Yun Ha-jin jolted awake, disoriented, his senses crawling to catch up with his surroundings. Cold, biting wind scratched his skin, carrying with it the stench of decay and damp earth. Groaning, he tried to push himself up, blinking hard as he adjusted to the dim, grayish light. Whatever strange place he'd been flung into was nowhere close to what he recognized. This world was lifeless, hauntingly quiet, with towering, dark cliffs circling his vision and a sky painted in ashen clouds that seemed to press down on him.
"What... happened?" Ha-jin muttered, his voice raspy. He steadied himself, placing a hand on his head as if that would help him make sense of the chaos swirling within it. His last clear memory was of his original world—a place rich with constellations, the hum of the system always a comforting backdrop. And then, like a cruel cosmic joke, he'd felt the world twist, wrenching him from his place and casting him into an abyss. Now he was stranded here, wherever "here" even was.
He reached inward, instinctively seeking the connection to his powers, hoping for the familiar rush of energy or, at the very least, a sign that his abilities were still functional. But his senses met only a dull, suffocating void. He cursed, realizing with growing frustration that his powers were weakened. It was as though the very essence of this place was pressing down on him, limiting what he could draw out. It felt…wrong.
The sensation stirred unease in him—something he rarely felt. This world wasn't like any he'd visited before. Most worlds he encountered were vibrant, bustling with energy, life, and even danger. But here? Here, there was nothing but this oppressive silence, an emptiness that chilled him more than the biting cold.
Ha-jin scowled, the sheer absurdity of the situation forcing him to his feet. "Looks like I've been tossed into the backwaters of existence," he grumbled, dusting off his clothes. He glanced around, searching for any sign of life, but the barren landscape stretched on, cracked earth and shriveled plants the only features breaking the bleak horizon.
With no other choice, he started walking, his footsteps echoing in the silence. He walked for what felt like hours, his mind circling back to the same questions, though none of his theories provided comfort. He'd heard rumors about such worlds—forsaken realms, deprived of constellations and weakened beyond hope of redemption. They were more myth than reality, often considered as cautionary tales among those familiar with the cosmic landscape. And yet, he was beginning to wonder if he'd become the unluckiest soul alive.
But just as frustration started to bubble over, he spotted something in the distance: faint shapes moving, a group of figures stumbling through the haze. Hope sparked within him, pushing him to pick up his pace. If there were people here, perhaps he could get answers—or better yet, a way out.
As he neared, he took in their condition. They were barely more than skin and bones, their clothes tattered, their eyes hollow. Each face was etched with exhaustion and hopelessness, yet they continued forward, moving with the mechanical obedience of those long resigned to their fate. One figure spotted Ha-jin, his sunken eyes widening in shock, and the entire group halted, whispers rippling through them.
"Is it... could it be… a god?" one of them murmured, the words edged with a mix of fear and awe. Ha-jin bristled at the label, his instinctive response to deny it, but he kept silent, assessing the group.
An older woman hobbled forward, her back hunched, yet her gaze steady. She gave a slight bow, as though fearing even the smallest misstep. "Stranger… you must be lost, like us. This world holds nothing but despair."
Ha-jin held her gaze, uncertain of how to respond. "Where am I? And who are you?" he asked, the harshness in his tone making a few of the onlookers flinch.
"This place is Misute," she answered, her voice trembling slightly. "A forsaken land, one that none wish to inhabit but us… the unfortunate ones. You don't belong here, do you?" Her eyes scanned him, as if she could discern his origins by sheer will.
"No," he replied. "I don't."
The group exchanged glances, the glimmer of hope in their eyes sharpening as they took in his presence. Ha-jin could feel their unspoken pleas, their desperate need for something, or someone, to pull them from their misery. But he wasn't here to be their savior. His only priority was finding a way back.
"Do you know if there's any... way out?" he asked, his voice laced with impatience. But the older woman's face fell, and murmurs of despair echoed through the crowd.
"We have searched for countless years," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the hush of the wind. "But this world is closed off, sealed in the shackles of hopelessness. You're the first we've seen who isn't bound by it, which is why... we thought..."
Her words trailed off, but Ha-jin understood. They thought he was a divine being, a miracle sent to save them. He bit back a sigh, knowing that, to them, he probably did look otherworldly—strong, unyielding, a glimpse of life beyond the barren plains of Misute. But he wasn't here to rescue them.
Just as he was about to turn away, his gaze fell on the younger faces in the crowd. Their eyes, unlike the elders', still held a flicker of something fragile—hope. It was a tiny ember, barely noticeable amid the despair, yet it was there, shimmering in the darkness of this world. A twinge of unexpected guilt tugged at him.
Ha-jin sighed, forcing himself to confront the reality of his situation. He was stranded here, cut off from the familiar pull of constellations or the guiding framework of his world's system. If he wanted a chance to escape, he would have to adapt—and perhaps, in the process, make these people stronger. After all, a world with even a sliver of vitality had a higher chance of attracting the system's notice, didn't it?
"Fine," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "If I'm going to be stuck here, I might as well make use of what I have."
He turned back to the crowd, their hopeful expressions pinning him down with an intensity that felt almost like a physical weight. "Listen up," he called out, his voice carrying over the desolate plains. "If you want to survive, you'll follow my lead. I'm not your god, but I'll make you strong enough to withstand whatever this world throws at you."
A hushed silence followed, broken only by the shuffling of feet and the quiet gasps of those too shocked to speak. Slowly, the older woman stepped forward, her face a mask of gratitude and awe. "Thank you... Emperor," she whispered, the title spilling from her lips with reverence.
Ha-jin blinked, caught off guard by the title, but decided against correcting her. Perhaps letting them believe in an emperor would make things easier. After all, if he was going to endure this forsaken realm, he would need them to follow him without question.
"Alright," he said, settling into his new role. "First, we'll start with defenses. Then we'll focus on survival skills. I won't make any promises, but as long as I'm here, you're going to fight for your lives. Understand?"
A murmur of agreement passed through the crowd, timid but unmistakable. They were weary, yes, but Ha-jin could feel a spark of determination stirring among them—a spark he intended to fan into a flame.
As he looked out over the downtrodden figures who were now his reluctant followers, Ha-jin felt a flicker of something he hadn't anticipated: the thrill of possibility. Misute might be a forsaken realm, but he would turn it into something more. Not out of compassion, but necessity.
With that, he turned and led the Misuters forward, his mind already calculating every step. If there was a way out of Misute, he would find it. And if he had to turn these people into his soldiers to do it, then so be it.