"Come on, Baggins, this place is seriously creepy."
"Alright, mate, the kid's a broke loser. Not a single copper on him, damn it..."
"Figured..."
...
Hiss...
Why can't I move? My whole body feels like it's been torn apart. Man, this hurts...
What's going on? Did I black out from training or something?
Glen's ears picked up fragments of conversation as his consciousness dragged itself out of the fog. Feeling the weirdness in his body, he couldn't help but suck in a sharp breath.
When he opened his eyes, all he saw were the dark treetops silhouetted against a half-black sky.
Nearby, voices still carried on.
"If he's got nothing valuable, we should get outta here fast. Running into nosy types would be a pain."
"He's just lying there wasting space anyway. Guess I'll eat him."
"Suit yourself, but make it quick..."
The voices crept closer, and Glen's mind filled with questions.
Why do they sound so weird? The sentence structure's kinda close to English, but it's definitely not English! So why can I understand them?
Wait—eat him? Me?!
A chill shot through him. A bad feeling twisted in his gut. Fighting off the weakness, he forced himself upright.
"The kid's not dead?" A rough, foreign voice snapped nearby.
Glen turned toward the sound and locked eyes with a thick-bearded, hook-nosed guy in coarse, vaguely medieval European-style clothes. The dude was grinning at him like a predator. Behind him lurked a thinner figure hidden in the shadows, face invisible but clearly another Westerner by build.
Am I being kidnapped by foreigners? No way! With my martial arts skills and situational awareness, there's no way someone could sneak up and grab me like this.
Glen came from a family of fighters. After high school, he joined the military and ended up in an elite national unit—his instincts were razor-sharp. Yet none of that explained this.
Then he noticed the Western medieval outfit, the revolver at the guy's hip, and the dagger. Everything felt off. Even his own body was unfamiliar.
Could I have... transmigrated? Nah, that's nuts... But as crazy as it sounded, it was the only explanation that fit.
Suddenly, a flood of memories hit him, confirming the wild idea. This world... magic, dragons, elves, dwarves, steam tech, kingdoms... A string of fantasy keywords flashed through Glen's mind.
The original owner was named Dylan Nibanklu, born into a merchant family. Spoiled and reckless, he blew through cash living the high life. Maybe it was karma.
His mega-rich dad suddenly wrote saying the family had gone bankrupt—but secretly left the kids a bit of money to waste for a while. The letter warned Dylan never to come home.
Devastated, Dylan ignored the warning and rushed back, only to learn from his siblings that their parents were dead—killed by enemies, according to police reports.
After the funeral, the siblings split the tiny inheritance and scattered.
Dylan drifted aimlessly for months until he realized his pockets were near empty. He bought an absurdly cheap house in a remote part of the Zern Kingdom and settled in. Problem was, the place gave him the creeps—he lived in constant fear.
That morning, on his way back from buying groceries in the nearby town, he took a heavy blow to the back of the head and passed out cold.
And now... Glen's consciousness had awakened in this body.
So it really was transmigration... The info sank in instantly. Before he could overthink, Glen steadied his breathing and locked eyes on the approaching bearded man.
In his current state, taking on two grown adults head-on was nearly impossible.
But for a transmigrator like Glen, there was still a chance.
His gaze swept over both men, calculating.
"Why aren't you talking? Scared stiff? Just lie back down!"
The bearded guy barked arrogantly and reached out a thick arm to shove Glen down.
Right before that meaty hand touched him, Glen's eyes sharpened. His right hand curled into a striking snake-like shape, jabbing straight for the man's throat!
Neither thug saw the frail-looking "victim" as a threat. The sudden attack caught them totally off guard.
Feeling immense pressure on his neck, the bearded man jerked his head down, tongue sticking out like he might puke.
Glen yanked his right hand back and snatched the dagger from the guy's belt in one fluid motion, slashing across his throat.
The shadowy figure reacted, but it was already too late.
Glen pulled back his right hand, grabbed the bearded man's revolver, used the corpse as cover, flipped the safety, aimed, and fired.
BANG!
The gunshot shattered the eerie silence of the woods, sending birds scattering.
The guy in the shadows dropped, a bullet through his skull.
Everything flowed smooth as if rehearsed.
Glen shoved the dying bearded man aside; the guy clutched his throat, gurgling.
Suddenly, Glen felt a tearing pain in his stomach. He lifted his shirt and saw four fresh wounds—one already reopening, blood pouring out. Those bastards must've done it... He grimaced, tearing off a strip of cloth to press against the injury.
Then he noticed the bearded man wasn't quite dead yet.
Looking down, Glen's eyes widened.
The man's face was changing—mouth bulging outward, cheeks sprouting thick black hair like wild grass overtaking skin.
A werewolf. Glen instantly recognized it from the host's memories.
No hesitation. He raised the revolver and aimed for the forehead.
The guy needed time to finish transforming, and Glen wasn't about to give him that.
He pulled the trigger—
Click.
Nothing.
Glen fumbled with the hammer, tried again—still nothing.
He spun the cylinder. Empty.
Tossing the useless revolver aside, he switched the dagger to his right hand, lunged, and drove it into the half-healed wound on the werewolf's neck.
The half-transformed creature's strength was enormous. Even with Glen's weight advantage, it was a brutal struggle. His left hand slipped, and the partially wolfish head snapped forward, jaws lined with gleaming white fangs, biting deep into Glen's wrist.
Pain exploded up his arm, but Glen didn't stop cutting into the beast's neck. He was lucky—if the thing had gone all-out, he'd probably have lost the hand.
Finally, Glen separated the head from the body. The thrashing stopped, and the pressure on his left hand vanished.
Pulling his mangled wrist free, Glen didn't pause. Gasping hard, he charged the second body and beheaded it too.
Only then did he collapse, panting.
Starting off with that kind of danger—I almost bought it... Glen felt his heart pounding, nerves slowly unwinding.
Blood still seeped from his wounds. After catching his breath, he patched himself up, then gritted his teeth and staggered toward what he hoped was home.