Day 21
My legs ache. My throat is parched. I'm still walking, but I've stopped keeping track of the steps. It's pointless. All that matters now is how much farther I can go without collapsing.
Hunting has gotten easier—or maybe I've just grown numb to it. I still can't bring myself to kill with cold blood. No matter how much I've adapted, there's still a part of me that winces when the trap snaps, when the knife goes in. But the hunger? It's louder than my guilt now. I survive on roasted squirrel meat, foraged seeds, and whatever edible berries I've confirmed using my offline files.
The last few days, things have been… smoother. No more gunshots. No more distant engines. It's as if the world went quiet. That should've been comforting. Instead, it makes me nervous. This forest doesn't feel empty; it feels like something's waiting.
Back on Day 19, I was desperate for shelter and stumbled upon a cave. I thought I'd struck gold—until I saw the dead bear inside. Bullets riddled its thick body, blood drying on the walls, claw marks shredded into the stone floor. I didn't even dare to go in. I bolted. Some instincts still work.
And then there were the people—if I can still call them that.
I've seen them in the distance. Three different groups, all moving through the forest like they owned it. One group carried a gray flag, something like a coat of arms etched into it—a spear crossed over a crescent. Some of them looked my age, teenagers or barely adults, but they weren't kids. They wore uniforms, carried swords and guns, and a few even had those creepy priest robes with red linings and dangling beads.
Yeah, I'm pretty sure now: this isn't Earth. Or if it is, it's been twisted beyond recognition. A fantasy world, maybe even a post-apocalyptic one. Great. Just great.
I tried measuring time using my watch, but days and nights are off. Slightly longer? Maybe shorter? It's hard to tell. The sky is the only clock I have now.
And through all of it… my cheat hasn't arrived. No skill. No status window. No golden finger. Just sweat, blood, and old survival knowledge.
Screw the transmigration group chat. I bet they're laughing somewhere, watching me struggle while they chow down on grilled dragon steak in some other realm.
Day 24
The cave with the bear? I went back.
Call it stupidity or curiosity—or maybe I was just too tired of running from shadows. Either way, I went in, slowly, cautiously.
And there they were.
Two corpses.
One sprawled face-down, looked to be around 24 or 25. The other, slumped against a wall, closer to 40. Both full of bullet holes. The younger one still gripped a bloodied blade, the kind you'd see in an anime. The older man had a rifle clutched to his chest, empty, no bullets.
And the bear—what remained of it—was almost ripped apart. Flesh and organs scattered like trash. I guessed they fought over it. Maybe they came here together and greed turned them into enemies.
And yet, for some reason… I felt nothing.
No fear. No pity.
Just a dull, throbbing headache. Maybe I'm changing.
The novels always talk about loot. "If you find a corpse, search it. There might be something useful," they'd say.
So, I did.
I started with the young guy. I wrapped a strip of cloth over my face—half for the smell, half to keep my humanity intact. He had a wallet with unfamiliar coins and some printed paper money, a pistol with three bullets left, and a leather pouch containing what looked like dried meat. I buried him after that. Not out of kindness—just habit. Earth habits die hard.
The older man had less. A broken shotgun (damn it), a few worn-out books filled with text I couldn't understand, and something strange: a small, clear orb, smooth and weightless, like a marble but slightly warm to the touch. I hesitated, but in the end, I took it. Maybe it's important. Maybe it's junk. I buried him too.
I didn't forget the bear.
Or rather, what was left of it.
There was a hole where its heart used to be, a crater of gore. Around it, the grass was blackened, almost charred, but not by fire. Some kind of reaction? Magic? The thought chilled me. Whatever it was, it wasn't something I wanted to understand right now.
And then a thought hit me.
I buried the men.
If they belonged to a group, someone would notice their absence. They might come searching. If they find disturbed earth, they'll know someone was here. They'll hunt me down.
I scrambled back to the corpses, digging them up, placing them exactly as I found them—face-down, limbs spread, blood-soaked. I even arranged their belongings near them. Then I carefully covered my tracks, burned my gloves and wiped away every trace of my scent using ash and water.
I didn't want to, but I left the shotgun behind. Too risky.
Kept the pistol, though. Three bullets are better than none.
As I made my way back, I avoided the main trails. If they really do track scents or traces, I want to give them a damn maze to work with. And if not… I'll just keep moving. Deeper. Farther.
I set up camp later that night, just on the edge of a cliffside. The view?
Breathtaking.
No city lights. No smog. Just stars, scattered across a dark velvet sky like shattered glass. Some constellations were familiar; others, foreign. A whole other sky, yet still beautiful. I wished I could show this to Sam. He was the one who dragged me into that three-year survivalist club back on Earth.
Damn, Sam. If you're alive in your own world... thanks. You probably saved my life.
Day 25
The food's holding out. Barely.
I boiled some herbs I'd gathered into a soup that smelled like wet socks but tasted okay once I added salt and some dried meat.
Water is still a problem. I've mapped three springs, but none are permanent. Still, better than nothing.
As I crouched to adjust my makeshift firepit, I felt something shift in my jacket pocket.
I froze.
I didn't remember putting anything in there. Slowly, I reached in.
There, tucked in the inner lining, where I was certain nothing existed before, was a thin, black, rectangular object.
Smooth. Cold. Plastic.
It looked like a USB drive.
One I'd never seen before.
And that's when I felt it—not fear, not excitement, but something else.
Recognition.
Like it had always been mine.
Like it had been waiting.
—To Be Continued