I adjusted the blazer hanging over my head to shield me from the sun and trudged along the dirt road, the sun beating down on me like it had a personal grudge.
I'd been walking for over an hour now.
Every so often, I checked my watch, hoping the hands had moved faster than they really had.
They hadn't.
My shirt clung to my back, heavy with sweat, and each step kicked up little clouds of dust that stuck to my boots.
My throat felt like sandpaper, every swallow scraping raw, and my stomach had long since given up pretending it wasn't empty.
The morning coolness had vanished without a trace. The plains around me shimmered under the midday sun, stretching endlessly in every direction — no shade, no sound, nothing but heat and wind.
It felt like the world itself was daring me to keep going.
I'd been walking in silence for what felt like forever, my thoughts looping uselessly in my head — questions with no answers, worries that kept circling back to the same miserable truth: I was alone, exhausted, and completely out of my depth.
My legs ached with every step. My knees felt like they were grinding together, and my calves burned with that deep, sharp kind of pain that doesn't go away no matter how much you rest. I could feel each pulse of blood in my ankles, a dull, throbbing rhythm that matched the sound of my uneven footsteps.
I wasn't built for this. I knew it, and my body kept reminding me with every miserable step forward.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered under my breath. "Absolutely ridiculous."
My voice sounded small against the open air — hoarse, cracking, like it was fighting just to exist.
I swallowed, but it did nothing. My throat was bone-dry, like sandpaper dragged against itself.
I thought about everything I'd left behind — air-conditioning, cold drinks, my phone, my bed. people.
Things I'd taken for granted, things I'd assumed would always be there. And now, walking under a sun that felt like it wanted me dead, I couldn't help but think.
Why me?
Why was I here? What kind of sick joke—
My thoughts were spiraling — frustration mixing with denial, exhaustion twisting into something fragile — when my foot caught on something hard.
A rock.
Before I could even react, I stumbled forward, my knees slamming into the dirt.
Pain shot up my legs almost as if its about to cramp. My palms hit the ground next, scraping against the rough surface.
...
"haha"
For a second, I just stayed there, staring at the dirt.
Then I laughed — short, broken, almost hysterical. "Of course," I said weakly. "Of course it's a rock."
I kicked it weakly, watching it bounce away. That tiny sound in the empty plains felt like the punchline to a cruel joke.
That was it. That was the point where the thin thread holding me together finally snapped.
I wasn't a survivor or a hero. I was a tired kid who sat too long behind a screen, who complained about walking to the store, who goes bat shit crazy went the Wi-Fi goes shit. And now the sun was trying to boil me alive.
"This isn't real," I said hoarsely. "It can't be. It's just—some test. Some simulation."
I started to regret every decision that led me to open that door.
The words came out hollow. The silence afterward was louder than the wind.
I tried to yell, to curse, to tell someone I'd had enough—but all that came out was a rasp, more breath than voice.
My throat burned, my chest ached, and the only thing that answered was the heat.
My legs were on fire. Each step I'd taken before felt like it had scraped something inside me. I wasn't built for this—I barely exercised back home, barely went outside. Just the walk from the bus stop to school used to make me groan. Now my calves felt like they were tearing apart, my knees trembling every time I shifted my weight.
And really, if this was another world, where was all the fantasy wonder I was supposed to get? The magic? The powers? The system that was supposed to make me special? They always talks about how cool it'd be to get isekai'd—new start, new abilities, maybe even a harem if luck's on your side.
But this? This was just hell with better scenery.
I'm just a normal guy. No sword, no skills, no divine blessing—just sore legs, blistered feet, and a stomach that won't stop complaining. Maybe it'd be tolerable if I had something, anything to make this easier. A map, a bag, If I had just started on a city. But I had nothing.
The thought made my chest tighten. The absurdity of it all hit me again—how unfair, how stupid this was.
And then another thought crept in, one I'd been pushing away since the moment I woke up here:What if this was it? What if I actually died here?
The word alone made me flinch.
Death.
It wasn't some distant, abstract idea anymore. It was close—too close. I could feel it, hovering at the edge of my vision, patient and silent.
Every time I stumbled, every time my vision blurred from the heat, it was like it took one step closer.
I'd never felt that kind of fear before—not the kind that made your heart race, but the kind that made it sink. That cold, crawling dread that whispered, you might not make it this time.
I stopped walking. My knees gave out, and I hit the dirt with a dull thud. For a moment, I just sat there, head hanging, breathing in ragged gasps.
"This isn't fair," I whispered. "Why me? Why this?"
My voice cracked somewhere between anger and grief. I wanted to scream, but all I managed was a weak, pitiful sound that barely reached my own ears. The air was too hot to breathe, the ground too hard to rest on, and the world too cruel to care.
And then—I cried.
Not the loud, cinematic kind of crying, but quiet, broken sobs that came out between uneven breaths.
It went on for a while—I don't even know how long. Long enough that the tears started to dry on my cheeks, long enough for the wind to turn colder against my sweat.
When it was over, all that was left was the silence again.
I wiped my face with the back of my sleeve, swallowed the pain in my throat, and forced myself to my feet. My legs screamed in protest, every joint stiff and heavy, but I didn't stop.
Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was stupidity.
Maybe I didn't want to give the world the satisfaction of watching me stop.
But I started walking again—slowly, unevenly, like a puppet running out of strings—because doing nothing felt worse than dying.
I won't accept it
"I won't accept it," I muttered, the words scraping out of me like gravel.
If death wanted me, it would have to fight for it.
I dragged my gaze upward, squinting against the glare—and then froze.
For a second, I thought the heat was playing tricks on me again, that my mind had finally started seeing shapes where there were none. But no—there it was.
Far ahead, through the shimmering haze of the plains, I caught sight of movement. Figures. A line of them, glinting faintly in the sun. Horses. Armor.
My heart stumbled in my chest. Knights—an entire squadron of them with carriages in tow, moving down the same dirt road I'd been following.
For the first time since I woke up in this godforsaken place, the crushing weight in my chest lifted—just a little.
"People," I breathed, disbelief cracking through my exhaustion. "There are actually people."
Excitement surged through me, sharp and dizzying, like a jolt of electricity after days of numbness. I actually laughed—half-breathless, half-delirious—as I stumbled forward a few steps.
But then a thought cut through the haze, cold and clear enough to stop me dead in my tracks.
What if they weren't friendly?
I'd read enough, seen enough, to know better than to trust the polished armor and banners. Back on Earth, knights were never as noble as the stories made them out to be—loyalty was to crowns, not to strangers bleeding in the dirt.
And here? Here, I was an unknown man in strange clothes, alone, weak, and desperate.
If they saw me as a threat—or worse, as prey—then this road might lead me straight to my death.
But what other options did I have?
There was no shelter, no food, no water—just the endless stretch of plains and a sun that seemed hell-bent on burning me out of existence.
If I stayed here, I'd die. If I went to them, I might die faster.
It wasn't much of a choice.
So I took a gamble.
I tightened my grip on my blazer, wiped the sweat from my eyes, and started toward them, each step fueled by a mix of desperation and hope I couldn't quite control.
Both paths felt like a death sentence—only one offered the slightest, cruelest sliver of hope.
Stay, and I'd fade away slowly under the sun. Go, and I might end up cut down where I stood.
But even the smallest chance of living was still a chance, and that was enough more than enough for me to cling too.
I squinted against the glare, heart thudding as I realized the distant figures had stopped moving.
The entire formation had come to a halt—horses shifting, banners stilling in the wind, their polished armor catching flashes of sunlight like a row of mirrors turned my way.
They'd seen me.
Hard to miss me, really — one lone idiot stumbling through an empty plain, dressed in torn modern clothes that probably looked alien to them from a mile away.
A moment later, a sharp whistle cut through the wind, and I saw three riders break away from the main formation.
Their armor gleamed as they turned their horses toward me, moving in a steady, disciplined line — not charging, but not hesitating either.
My pulse quickened. Every step they took closer made my stomach twist tighter.
I stayed where I was, too drained to run, too scared to move — just standing there, waiting, heart pounding like a drumbeat in my ears.
The sound of hooves grew louder — rhythmic, heavy, each thud sinking into the ground like a countdown.
Dust rose around them as they slowed, the horses' breaths loud and sharp in the dry air.
By the time they stopped, they were barely ten feet away — towering over me from their saddles, their armor glinting, eyes sharp behind their visors as they looked me over like I was something they couldn't quite place.
I swallowed hard, trying not to flinch under the weight of their stares.
Before I could even think of what to say, one of them spoke — a short string of words, sharp and commanding, but completely alien to my ears.
"Varan-thir e'ta?" the knight barked, his tone firm, questioning.
Another one answered, voice lower, cautious. "Ser halven noris…"
Wha—?!
And then it hit me, hard, like a truck slamming into my gut.
I froze, staring at them blankly. "Uh… English? Do you—do you speak English?"
No response. Just three pairs of eyes behind their visors, watching me with wary intensity.
"Yeah," I muttered weakly, my face contorting into an ugly frown, "figures. Because of course there's a language barrier. Why wouldn't there be?"
The lead knight tilted his head slightly, clearly confused — or maybe just deciding whether or not I was dangerous.
I raised my hands slowly, palms open. "Hey, look, I'm not—uh, whatever you think I am. I'm just… lost, okay?"
They didn't understand a word. But the tension in the air was thick enough to choke on.
My mind raced, grasping for anything that might make sense to them — a gesture, a word, something.
I hesitated, then slowly lifted my hands a little higher, fingers trembling from exhaustion more than fear.
If I couldn't speak their language, maybe I could at least show I wasn't a threat.
My arms felt like lead, but I forced them to stay up, hoping they'd take it as surrender — or peace — or whatever would stop me from getting skewered where I stood.
"Please," I muttered under my breath, voice barely a whisper, "just… don't kill me."
For a long moment, none of them moved. Then the lead knight shifted slightly in his saddle.
The tension in the air eased, just barely.
They'd understood — not my words, maybe, but the message behind them.
I wasn't a threat.
One of the knights dismounted with practiced ease, the clank of armor echoing faintly as his boots hit the dirt.
He took a cautious step toward me, one hand still resting on the hilt of his sword — but I barely registered it.
The world had started tilting again, edges blurring, the sun bleeding into everything like spilled light.
Relief hit me harder than fear ever did. I'd actually made it. Somehow, against every impossible odd, I'd survived — at least for today.
My knees buckled before I could take another breath, and the last thing I saw was the knight's shadow reaching for me as everything went black.