then we move North," Emmet declared, pointing toward a break in the massive canopy. "Plains mean visibility. Visibility means not getting eaten."
As they began the long trek, they turned to the only thing that felt real: the life they had just started back home.
"We were supposed to be sitting in a lecture hall for Intro to Psych right now," Oliver said, picking blue, teardrop-shaped berries from a bush. He sniffed them cautiously; they smelled like honey and rain. "Not scavenging for 'fantasy fruit' in a dead man's robe."
"Hey, look at the bright side," Emmet replied, popping a berry into his mouth. "No student loans. And honestly? I've read enough novels to know how this goes. The Hero tries to save the world and gets betrayed. Not me though. I'm finding a nice village, building a house, and settling down with an elf."
Oliver chuckled. "An elf? You're really sticking to the tropes, aren't you?"
"Damn right. High elf, dark elf—I'm not picky," Emmet said with a dreamy sigh. "As long as she's got the long ears, I'm sold. Or, honestly, even a long tongue. You know, for... communication."
Oliver stopped dead in his tracks. "A long tongue? Emmet, that is a strange fetish, man. We are in a survival situation and you're looking for a girl who can lick her own forehead."
"Don't knock it until we reach civilization!" Emmet laughed. "You're so lame, Oliver. Always wanting the 'vanilla' variety. You've got to mix it up! We're in a new world with probably a thousand races; you just have to find the right one for you."
"I'll stick to the human-looking ones, thanks," Oliver sighed.
After hours of travel, they found a small cave on the side of a hill, high enough to remain secure. It sat near a sparkling river and was surrounded by fruit trees. They immediately split their tasks to prepare for the night.
While Oliver gathered fruit and organized the interior of their new base, Emmet went into the forest to secure the perimeter. Using sturdy branches and vines, Emmet crafted a series of sophisticated traps: a fish trap for the river, several hanging snares, and a net trap for larger intruders.
As night fell, they settled around a small, shielded fire. The scent of roasting fish and warmed fruit filled the cave, offering a brief moment of peace.
"Not a bad start for Day One," Emmet said, leaning back against the stone wall.
"We survived," Oliver agreed, looking out at the darkening forest. "That's enough for now."
They finished their meal and drifted into a heavy sleep, resting their bodies for the long journey that lay ahead.
Waking up the next morning, the duo ate a quick breakfast and planned their next steps. Oliver instructed Emmet to craft stone spears and check the hanging traps in the forest, while he headed toward the river to check the fish traps and re-arm them if the bait was gone.
Walking through the forest, Emmet scanned the ground, picking up any stones that looked sharp or sturdy enough to serve as a spearhead.
He and his father had been camping enthusiasts back on Earth, often venturing into the woods near their home with only basic survival tools. They had spent years crafting the equipment they needed to forage, hunt, and set up camp. This passion for the outdoors had only deepened as Emmet grew older and discovered the fantasy genre; he became an avid fan of "isekai" stories, though he never truly thought he'd have to use his survival knowledge in a real life-and-death situation—especially not in a literal fantasy world.
As he continued walking, he realized that his strength and stamina had increased drastically. He was carrying a vine sack filled with heavy stones, yet it didn't feel heavy at all.
"Neat," Emmet thought to himself. "This makes things a lot easier."
After repairing a few of the hanging traps that had been damaged by the wind or small animals, Emmet started the trek back to camp. His traps hadn't caught anything yet, meaning they wouldn't be eating any meat other than fish for a while. Suddenly, his ears pricked up. He could hear the faint sound of a voice approaching him.
A person? he thought. Well, hopefully, If i can get some answers about this world. That would be great.
As he moved closer, Emmet finally caught sight of the figure through the brush. His heart skipped a beat. It was a woman—but not a human one. She was a demon.
Well, shit, Emmet thought, ducking behind a tree. Hopefully, she doesn't know I'm a hero, or this is probably going to end with me dying.
The low-rank demon woman had a striking, chaotic appearance. Her messy, dark hair was shot through with vibrant streaks of neon purple, and a matching glow radiated from her narrow, predatory eyes. She was dressed in tattered, dark gothic lace and buckled leather, complete with a spiked collar and a rose tattoo on her shoulder. Despite her fearsome aesthetic and small fangs, she seemed more like a scavenger than a soldier.
As Emmet stepped out from behind the tree, his silver eyes catching the morning light against his stark white hair, the woman froze. Her aggressive posture vanished instantly, replaced by a look of sheer, wide-eyed terror. She dropped to her knees, her forehead nearly touching the forest floor as she trembled.
"F-forgive me, my Lord!" she stammered in a shaky, high-pitched voice. "I did not know a member of the Royal Bloodline was hunting in these woods! Please, spare this lowly one's life!"
Emmet blinked, his hand still frozen halfway to a stone spearhead in his vine sack. He looked down at his own reflection in a nearby puddle—his white hair and silver eyes, traits he had inherited from his mother back on Earth, apparently carried a very different meaning in this world.
Royal bloodline? he thought, his survival instincts kicking into high gear. She thinks I'm a high-ranking demon.