My clothes were still soaked and my shirt torn in several places, matted with blood and mud. I bet I looked like quite the hero at the moment I thought as my pants, waterlogged, slid down to my knees. "God damn it", I forgot I took off my belt in the river. "Shit" I said as I patted my sides realizing I no longer had the scabbard for my sword as well. I looked down at the muddy sword, laying just outside of the waters reach. "Perfect, just perfect."
With a heavy exhale, I hitched my pants up with one hand and snatched the sword with the other. I waded waist-deep into the river, the cold-water biting at my legs. As I glanced at my reflection in the surface, I barely recognized myself. My usually curly light brown hair was now wet and muddy plastered to my forehead in clumps, and my wiry frame looked pathetic in this shirt. My blue eyes stared back at me, sunken and hollow, as if they hadn't seen sleep in weeks. Honestly, I felt that way too.
"Quite the sight, huh?" I muttered to the reflection, brushing the water with my hand. The image distorting, vanishing in the ripples. I went to task scrubbing at my face and arms, trying to clean the mud and dried blood the best I could. I splashed some water onto my sword as well, wiping the blade down as best I could.
Stepping out of the water after rinsing off the worst of the muck, I opened my inventory to see what I could salvage from my camping gear. My gaze landed on the 50-foot length of rope. Perfect. Reaching into the pack, I pulled it out and wrapped a section around my waist, measuring it as a makeshift belt. Using my sword, I cut the rope to size, tying it snugly around my waist to keep my pants from betraying me again. The remaining rope went back into my inventory.
My eyes flicked to the jackalopes' lifeless bodies lying nearby, their mangled dirty forms laying on the edge of the river. Their bloodied fur clung to their small, muscular frames, and their once-glowing red eyes now stared blankly ahead. Their sharp claws and tiny protruding fangs made them look like vampire rabbits you would see a some horror B-Movie. With a grimace, I added them to my inventory. Never know what might come in handy, right? I thought grimly.
Determined to be better prepared, I began scouring the area. I grabbed several large head size rocks, along with sturdy tree branches thick enough to serve as clubs or firewood. I tried adding in a larger bolder, but it seems if I couldn't lift the item then it wouldn't go into the inventory. The magical nature of my pack continued to amaze me—it didn't seem to get any heavier, no matter how much I crammed into it. A dozen rocks, four or five hefty branches, and it still felt as light as ever. "This thing might just be my new best friend," I muttered, giving the pack an appreciative pat.
Surveying my surroundings, I tried to orient myself. If the river was flowing in the direction of the village I'd spotted while falling, then following it should take me there. The sun was now well past its peak, and I figured I had a few hours of daylight left. With my makeshift belt secure and my sword in hand, I started walking along the riverbank, staying alert for any signs of another monster attack.
As I trudged along the riverbank, the memory of what happened right before the second jackalope encounter replayed in my mind. That moment when Jeff decided to drop his oh-so-helpful wisdom on me.
I'd been walking, still riding the adrenaline from the first fight, when I noticed something new on my HUD—a small, familiar icon that looked like the generic "video game chat feature" you would see any many games. Curious, I mentally clicked on it, and a window popped up labeled Friends List. There was only one name there: Jeff.
With a mixture of relief and suspicion, I focused on his name, and our chat history opened. Well, "history" was generous. There was only one message, and it was classic Jeff:
"Sorry, kid. No take-backsies… Also, you should probably run. Jackalopes usually hunt in packs."
That bastard. I felt my jaw tighten as I remembered yelling up at the sky earlier. Of course, he'd heard me. He had mentioned that a whole audience of gods was watching through the veil. Guess I was part of some divine reality show now.
Frustrated but determined to get something useful, I typed back, or rather thought back:
"This place sucks. Can you give me a little help? How far am I from the village?"
A moment later, a new message appeared.
"Sorry, kid, can't help. The System will block any communication it deems as cheating. Only reason I was able to send the warning was that the System didn't want you dying within the first five minutes. From here on, you're on your own. My role is now more of a motivational coach—albeit one who has little hope of winning the big homecoming game, but still. You got this! I… believe in you?"
I groaned out loud. "Thanks for nothing," I muttered under my breath.
Almost immediately, another message popped up.
"You're welcome!"
I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. Jeff was officially no help. I'd hoped—naively, it seemed—that he might explain a few more mechanics or at least throw some advice my way. Maybe a hint about what to expect next or even a vague direction to go. But no, I was on my own.
"Well, standing here complaining isn't going to get me anywhere," I muttered. With a resigned sigh, I adjusted my pack and kept walking, following the river as it wound through the landscape.
Tired. Cold. Wet. My clothes clung to me uncomfortably, and my boots squished with every step. My arms ached, my legs were sore, and my entire body screamed for rest. But I couldn't stop—not yet.
Then, as if on cue, my stomach growled loudly, cutting through the sounds of the rushing water. I clutched my belly and groaned. "I would kill for a burger right now," I said to no one in particular, the thought of a juicy, greasy meal making my mouth water.
Of course, there was no burger joint conveniently tucked away in this magical wilderness. No fries, no milkshake, nothing but the distant hope of reaching that village. The thought of food only made me more determined to push forward, even as the weight of exhaustion threatened to drag me down.
This world was relentless, and it wasn't going to give me a break. If Jeff—or whatever gods were watching—thought this was entertaining, they had a sick sense of humor. Still, I had to keep moving. One foot in front of the other, no matter how much my body protested.
The farther I walked, the colder I became. My soaked clothes clung to me, leeching the warmth from my body. Every step sent a chill deeper into my bones, and my hands began to tremble around the hilt of my sword. I kept moving, teeth chattering, eyes darting nervously at every rustle in the bushes. I had no idea what other horrors might be lurking in this world, and after the jackalopes, I wasn't about to let my guard down.
The sun was dipping lower into the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of orange and purple, and the air was quickly turning colder. If I wanted to stay warm tonight, I needed to build a fire. The thought brought a heavy sigh to my lips, one of many I'd let out today. I found myself staring at the sun, then back down at the winding river beside me. How much farther was this village? It could've been miles, or maybe just around the next bend, but one thing was certain: I wasn't going to risk trekking these woods in the dark. I needed to make camp here and now.
I turned back, my mind fixed on a clearing I'd passed a few minutes ago. It had seemed like a decent spot for a campsite at the time. Picking up my pace, I jogged along the riverbank, the sound of water rushing beside me oddly calming in the fading light.
When I reached the clearing, I took a moment to assess it. It was a small patch of flat ground, surrounded by a natural barrier of trees that would help block the wind. The canopy overhead opened just enough to let the last of the sunlight through, and there were plenty of rocks and sticks scattered about for a fire ring and fuel. Satisfied, I dropped my pack and got to work.
Building a fire seemed straightforward enough, or so I thought. I started gathering dry branches and leaves, piling them together in what I hoped was a proper formation. Squatting down, I stared at my makeshift kindling pile. That's when it hit me—I had absolutely no idea what I was doing. Did I even have a lighter? Or flint and steel? I rummaged through my camping gear, frustration mounting.
This was ridiculous. I'd never started a fire before in my life, and now it felt like I was trying to climb a mountain blindfolded. Then, like an idiot, I realized: I'm not on Earth anymore. This is a magical world. And I had magic. Actual magic.
A grin crept onto my face as I remembered the spell Torch. I knelt in front of the pile, closing my eyes and focusing. I imagined the spell in my mind, just like I had done with Minor Heal.
The air around me shifted, and when I opened my eyes, a small orb of fire hovered before me, no bigger than my fist. Its glow was soft yet intense, bathing the clearing in warm, golden light. The heat from the flame washed over me, pushing back the growing chill. I reached a hand toward it, marveling at its steady warmth. The fire danced almost playfully, its light flickering across the nearby trees.
Excitement surged through me. I'd done it—actual magic! Sure, I'd used Minor Heal a couple of times already, but those moments had been frantic and urgent. I hadn't stopped to think about the sheer wonder of it all. But now, in this quiet moment, I couldn't help but marvel at what I was capable of.
This reminded me of my other skills, like Dash and Focus. I'd barely even touched those abilities, let alone practiced them. In hindsight, I could've used them during the fight with those Jackalopes. That realization stung a bit. If I'd been more aware of my capabilities, I could've ended that fight quickly and avoided some of those close calls.
Resolved, I made a mental note: I needed to practice these spells, to use them until they became second nature. Survival in this world depended on it.
With the Torch flame still hovering steadily before me, I took a moment to revisit the spell's description. I focused on it in my mind, and the details unfolded as if written on an invisible page:
Torch
Conjures a small magical flame that can be hurled at enemies up to 10 feet away, dealing 8 damage with a 2% chance to set the target on fire. Alternatively, the flame can be used as a light source for up to one hour. Mana Cost: 5.
Note: If not thrown within 10 seconds of casting, the flame's damage output decreases by 90%.
I read it over a few times, letting the implications sink in. The first thing I noticed was its dual functionality—attack and utility. The second point was the timing; the spell's power dropped drastically if I didn't use it within 10 seconds. That kind of detail could be a game-changer in a fight. And then there was the mana cost.
I glanced down instinctively, and a translucent bar hovered in my peripheral vision. My mana was currently at 22 out of 26. Odd. After casting Torch, it should've been at 21. But I'd apparently regenerated a point without noticing. Intrigued, I focused on the number. A few seconds later, it ticked up to 23.
Curious, I started counting slowly in my head: "One Mississippi, two Mississippi..." When I reached 65, the number increased again. Roughly one mana point per minute, I noted with satisfaction. That was valuable information.
The next question was whether I could reduce that regeneration time. It seemed logical that some kind of stat, equipment, or even potions in this world might affect mana regen. There had to be. It would be worth asking around when I finally made it to the village.
Shifting my focus back to the flame, I realized I could instinctively sense how much longer it would last. It was as though the spell itself whispered its remaining duration to me. By now, over two minutes had passed since I first cast it, and yet my mana had ticked up during its duration. That gave me another idea.
Can I cast multiple Torches at once?
Excited, I concentrated on the spell again, visualizing a second flame appearing alongside the first. But as soon as the new flame formed, the first one winked out. A single torch floated before me. "Lame," I muttered. Apparently, I could only sustain one at a time—at least for now. Maybe there was a way to expand that limitation, but tonight wasn't the time to figure it out.
Now came the fun part: throwing the flame. According to the description, it had a range of 10 feet. I held my hand closer to the floating orb, wondering if I could grab it like a baseball and toss it. The heat intensified as my hand neared, making it clear that wasn't the method.
I tried something different, closing my eyes and visualizing the torch shooting into the ground a few feet away. I focused hard on the image, and suddenly I heard a sharp woosh! Opening my eyes, I saw the flame dart forward and collide with the ground, extinguishing itself in a soft poof.
The sight filled me with a sudden, giddy excitement. I leaped to my feet and pumped a fist in the air. "I am a mother-fucking wizard!" I yelled, unable to contain myself.
But as soon as the words left my mouth, I clamped my hands over it. "Shit," I hissed under my breath. I couldn't go screaming into the night like that—not with those demonic rabbits lurking around. I stood perfectly still, ears straining for any sign of movement in the woods. After a few tense moments, all remained quiet.
Satisfied that I hadn't drawn any unwanted attention, I turned back to my pile of wood. This time, I focused on casting Torch directly within the kindling. The flame appeared exactly where I wanted it, flickering and dancing over the wood. The dry leaves and sticks caught fire instantly. I held the spell for a full limit to ensure everything fully caught before dismissing the spell.
I couldn't help but pump my fist again, this time more subtly. "Hell yeah," I whispered to myself. Fire achieved.
With the flames crackling warmly, I got close to the fire, trying to dry my clothes. After a moment I cast Torch again, the flame appearing a foot behind me. I was now able to warm myself up from both sides. Once my shirt was dry I stood and leaned back and forth as I dried off my pants. Roughly half an hour later I was fully dry.
Feeling warm and motivated, I unpacked my gear. The tent was basic, almost comically so—just a thick green canvas, two poles, and a handful of stakes. It reminded me of something out of an old Looney Tunes cartoon. After some fumbling and a few muttered curses, I managed to get it set up. It leaned slightly to one side, but it was sturdy enough.
Next came the sleeping bag. It was equally basic, more like a thick roll of canvas with a small pillow sewn onto one end. Still, it looked warm enough for the night. I spread it out inside the tent, taking a moment to sit down and appreciate my work.
The firelight flickered against the canvas walls, the crackling sound a soothing reminder of my progress. Today had been rough, but I was learning. I was adapting. My stomach growled, and, damn it, I was a hungry.
A few moments later, I pushed myself to my feet with a groan, every joint protesting as I straightened. My body felt stiff and aching from the day's exertion. I stretched briefly, trying to shake off the discomfort. I needed more firewood for the night before I could even think about resting. Rest—that sounded amazing right now. My eyes felt heavy, and my legs were like lead. If I laid down in my tent, I knew I'd pass out almost immediately.
But was it safe to sleep?
The question lingered, and my mind betrayed me with vivid imaginings. I pictured myself curled up in the tent, blissfully unaware of glowing red eyes creeping closer in the darkness. Then, something huge and monstrous would pounce, flattening the tent and swallowing me whole like a burrito.
"Stop it," I muttered to myself, shaking my head and trying to dislodge the unsettling thought. Sleep was going to be a luxury tonight, and one I probably wouldn't enjoy much.
I trudged through the clearing, gathering more firewood from the forest's edge. Every crackle of a branch underfoot or rustle in the leaves made me freeze, my eyes darting toward the shadows. I worked quickly, returning with an armful of wood and building up a decent-sized pile next to my tent. I threw a few extra pieces on the fire, watching the flames roar to life and push back the oppressive darkness.
Satisfied for the moment, I grabbed the blanket from the tent, dragging my pack out to use as a makeshift backrest. I leaned against it, staring into the fire. The crackling flames cast flickering shadows on the trees, their light forming a faint boundary between me and the black void of the forest. Every sound beyond that line—every snap, shuffle, or hoot—set my nerves on edge.
The sun had finally set, leaving me alone with just the fire and the endless, suffocating dark. I tried to keep my eyes open, scanning the tree line for any movement, but the exhaustion was too much. Slowly, the tension in my body gave way, and I drifted off, lulled by the warmth of the fire and the rhythmic crackle of burning wood.
I didn't know how long I'd been asleep when the noise woke me.
Voices—yelling—echoed through the woods, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of metal clashing and grunts of exertion. My eyes snapped open, and I bolted upright, fumbling for my sword lying in the dirt beside me.
The rustling and clamor grew louder, coming closer. My heart pounded as I readied myself, gripping the hilt of my blade with trembling fingers. I focused on the Torch spell in my mind, preparing to cast it on whatever emerged from the darkness.
Then, with a sudden burst of movement, three figures exploded from the tree line and into the firelight.
The first was a dwarf, though not the kind I'd imagined from stories. He was short, stocky, and clad in a well-worn leather vest over a dark green cape that flapped behind him as he ran. His beard was thinner than expected, barely more than a patchy collection of auburn tufts around his chin. In one hand, he gripped a short sword that gleamed wickedly in the firelight, and in the other, he clutched a gnarled wooden staff adorned with strange carvings.
Behind him came a roguish human, taller and lean, with sharp, angular features and dark, scruffy hair that stuck out wildly. He wore a dark tunic with light leather armor strapped over it, his movements quick and fluid as he bounded forward. A short sword hung at his waist, but he was holding a bow with an arrow already nocked, ready to fire. His sharp eyes darted to me, then back toward the tree line.
The last to emerge was a beastian—a male with feline features. His fur was a sandy color with darker streaks across his face and arms, giving him a wild, predatory appearance. His eyes glowed faintly gold, and his ears twitched as he moved. He wore light armor made of overlapping leather plates, and he held a massive sword in one hand, I would need to hands to even lift. In his left hand, he carried a sturdy round shield, its edges nicked and dented from battle.
The three of them skidded to a halt in front of my small campsite, their gazes flicking between me and the fire.
The dwarf, despite his rugged appearance, spoke in a surprisingly light and husky voice as he shouted, "Sorry, kid! Get ready—we've got goblins right on our heels!"
Before I could fully process what was happening, the sounds of pursuit crashed through the forest behind them—grunting, snarling, and the unmistakable patter of many feet closing in.
I tightened my grip on my sword and steeled myself. Whatever this was, it wasn't going to be pretty.
I hate this place.