Chapter 5
Written by Bayzo Albion
I opened my eyes, blinking against the soft, diffused light filtering through the dense canopy above. The forest air was cool and damp, carrying the earthy scent of moss and decaying leaves, a refreshing contrast to the sterile void I'd left behind. The soft moss beneath my back was pleasantly cold against my bare skin, cradling me like a natural bed woven from the forest's own whispers. I lay flat on the ground—naked, without a single stitch of clothing, without possessions to weigh me down, without the faintest clue how I'd arrived here or what twisted logic of this world had deposited me in such a vulnerable state.
I looked around, scanning the surroundings with a mix of curiosity and wariness. Trees whispered all around me, their leaves rustling in a gentle breeze that seemed to carry secrets from distant corners of this realm. Beautiful, yes—but utterly foreign, an alien wilderness that bore no resemblance to the mundane woods of my earthly memories. No landmarks to guide me. No hint of civilization peeking through the underbrush. Just wild silence, broken only by the occasional chirp of unseen birds or the distant rustle of small creatures scurrying through the foliage.
Then my eyes drifted downward, and I realized something about my body demanded immediate attention—a detail that felt both empowering and absurd in this newfound freedom. Without a second thought, I summoned the interface, its holographic glow materializing before me like a loyal servant awaiting commands. I navigated to the anatomy settings with practiced ease, though this was my first time in such a surreal menu, and without hesitation adjusted the size of my most personal attribute, scaling it up to something more... heroic, befitting a god in his own domain.
"You know who never gives up?" I smirked to the empty woods, my voice echoing faintly among the trees as if they were an audience to my private jest. "No matter how many times he falls—he always rises! Ha-ha!" The pun hung in the air, crude and triumphant, a small rebellion against the solemnity of death and rebirth.
> System: Shame meter has dropped by one point. Would you like to restore it to its previous level?
I snorted and shook my head, dismissing the prompt with a wave of my hand. The system's voice was neutral, almost robotic, yet it carried a faint undercurrent of judgment that amused rather than annoyed me.
"Why should I feel shame? I'm the master of this little world, the architect of its every whim. If I want to strut like a peacock, who's to stop me?"
> System: Would you like to disable the system entirely?
"No. Just… don't get in my way. Let me explore without the constant nagging."
Silence fell again, as if the forest itself was listening, holding its breath in anticipation of my next move. I stood there, in the middle of nowhere—free, omnipotent, with the power to reshape reality at my fingertips… and with absolutely no idea what to do next. The vastness of possibility stretched before me like an uncharted map, thrilling yet daunting.
My mind was empty, nothing but the faint stir of wind in a hollow space, a void where plans and purposes should have been. Classic—me, the eternal procrastinator, even in paradise. What now? Build a castle? Summon a feast? Or just wander aimlessly, letting the world unfold its surprises?
I pushed forward, weaving between the trees with deliberate steps, the underbrush brushing against my bare legs like curious fingers. Hoping something—anything—would break the monotony, I scanned the horizon for signs of life or adventure. But after only a few minutes of aimless wandering, irritation gnawed at me, a familiar itch from my old life resurfacing. The whole place felt less like paradise and more like a poorly coded sandbox, full of potential but lacking direction, a game without a tutorial.
I sighed, the sound heavy in the quiet woods, and pulled up the hint window, its interface shimmering into view with a helpful chime.
> Hint: Chop down a tree.
"Seriously? I'm supposed to tear down trees with my bare hands?" I muttered, eyeing a nearby trunk skeptically. But with no axe in sight—or any tools, for that matter—I rolled up my invisible sleeves and picked a target, a sturdy oak-like tree that loomed defiantly before me.
I started punching, my fists thudding against the rough bark with rhythmic determination. Then kicking, my bare feet connecting with surprising force, sending vibrations up my legs. At first the trunk mocked me, unyielding and indifferent, as if laughing at my mortal efforts in this immortal realm. But soon cracks spidered across the bark, spreading like veins of lightning. My frustration fueled me, turning each blow into a cathartic release, and after a relentless barrage of blows—sweat beading on my skin despite the lack of true exertion—the tree finally gave a groaning snap, a deep, resonant crack that echoed through the forest. It toppled with dramatic flair, crashing to the ground in a burst of dust and the sharp tang of fresh wood, leaves fluttering down like confetti in its wake.
> System: Craft a wooden sword from this tree?
"Yes! Better yet—make two!" I shouted, grinning like a lunatic, the rush of accomplishment surging through me like adrenaline. "I'll be a Witcher, slaying beasts and monsters, carving my legend into this world!"
Using the game's mechanics, which felt intuitive yet otherworldly, I set about forging my arsenal. The fallen trunk bent to my will under my focused intent: from the heavy log, outlines of blades seeped free as if emerging from a dream—first one sword, its edge rough but serviceable, then another, twin to the first. Inspired by the momentum, I shaped a simple spear as well, its tip sharpened to a point that gleamed with latent potential.
One sword and the spear I tucked neatly into the inventory slots that seemed to open in my mind, a mental vault that swallowed them without a trace, ready to be summoned at a thought. The second sword I kept in hand—better to be ready if sudden fun came knocking, or if some woodland creature decided to test my mettle.
"Well then," I muttered, licking the edge of the blade with a wolfish grin, the wood tasting faintly of sap and earth, "time to begin the hunt… for beautiful women, hidden treasures, or whatever delights this paradise has tucked away."
I paused, a mischievous thought creeping in like a sly fox, derailing my grand plans. "Although—wait. What happens if I just eat a chunk of wood? After all, they said there's no pain or suffering in this world, no true harm to befall me."
Without hesitation, I snapped off a splintered stick from the fallen tree and bit down, the fibers crunching between my teeth. Chewing was a chore—like gnawing on dry, crunchy cardboard that resisted every effort—but I forced it down, determination overriding the absurdity. Grimacing, I swallowed… and then blinked in surprise as a faint tickle stirred in my stomach. Not pain—just a strange, playful flutter, like someone teasing me from the inside with feather-light touches, turning potential discomfort into whimsical sensation.
"Ha! So instead of pain I get a tickle?" I burst into laughter, the sound bubbling up uncontrollably, echoing off the trees like a madman's symphony. "This world is starting to grow on me, with its twisted sense of humor and boundless leniency."
Encouraged by the harmless folly, I wandered deeper into my strange new playground, the forest unfolding before me like pages in an unwritten book. I tried every bit of nonsense I could think of: hopping up and down just to see if gravity would misbehave, defying physics with exaggerated leaps that sent me soaring higher than expected; chatting earnestly with trees as though they might answer, spinning tales of my earthly woes to their silent trunks; even attempting to tame a rock like it was some loyal pet, whispering commands and rewards to the unyielding stone. At one point I smeared charcoal across my face from a smoldering branch, trying to draw myself a mustache worthy of an old adventurer, the black streaks giving me a comically villainous air that made me chuckle at my reflection in a nearby stream.
None of it mattered. None of it had purpose beyond the joy of the moment. And yet it was exhilarating, a rush of pure, unadulterated freedom that washed away the residues of my former life's constraints. The world felt raw, vivid, full of surprises lurking in every shadow and sunbeam. Every ridiculous experiment made me laugh harder, the echoes of my mirth blending with the forest's symphony. For the first time in longer than I could remember, I wasn't analyzing every outcome, doubting my choices, or searching for hidden rules buried in fine print. I was just… living, embracing the chaos with open arms.
Like a child on holiday, reckless and free, rediscovering the simple thrill of existence without the weight of expectations.