A sharp, stinging pain pulled him back to reality. He jolted upright, only to bang his head against a cracked wooden beam. He hissed and rubbed his temple, trying to see clearly through his pain.
The smell hit him next. Blood. Heavy, metallic, and all too real.
"UHHWAH!" He gagged, looking around, and immediately regretted it. Bodies. Everywhere.
"What… what the hell is this?" he muttered.
The broken hut barely kept its rotten walls intact, its walls riddled with termite holes that let in pale moonlight. The corpses surrounding him weren't just ordinary folk. No. They looked… different. Robes embroidered with clan insignias. Swords, spears, and all sorts of strange weapons clutched in stiffening fingers. Cultivators?
"Did I wake up in a bad martial arts movie or something?" he asked, half to himself.
His hands trembled as he stared at them. They didn't feel like his hands—bigger, calloused and scarred, veins thicker than he was used to. A sudden sharp pain shot through his skull, and then the memories hit.
Not his memories.
Scenes of a bustling sect, endless sparring, harsh training sessions, and elders yelling about discipline flooded his mind. A name revealed: Lin Feng.
"Lin Feng? That's… me?" He frowned, his voice rising as he tried to process. "No, wait. That's not my name. My name is—"
Nothing. His real name he cannot recall.
"Alright, fine. Lin Feng it is," he declared, forcing a grin, trying to be optimistic. "Lin Feng sounds… heroic. Yeah, definitely a Main Character name. Because I am the Main Character. Right?" He does not need to process this situation at all, he has read about this many times.
His voice echoed in the silence. The bodies didn't respond. Obviously.
He looked around the hut, his eyes landing on the weapons scattered everywhere. Swords with intricate designs, spears that looked sharp enough to pierce stones, and even a strange, claw-like weapon that looked more terrifying than practical.
"Okay, Lin Feng, let's think." He paced between the corpses, carefully avoiding the blood. "Dead cultivators, fancy weapons, me waking up in the middle of it all. Clearly, I'm the chosen one. That's how these things work, right? The heavens must have big plans for me!"
A low growl cut through his rambling, freezing him mid-step.
His head snapped toward the doorway—or what was left of it. The door hung on by a single rotten wood hinge, swaying with the night breeze. Beyond it, yellow eyes glinted in the darkness, accompanied by the sound of paws scraping dirt.
"Wolves," he muttered, his voice trembling. He took a step back, his heel slipping on something wet. His stomach turned as he realized it was blood.
The growling grew louder, more insistent. Shapes moved in the shadows just beyond the doorway.
"Alright, no need to panic," Lin Feng said, holding his hands up as if negotiating with fate itself. "I've got weapons. I've got… well, someone else's martial arts training. And 'Lin Feng never dies!'" He jabbed a finger at the air as if daring the wolves to prove him wrong.
"What? Why? Why did I say that?" He felt cringe saying that last line.
One of the wolves stepped into the hut, its fur bristling and fangs bared. It was massive, its glowing eyes locked on him. Behind it, more wolves gathered, their snarls echoing in the night.
Lin Feng's bravado faltered. "Okay, okay, maybe Lin Feng occasionally dies. But not today!"
He dived for the nearest weapon—a sword with a jagged edge—and nearly dropped it as its weight caught him off guard.
"Alright, you mangy mutts," he said, raising the blade with shaky hands. "This is your final warning. Lin Feng is the Main Character! You really want to mess with destiny?"
The wolves didn't answer. The lead one lunged, claws extended.
Lin Feng screamed, swinging the sword wildly. The blade collided with the wolf's side, sending it yelping backward. He staggered, barely keeping his footing.
"Okay, that worked! See? I told you!" he yelled, laughing nervously. "Lin Feng never—"
Another wolf lunged.
Lin Feng swung the jagged sword again, wildly, gritting his teeth as the second wolf skidded back, yelping. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins.
"Ha! Take that! See? Lin Feng doesn't go down without a fight!" he yelled, his voice cracking slightly making his voice comically more afraid than heroic.
The other wolves growled, circling the hut's broken doorway. Their glowing eyes locked onto him with terrifying focus.
Lin Feng gripped the sword tighter, trying to steady his trembling hands. But then, with an ominous creak, the blade cracked.
"What… what's happening?" he stammered, staring as a hairline fracture popped up the sword. With a low groan the weapon splintered like it was made of wood instead of metal in his hand, the jagged edge breaking clean off and clattering to the floor.
"Oh, come on!" he shouted, flinging the useless hilt aside. "Is this fake? Are you kidding me? Who brings fake swords to a secret realm treasure hunt?"
His eyes ran around the room, searching for another weapon. A gleaming spear caught his eye, its intricate carvings glinting in the moonlight. He lunged for it, snatching it up with both hands.
"This'll do," he muttered, testing its weight. It felt solid, dependable. "Alright, you mangy mutts. You're about to learn why Lin Feng is the—"
The spear snapped in half the moment he swung it as it struck the pillar, the rotten pillar was stronger than this shiny spear.
His jaw dropped. "You've got to be joking!"
The wolves didn't wait. Two of them ran forward, their claws scraping against the wooden floor. Lin Feng scrambled back, tripping over a corpse.
"Nononono!" he yelled, crawling backward. His hand landed on a strange claw-like weapon, and he grabbed it without thinking. He swiped at the nearest wolf, only for the claw to bend like cheap tin.
"Useless! Everything here is useless!" he screamed, tossing the bent weapon aside.
A memory hit him like a slap to the face. His sect—Silver Ash Sect. Not exactly top-tier. Definitely not bottom-tier either, but their funding? Miserable. Every weapon they'd brought into this secret realm came from back-alley merchants or the sect's questionable forges. There were doubts that none of them were spiritual weapons.