The sun was gone.
The last orange hues of twilight faded behind the canopy, replaced by a creeping, inky darkness that made every tree look like a monster and every gust of wind feel like a whisper in his ear. Crickets chirped, owls hooted, and somewhere in the distance… something howled again.
Inigo tightened the straps on his vest and glanced up through the leaves. The moon was out—half-covered by clouds, casting just enough light to see vague outlines but not enough to feel safe.
He was still in the middle of nowhere.
Still no village.
No roads.
No signs of life.
Just trees. Trees. More damn trees.
"Okay," he said aloud, voice cracking slightly, "new plan—don't die tonight."
His legs ached. His stomach had been growling for the past hour. He was starting to get cold. The forest at night wasn't just eerie—it was hostile. Everything rustled. Everything moved. Every broken twig felt like the next dire wolf.
He tapped open the Shop.
"Please have camping gear. Please…"
And under the Foods & Supplies & Equipments tab, there was a thing.
A list appeared:
1-Person Tactical Tent (Camouflaged) – 25 Tokens
Sleeping Bag (All-weather) – 10 Tokens
Portable LED Lantern – 5 Tokens
Firestarter Kit – 2 Tokens
Basic Cooking Pan – 3 Tokens
Collapsible Water Jug (5L) – 4 Tokens
Canned Beef Stew (Heat & Eat) – 6 Tokens
Inigo blinked. "Wait… this is cheap."
He scrolled further. Everything was practically budget-tier, even compared to the weapons. He guessed it made sense—camping wasn't as flashy as blowing something up, and the system clearly had its priorities.
He quickly tallied up what he needed and hit purchase.
[Items Purchased – 55 Tokens]
[New Token Balance: 34 Tokens]
A soft shimmer appeared in front of him as each item materialized in the grass with a dull clunk.
Tent. Sleeping bag. Lantern. Firestarter. A steaming can of beef stew.
His stomach growled again—violently.
"Screw setup," he muttered and tore open the can. The stew was already warm, just like it said. It smelled surprisingly good—chunky meat, bits of potato, thick gravy.
He downed it in minutes. It wasn't gourmet, but to someone who hadn't eaten since dying? It was heaven.
He wiped his mouth with his sleeve, sighed in relief, then finally stood and grabbed the tent.
The setup was idiot-proof. It popped into place with a few clicks and snaps. No rope. No hammering. Just tactical fast-assembly. He threw the sleeping bag inside and set the lantern near the flap, turning it on to a low setting.
The soft LED glow pushed the shadows away. Just a little.
He crouched outside the tent, glancing around the treeline with the Glock resting on his knee.
It was quiet again.
Too quiet.
"System," he whispered, "any alerts? Nearby threats?"
Still nothing. The HUD didn't ping.
He double-checked the tent's camo cover—it blended well into the surrounding foliage. Almost too well. From a few feet away, it would look like a lump of dirt and leaves.
Inigo crawled inside, zipped up the flap halfway, and set the Glock beside his sleeping bag, within reach.
The sleeping bag was warm. Soft. It adjusted to his body temperature automatically.
He let his head fall back and exhaled deeply.
The tent kept the sounds out, but not completely. He could still hear the wind, the occasional crunch of a twig, and the shifting of night creatures beyond the canvas.
But it was enough.
For now.
"This world is crazy," he muttered to himself. "Guns, monsters, systems… and I'm camping like it's a damn survival sim."
He stared at the lantern's glow.
"I need to find civilization. Get quests. Token grind. Stock up. This Glock won't cut it forever."
A pause.
"…Might need a rifle soon."
But that would cost more. A lot more. He'd burned over half his token stash just staying alive and warm tonight.
At least now he knew what was out here. And more importantly, what he needed to do.
Inigo pulled the sleeping bag tight, closed his eyes, and muttered one last thing:
"I'm not dying in a tent. I'm gonna be the guy who brought freedom to this fantasy hellhole."
***
Morning came with a chill breeze and birdsong.
Inigo's eyes fluttered open. For a moment, he expected to see the cracked ceiling of his favorite internet café, maybe even the glow of a monitor blinking a rank-up screen. But no. It was canvas above him, dimly lit by the morning sun peeking through the trees.
He sat up slowly.
This wasn't a dream.
It was real. All of it. The Glock on his chest. The tactical gear. The weirdly intuitive camping setup. And the bloodstain he'd washed off his gloves from the dire wolf the night before.
"Yep," he mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "Still isekai'd. Still not in Diamond."
With a yawn, he stepped out of the tent. Dew clung to the grass, and his breath fogged faintly in the crisp morning air. The forest looked… calmer. Less haunted. But he wasn't dumb enough to lower his guard.
He stretched his limbs and tapped the system HUD.
"Uh… how do I pack this thing up?"
The moment he said it, a new prompt blinked into existence.
[Would you like to store all active camping gear in your Inventory?]
[Yes or No]
"Seriously? That easy?" he muttered, then tapped [Yes].
In an instant, the tent, sleeping bag, lantern, and even the empty stew can shimmered and vanished in little pulses of blue light.
[Items stored in Inventory.]
"…Okay, I officially love this system."
He took a moment to check his remaining tokens—34—then holstered his Glock and started walking. This time, he wasn't aimlessly wandering. His pace had purpose. He didn't know where civilization was, but after last night, he knew he had to find it fast.
And luck, for once, was on his side.
After about an hour of trekking, he heard something unusual.
Hoofbeats.
Inigo froze, crouched low in the brush, and peeked through the trees.
A road.
An actual dirt road, carved between the forest with ruts and wheel tracks—and coming down it was a wooden carriage drawn by two brown horses.
His eyes widened.
People!
The carriage wasn't anything fancy—just a covered wagon with wooden wheels and a simple driver's bench. But it was flanked by two armed riders, one on each side, wearing leather armor and steel helmets. They carried spears on their backs and short swords on their belts.
The carriage itself was closed in the back, with canvas flaps drawn tight. Probably carrying cargo. Or people.
Inigo stayed low, observing. His instincts screamed to make contact—but so did his caution. He had a Glock. They had swords. He didn't know the language. He didn't know the laws. And if he walked up to them wearing foreign clothes and holding a metal stick, they might assume he was a bandit.
"Think, Inigo," he muttered. "You don't want to get stabbed just for saying hi."
Still, it was the first trace of civilization. He couldn't afford to just let it pass.
He took a deep breath and made a decision.
Keeping his Glock holstered and hands raised above his head, he stepped out from the brush and into the road.
"HEY!" he shouted.