Haeto shut his many-toothed mouth tightly, willing himself to focus.
The translucent screen before him faded, leaving him alone with the oppressive sounds of the forest.
He needed answers.
He needed a plan.
To start somewhere, anywhere, he dug deep into his memories, hoping to recall everything he knew about the novel he had read.
But instead of the characters, the plot, or even the mechanics of Arcane magic, his mind conjured vivid images of the forests from the story.
Scenes of utter devastation played out as though branded into his memory.
He saw lush canopies reduced to splinters, ancient trees with trunks wide enough to house villages charred black, their branches twisted and smoking.
The rich green undergrowth had been flattened into lifeless mud, painted crimson by the blood of beasts and practitioners alike.
He recalled the battles. Arcanians—practitioners of the mysterious and brutal Arcane magic—faced off against each other or their prey, unleashing destruction without a second thought.
Spells exploded in fiery bursts, consuming swathes of forest in seconds.
Beasts, magical and mundane, fled in terror or were crushed beneath falling debris. And when the chaos ended, when the victors stood among the ruins, they left without so much as a glance back, abandoning the ravaged forests like discarded scraps of paper.
His new body trembled at the thought. It wasn't fear—it was rage.
The plant beasts, he remembered, were considered the weakest of all magical creatures.
They were slow-moving, heavily reliant on stationary tactics, and often lacked the offensive capabilities of their more ferocious counterparts.
Yet, despite their weaknesses, they were often hunted.
Not for their power, but for what they guarded: treasures.
Rare herbs, alchemical ingredients, and magical plants of immense value grew in the forests, hidden among the roots and foliage.
Haeto's mind raced.
Arcanians in the novel weren't just destroyers—they were scavengers.
They would burn entire forests to ash if it meant unearthing a single sprout of the mythical Blossom of Immortality or the elusive Azure Thornfruit.
To them, forests were mere obstacles, existing only to be pillaged and destroyed in their relentless pursuit of power.
His stalk stiffened, and his roots dug into the soil instinctively, grounding him as an overwhelming wave of fury washed over him.
He knew he shouldn't hate so quickly.
Trees were rare on Earth, he reminded himself.
Their destruction there was a tragedy.
But here?
In this world?
Trees were abundant.
Forests stretched for miles in all directions, brimming with life.
So what? he thought bitterly.
They're still destroying them.
He couldn't shake the injustice of it.
Whether in his world or this one, people treated forests like disposable tools, tearing them apart for their own gain.
The thought made his sap boil.
But he forced himself to breathe—or whatever equivalent a plant had. His leaves shuddered as he calmed himself.
"No," he muttered, his voice raspy and low. "I can't let anger control me." He knew how that path ended. He had walked it before, as a man, blinded by grief and rage. It had led to his capture, his execution, and now... here.
His sharp teeth clicked faintly as he spoke again, this time with resolve. "I can't act now. I'm weak. Too weak."
It was the truth, as much as it stung.
He had no idea what this body could do.
He had no magic, no abilities, no allies.
Even the smallest beast in this forest could likely crush him underfoot.
If he charged into action now, he wouldn't be protecting the forests—he would just be another casualty, forgotten in the dirt.
He stretched his roots slightly, testing the soil around him.
It was rich, fertile, pulsing with life.
The faint traces of nutrients flowed into his body, filling him with a subtle warmth.
It was a reminder that, even as a plant, he had ways to grow stronger. But growth would take time.
"I need to learn," he said, his voice steadier now. "I need to survive. To grow. To become something they can't ignore." His head tilted upward, his teeth glinting faintly in the dim light.
His thoughts sharpened, shifting from fury to determination.
The Arcanians saw plant beasts as weak.
A joke.
Something to harvest or trample.
Fine.
Let them think that.
Let them underestimate him.
Because one day, Haeto would be more than a weak Flytrap.
He would become something they feared.
Something unstoppable.
With the translucent screen he had seen earlier, he was confident… it wasn't just some hallucination or a passing vision.
No, it was a system.
He'd read enough stories in his previous life to recognize one when Haeto saw it.
Systems were the lifeline of reincarnators, their guide, their cheat code.
They held knowledge, quests, and abilities—everything a person would need to rise from nothing to greatness.
With a system, even the weakest creature could climb to unimaginable heights.
Haeto's leaves quivered, his body trembling slightly as the thought repeated in his mind.
As long as I can access the system... His roots dug deeper into the soft soil, grounding him, almost as though the earth itself could steady his whirling emotions.
As long as I can access the system...
The thought brought a spark of hope to his strange, plant-like mind. But then another realization hit him in the head like a pebble was hit to it.
"How do I activate it again?"
The question was left at the end of his mouth.
His sharp-toothed maw twitched in frustration.
The system had appeared on its own earlier, unprompted. But now, when he was confident he could use it, he forgot how to activate it.
No sound.
No translucent screen.
Nothing.
He decided to experiment. Maybe, like in those novels, the system responded to voice commands? "System," Haeto said hesitantly. His plant body vibrated slightly with the effort of speech, but after a minute, nothing happened.
"System! Open system!" he tried again, his tone more commanding this time.
Another minute had passed.
Still nothing.
"Menu? Status? Skills? Inventory?" he rattled off every word he could think of. Each one fell flat in the quiet forest, the only response the distant hum of insects and the rustling of leaves overhead.
"Come on, damn it!" he growled, his voice sharper now. "Show me something! Anything!"
Still no response.
Haeto refused to give up.
If the system wouldn't respond to words, maybe it required movement. He shifted his roots, trying to mimic what he thought might be gestures. His body swayed awkwardly, his leaves fluttering in what could only be described as a ridiculous attempt to "wave."
"Is this what you want?" he muttered, attempting to shake his head side to side. His gaping maw clicked with irritation as he struggled to control his alien body. "Do I need to—what? Dance?"
The absurdity of the thought didn't stop him from trying. Haeto forced his roots to lift slightly, one by one, and then slam back into the ground.
He repeated the action in a slow, rhythmic pattern, trying to imagine it as some kind of primitive stomping dance.
Nothing happened.
He tried again, this time swaying his stalk from side to side while clicking his teeth. Still nothing.
"Fine!" he snarled, his voice echoing through the forest. "You want me to look even more pathetic? I'll do it!"
Haeto threw himself into a frenzy of motion. His roots flailed, digging shallow trenches into the dirt as he twisted his stalk in every direction.
His leaves flapped wildly, catching bits of stray sunlight that filtered through the canopy. His teeth snapped open and shut in rapid succession, making a noise like chattering bones.
He would have looked utterly ridiculous to any observer—an angry, desperate Flytrap flailing like it was possessed.
But Haeto didn't care.
He was determined to make the system respond, no matter how foolish he looked.
"Activate! Activate! Activate!" he chanted between gritted teeth, his voice growing hoarse. "What do I have to do? Stand on my roots? Roll over? Sing?!"
He paused briefly, panting as if he had lungs, despite knowing full well he didn't. His leaves drooped slightly, the exertion leaving him drained.
He had tried everything he could think of. Words, movements, commands—none of it had worked.
"Why won't you answer me?" Haeto muttered, his voice barely above a whisper now. His stalk bowed low, a wave of defeat washing over him.
Maybe the system wasn't meant for him. Maybe it was some fleeting glimpse, a cruel illusion designed to give him hope before snatching it away.
His mind was spiraling, his earlier determination now teetering on the edge of despair.
He stared blankly at the ground, his roots twitching faintly. "I need you," he said softly, his voice carrying the weight of his frustration and desperation. "I can't do this alone."
However, after an incredibly long silence it's still nothing.
"Fine," he said, "I'll just wait when you'll be activated. As long as you are there, I'll be fine," he added confidently.
And then—Ding!
Haeto froze.
The sound was faint, almost like the distant chime of a bell, but it was unmistakable. His head snapped upward, his teeth clenching in anticipation.
Before him, light shimmered in the air, and the translucent screen materialized once more.
Its glow bathed the surrounding area in a soft, otherworldly light.
Haeto stared; his earlier exhaustion seemed to have been completely forgotten, replaced by a strange intense combination of relief and excitement.
He leaned forward slightly, his teeth clicking softly as his eyes scanned the screen.
One word appeared, bold and clear:
Mission.