Zarathis blinked, his vision still swimming as he fully took in his surroundings. The dim light of the caravan revealed rows of chained prisoners, their wrists and ankles bound in rusted iron. The air was thick with the stench of sweat, fear, and hopeless resignation. Men, women, even children—faces hollowed by starvation and exhaustion—sat slumped against the wooden walls, their spirits crushed long before their bodies followed. The creaking of the wheels beneath them was the only sound breaking the heavy silence inside.
His throat was dry, but he forced himself to swallow the lump forming there. He wasn't alone in this nightmare.
Then, his eyes landed on her.
An elf woman, seated near the far end of the caravan, her posture oddly composed. Unlike the others, who trembled or sobbed, she sat with her back straight, her expression unreadable. A long scar ran down her left eye, a deep reminder of some past battle. Yet, despite her injuries and the chains digging into her wrists, she emanated a quiet strength. Her piercing golden eyes flickered in the dim torchlight, studying the caravan's interior with the gaze of a predator evaluating its cage.
"…Fantasy," Zarathis muttered under his breath, his mind still struggling to process everything. He was really here—not in some fever dream, not in some cruel afterlife, but inside the world of Eclipsed Fate: Chronicles of the Lost Empire. His sister's favorite novel.
A loud grunt from outside drew his attention. Voices. Guards.
Zarathis strained to listen, careful not to draw attention to himself.
"Move faster. The ceremony is tomorrow."
"I heard the bishop himself will oversee the Harvesting this time."
"Isn't that unusual?" another voice chimed in. "They don't normally get involved directly."
"The offerings this time are special."
Harvesting Ceremony?
The words sent a chill through his spine. His memories of the novel were hazy—damn his past self for never reading it—but something about that phrase felt wrong.
Blood magic. Sacrifices. Rituals.
They weren't transporting slaves.
They were transporting offerings.
Zarathis clenched his fists, his mind racing. There had to be a way out of this. The system! It had appeared before, right? If it was going to make itself useful, now was the time.
Before he could panic further, a familiar ding rang in his head.
[Quest Alert!]
[Main Quest: Survive the Harvesting Ceremony!]
[Description: You are currently being transported to an unknown location for a ritual sacrifice. That's bad news. The good news? You have a system. The bad news? You're still chained like a commoner. Figure it out, genius.]
[Rewards: ???]
[Failure: Death. (Duh.)]
Zarathis inhaled sharply.
Great. Just fantastic.
He wasn't even fully settled into this world yet, and it was already trying to kill him.
"Guess I better get moving," he muttered under his breath.
The elf woman turned her head slightly, her piercing gaze meeting his. A silent warning—or perhaps an acknowledgment? Her lips barely moved, but he swore he saw a flicker of amusement in her expression before she looked away. Was she planning something? Did she already know what this 'Harvesting Ceremony' truly entailed?
Zarathis had no answers, but one thing was certain—if he wanted to survive, he needed a plan. Fast.
His chains rattled slightly as he tested their strength. Rusted but sturdy. His ankles were bound too, making escape even harder. His only advantage right now? The system. But how did he even use it? He couldn't exactly go around biting people for blood just yet.
As if sensing his frustration, another ding echoed in his mind.
[New Objective Unlocked!]
[Sub-Quest: Gather Information]
[Description: Knowledge is power! Learn more about the Harvesting Ceremony, its purpose, and any potential weaknesses in the guards' defenses.]
[Reward: ???]
[Failure: Remain blissfully ignorant until you die a painful death.]
"Really selling it there," Zarathis muttered.
He exhaled, forcing himself to focus. If this was a game, then he needed to start playing smart. First step: gather information. Second step: find an opportunity to escape. Third step: avoid being ritualistically sacrificed like an idiot.
Simple enough. Right?
His eyes flickered back toward the elf woman. If anyone else in this caravan had a clue about what was coming, it was probably her. He just had to figure out how to approach her without getting stabbed in the throat first.
No pressure.