Splash!
The wooden spear flashed through the shallow tide, and in the next heartbeat, Jin's arms tensed as the shaft shivered in his grip. With a grunt, he heaved upward—spray and scales bursting into sunlight.
"Ha! Got you at last, you slippery bastard!"
Balanced atop the salt-worn reef, Jin lifted the thrashing fish in triumph. Its scales flashed silver, eyes rolling in futile panic.
He'd spent half an hour luring this brute, dropping bits of insect guts near the tide pools, only to watch it tease him: snatching bait, then darting away with a flick of scornful tail. It was maddening, almost personal. Now, dripping sweat and seawater, the boy gloated openly, voice cracking with boyish pride. "Look who's laughing now!"
Two days had passed since he'd found the ruined navy corvette on the rocks. Two days of salted fish, standing meditation, and bone-deep exhaustion. Yet with every dawn, he felt it: muscle fibers knitting tighter, breath growing deeper, skin toughening under sun and salt. His new life felt raw and merciless—but gloriously real.
"To live free and unbound… to become so strong that no one can chain me again."
"That's the goal, isn't it?"
He gutted the fish, hands quick from past habit, then skewered chunks over a driftwood fire. Grease hissed, smoke curling upward as he squatted on the beach. For a moment, Jin watched seabirds wheel overhead, jealous of their freedom. Despite the salt stinging his eyes, he grinned.
"It's lonely, sure. But I'd rather be alone on my feet than kneeling in a crowd."
Training under sunrise
Smoke still drifting around him, Jin set his feet in the familiar stance: knees slightly bent, spine upright, arms lifted as if cradling a barrel. His sweat-soaked ribbon fluttered on his wrist.
Standing meditation.
An art older than kingdoms, inherited from his master in that other life—a master who claimed it was the root of all power: to master stillness before mastering force.
Every muscle trembled under invisible strain. Sweat rolled from brow to jaw, dripping onto sand. Inwardly, he guided breath like a tide: drawing energy into muscle and marrow.
Minute by minute, body and mind fused into one tensioned bowstring.
Heart pounding. Lungs burning. But Jin refused to lower his arms.
"A mercenary king doesn't break because it's hard. He breaks because he's dead. And I'm still breathing."
Time blurred. When at last he dropped his stance, he felt lightheaded, blood singing in every vein. Muscles twitched uncontrollably. But that strain was proof: every drop of sweat was fuel, every breath a forge bellows.
He sank onto a rock, gasping. Even the simplest food felt divine afterward. He tore into the roasted fish, grease running down his chin, too hungry to care.
"I'd kill for salt and spices right now. Or at least a town, a tavern, and a mug of cold ale…"
But first, there was a cliff to conquer.
🪨 The cliff's silent challenge
By noon, Jin had packed what little he owned: sea-polished stones, driftwood spear, a rust-spotted navy cutlass, and—most precious of all—the worn leather notebook: the only legacy left by his body's father, a navy major who died saving his son from the storm.
He turned to the looming wall of rock: a sheer cliff at least two hundred meters high, scarred by cracks and bristling with stubborn weeds.
"Anyone else would curse fate. But fate gave me a second chance. The least I can do is climb."
Before starting, he studied the rock face, picking a zigzag route of ledges and fissures. His old mercenary reflexes guided his eye: look for solid holds, avoid wet moss, and always test the stone before shifting weight.
"One slip and it's over, Jin. Focus."
Hands calloused by days of training gripped stone. Toes searched for purchase. Breath in… breath out. Step by step, he pulled himself higher.
Muscles screamed. Old scars twinged. But compared to the weight of battlefield gear in his past life, his current boy's body felt… nimble, almost birdlike.
Halfway up, wind lashed salt into his eyes, blurring vision. He paused, forehead pressed against cool rock, heart rattling like a drum.
"Remember what Master taught: fear is fuel. Use it. Move."
With grit-dusted palms, he climbed again.
Beyond the ridge
At last, he hauled himself over the rim, rolling onto sun-warmed grass, chest heaving. For a long moment, he lay still, letting clouds drift across vision blurred by sweat.
When Jin rose, what he saw quickened his pulse: beyond rolling green hills lay rooftops, docks, and sails clustered around a natural bay.
A town. Civilization. People. Perhaps danger—but also hope.
"Freedom's waiting. And so are answers."
But between him and the town sprawled a dense forest, shadows thick beneath towering trunks.
"Better risk the woods than starve on the beach."
He tightened the knot on his cutlass belt, wiped sweat from brow, and stepped forward.
The forest's test
Under the canopy, sunlight barely pierced emerald gloom. Vines curled like sleeping snakes. Branches snagged hair and cloth. Insects droned unseen.
Jin moved carefully, blade in hand, every step guided by honed instinct: watch the ground, listen for breaks in birdsong, taste the wind for carrion's stench.
Half an hour in, signs of life emerged: snapped branches, faint footprints, even a shredded fruit husk left by someone passing through. Relief flickered—but vanished at the snap of a twig behind him.
Two shadows glided from between trunks. Wolves—larger than anything from his old world, shoulders level with his chest, fur bristling, fangs yellow and wet.
Jin's heart slammed into overdrive.
"I just had to jinx it, didn't I? The hero's first real battle."
He tightened his grip, stance sinking. The ribbon on his wrist fluttered in the damp breeze.
"Alright, Jin… first blood in this world. Let's see what you've got."
This story is inspired from various fanfics i have read from around the world so if you find any similarities please dont mind . Thank you
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T/N :
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