The wilderness stretched endlessly, a boundless ocean of green so dense it seemed to have no end, hemmed in by towering mountain ridges that pierced the sky. From afar it was breathtaking—like a heavenly landscape untouched by human hands. Yet anyone foolish enough to step inside knew one universal truth: this place was a living tomb.
Flora that looked exquisite could be deadly poison. Every shadow beneath the leaves might conceal a predator no one had ever seen.
This land carried a single name: The Eternal Death Forest.
No nation had ever dared to claim it. Not because they lacked the will, but because the forest itself rejected ownership. Those who tried to leave their mark rarely returned alive.
Deep within, hidden among twisted roots and ancient stone, yawned the mouth of a primeval cave—wide and jagged, like the maw of some colossal beast. And there, reality itself bent and shuddered. A dimensional portal churned violently, a spiral of cosmic ink radiating a dim, bluish glow that warped the air around it.
From within, a lone body was hurled.
Zeyden crashed against the cave wall with bone-jarring force, stone splintering as dust and pebbles rained down. The impact should've shattered bone. Instead, he only gritted his teeth and let out a brief hiss of pain, his hardened frame absorbing what could have crippled an ordinary man.
"Fuck... where the hell am I now?" His voice was hoarse, swallowed by the cavern's echo.
He crouched, brushing dirt off his clothes, eyes sweeping across the cave—not merely looking, but assessing. That habit came naturally to someone who had lived far too long dancing at the razor's edge of life and death.
There was no sound, nothing but the steady drip of water from stalactites... and the rhythm of his own heartbeat. The silence wasn't peace. It was pressure—the kind of silence that belonged to predators who had all the time in the world to wait.
The truth was settling in: he had been thrown into yet another unknown. Still, his face betrayed nothing. Panic was a wasted emotion. That weakness had been discarded from him long ago.
"First things first—find the exit. Logical. But before that, light."
His hand slid into his backpack and pulled out a tactical folding knife and an electric lighter. The knife stayed firmly in his left hand, blade glinting faintly in the dark. The lighter sparked, then bloomed into a tiny, fierce blue flame, illuminating the lines carved into his cold, sharp features.
Raising the flame above his head, Zeyden tilted his chin slightly, feeling for the faint whisper of air on his skin. It was a simple movement—precise, calculating. Airflow meant direction.
South. There was a weak current there.
To be sure, he stooped for a stone and hurled it at the southern wall. The deep rumble of its echo answered him—longer, more open. That meant space. That meant a way forward.
"If there's light down there... then I'm right." He muttered, rising to his full height, steps deliberate and silent.
The journey took him more than an hour and a half through a maze of crippling dark. Narrow passages scraped his shoulders, jagged inclines tested his balance, slick ground threatened to trap or crush him with every lazy step. Yet he advanced—unhurried, cautious, deadly aware of every sound he did not make.
The air grew warmer. His lungs filled more easily. His glance at the stone walls told him they were dryer now, stripped of clinging moss or dripping lichen. Humidity fading meant only one thing: he was drawing closer.
"Good..." satisfaction rumbled low in his chest.
And then—light.
Blinding, pure, merciless. It devoured the shadows in an instant. Instinct snarled awake. He flung his arm up to shield his eyes, his pupils—trained by endless darkness—screaming at the sudden blaze of the sun.
Sheltering beneath the sprawling canopy of a colossal tree, Zeyden squinted, struggling to adjust his vision to the blinding glare of the sun. Ten minutes later, his eyes finally acclimated to the scorching midday intensity, revealing the world around him in sharper detail—ancient trees towering high, lush green foliage, and air thick with the humidity of the forest.
He drew in a deep breath, inhaling the scent of damp earth, rotting wood, and wild flora so characteristic of this jungle. "So refreshing, but I have no idea what to do now," he muttered softly, a profound sadness gripping his heart. His thoughts drifted to his stepmother and three beloved stepsisters, now separated from him by an unbridgeable chasm of reality. The loss felt like an open wound, constricting his chest.
From the bizarre surroundings—the strange trees with roots twisting like giant serpents, faintly glowing flowers, and unfamiliar animal calls—Zeyden began to accept the bitter truth: this wasn't Earth. Especially when he looked up and saw a pair of faint moons hanging in the bright blue sky, his conviction solidified. "This has to be a different reality," he whispered to himself, a mix of awe and terror.
Still lost in contemplation of his absurd fate, heavy and suspicious footsteps suddenly echoed from behind. Instinctively, Zeyden leaped to his feet and spun around, his sharp eyes locking onto the source.
"Fantasy monsters, huh... no doubt about it, this is another world!" he said quietly, staring at five tall creatures with rough brown skin like aged tree bark. Their heads resembled wild boars—long snouts, curved tusks, pitch-black eyes radiating primal hatred, and pointed ears twitching faintly.
"It's weird seeing orcs in the flesh. Even with those disgusting pig-like heads, they look pretty intimidating," Zeyden murmured under his breath, pulling out his tactical folding knife from his pocket. Its sharp blade gleamed in the sunlight, but he knew it wasn't enough to face this threat.
Each of the five orcs wielded primitive yet deadly weapons: long, worn swords with notched edges, massive rusted clubs that could shatter bones in a single swing, and curved machetes with serrated blades, ready to tear flesh.
Zeyden's adrenaline surged, his body reacting to the immediate danger. His heart pounded like war drums in his chest. Even under high pressure, his mind stayed razor-sharp—he'd already mapped out effective escape routes in the environment: thick bushes to the right, climbable trees, and a small stream behind that could serve as a barrier.
No matter how skilled he was in combat back in his original world, it was impossible for him to take on all five fully armed orcs at once with just a folding knife. He wasn't a hero; he was an ordinary human suddenly trapped in this nightmare.
In the next second, a strange mechanical voice echoed in his head, cold and impersonal like clanging metal.
[DING... Host detected in life-threatening danger]
[Initiating forced local time stop]
Just before the five orcs launched their simultaneous attack—swords swinging, clubs raised, machetes poised to slash—their movements froze solid. Their bodies locked in awkward positions: one orc with a foot lifted, another with its mouth gaping in a silent roar, all utterly motionless, like wax statues suspended in time.
As someone with high reasoning skills, Zeyden wasn't confused by the mechanical voice anymore. He quickly deduced that the "forced time stop" announcement affected only the five orcs, giving him an absolute advantage. The world around him continued normally—leaves rustling, wind blowing—but his enemies were trapped in stasis.
[DING... Kill the five Orcs to activate the status screen and awaken energy resonance]
Once again, the mechanical voice resonated, this time with a more commanding tone, like an order from an invisible entity that couldn't be refused.
"Hmm... so that's how it is. This system is like those in games and fantasy fiction stories—giving missions to reward something relevant to this world," he muttered softly, analyzing the situation swiftly. 'But strangely, this doesn't feel like my personal system at all. Usually, a system would give a prompt to accept or reject the mission, right?' he thought, a bit puzzled but not letting it hinder him.
The idea of killing terrifying monsters like orcs initially seemed impossible, but in their current state—helpless, frozen like prey ready for slaughter—Zeyden could exploit their weak points without resistance. The massive benefits from completing this mission—the status screen, energy resonance, whatever that meant—would help him survive in this cruel alien world. Without further hesitation, he dashed to the nearest orc, the one holding the worn long sword.
With hands trembling from a mix of adrenaline and dark excitement, Zeyden grabbed the hilt of the long sword from the orc's frozen grip. The weapon was heavy, cold, and rough in his hands, but its blade was still sharp enough to cut. He yanked it free with force, feeling his muscles strain as the sword came loose from the monster's hand. "This is better than my folding knife," he muttered, twirling the weapon briefly to gauge its balance.
Without hesitation, he sprang into action. The first orc—the closest, with its boar snout gaping—he targeted at a vital point: the neck. The sword sliced deep with precision, severing the main artery. Black, viscous blood sprayed out, soaking the forest ground, but the orc remained frozen, unable to react. The metallic stench of blood assaulted Zeyden's nostrils, turning his stomach, but he didn't stop.
Moving to the second orc, the one holding the massive club with arms raised, Zeyden stabbed straight into its heart. The blade pierced the muscular chest with a crunch of breaking bones, blood flowing like a dark river. "Two down," he whispered, breathing heavily, but his eyes sharp and focused.
The third orc, armed with the serrated machete, he aimed for the eye—a weak vital spot. The sword thrust into the black socket, penetrating the brain. The body stayed rigid, but Zeyden could imagine the unheard scream. He yanked the sword out quickly, blood dripping from the blade.
The fourth, the tallest orc with the most imposing stature, he slashed across the abdomen—a powerful horizontal swing that gutted it, exposing vital organs. The stench of spilling entrails nearly made Zeyden vomit, but he held it back, remembering his goal: survival.
Finally, the last orc—the farthest, with one foot raised in mid-charge. Zeyden sprinted lightly, then decapitated it from behind with a clean slash, nearly severing the pig-like head entirely. It dangled limply, blood pouring like a torrent. The body remained frozen, but life was gone.
Zeyden's breath came in ragged gasps, his hands sticky with blood, but he felt a new wave of power surging through his body. "Done... now, what's the reward?" he muttered, waiting for the mechanical voice to echo again. The surrounding forest felt eerier in its silence, but new threats surely awaited in this world.