The village disappeared behind him far quicker than he expected.
Cael didn't look back.
Not because he didn't feel fear—he did. He felt it crawling under his skin like a living thing, twisting in his stomach with every step he took away from the warmth of people and into the open roads of Elaris.
But because looking back was dangerous.
It made you hesitate.
And hesitation was the first step toward dying.
The dirt road stretched wide under the morning sky, flanked by fields of tall grass that swayed like waves in a green ocean. The air was crisp, almost sweet. Somewhere far off, birds circled in lazy patterns, unbothered by the struggles of men.
The scenery was beautiful.
That was the cruelest part of this world.
Elaris didn't look like a battlefield until the moment it became one.
Cael walked for nearly an hour before he spotted a merchant cart rolling down the road, the wooden wheels creaking as it passed through a shallow dip in the earth. Two horses pulled it at a steady pace. The man holding the reins looked old, thick-armed, sunburned from years of travel.
Cael raised a hand.
The merchant slowed, eyeing him with a wary expression. "You alone?"
"Yes," Cael answered. He tried to keep his voice calm, steady—normal.
The man's gaze swept over Cael's thin frame, the plain clothes, the lack of a weapon worth mentioning. "Where to?"
Cael hesitated only for a heartbeat. "North trail. Near the hills."
The merchant snorted. "That's not a place smart boys go without guards."
"I don't have a choice."
Something about Cael's tone must've sounded too sharp for someone his age, because the merchant narrowed his eyes. But after a moment, he grunted and jerked his chin toward the cart.
"Hop in. I'm headed halfway there anyway. You're paying with labor if you don't have coin."
Cael climbed onto the back of the cart, fingers gripping the edge of the wooden frame as the wheels began turning again. His body jolted with the motion, reminding him how fragile it still was. Every bump felt like it reached deep into his bones.
He stared out across the land as the cart rolled forward.
He'd seen these roads in the game.
But now, with the sun warm on his face and wind brushing past his skin, everything felt… larger. Realer. The world wasn't made of rendered textures and looping sound effects. It was alive.
He passed a small stream, shimmering under the sunlight. The water moved with quiet stubbornness, flowing onward without caring what monsters lurked upstream. He saw farmers bending over crops, tools in hand, backs tense as though always ready to flee at the first sign of danger.
They're always prepared to run, Cael realized.
That was another difference between the game and reality.
In the game, villagers stood still when threatened.
Here, everyone lived with survival etched into their posture.
The merchant spoke occasionally, mostly to complain about the roads, the taxes, the guards who took bribes and called it "inspection." Cael nodded when necessary, keeping his thoughts locked behind his eyes.
The Withering Grove was close now.
He could feel it—not in magic, but in memory. He knew the exact turn the cart would take, the curve of the hills, the way the road narrowed as the grass grew thicker.
This was the area where early-game players died.
Not because it was high-level.
Because it was lawless.
Bandits.
They hid in the blind spots of the hills where travelers couldn't see far enough ahead to react. In the game, they were nothing but nuisance enemies. Here…
Cael watched the shadows between the tall grass and felt his throat tighten.
The merchant's horses slowed suddenly, ears flicking back.
The man holding the reins muttered, "Tch… I don't like this."
Cael's eyes sharpened. "Stop the cart."
The merchant glanced back. "What?"
"Stop. Now."
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried a weight that made the merchant hesitate. The old man pulled the reins. The horses stamped, uneasy.
Then a voice rang out from ahead.
"Travelers! What luck!"
Three men stepped into the road.
Leather armor patched with crude stitching. Rusted blades. Smiles too wide, eyes too hungry.
Bandits.
One held a short bow. Another carried an axe with dried stains near its edge. The third walked slow, like he enjoyed the moment.
The leader spread his arms. "Road tax. Hand over the coin, and we'll let you pass."
The merchant's face drained of color. "I-I already pay kingdom tax—"
The bandit laughed, sharp and ugly. "Kingdom ain't here, old man."
Cael's heart hammered. His body screamed at him to stay still, to hide, to pray this wasn't real.
But it was.
The bowman's gaze slid to Cael. "Kid too? That's even better. Maybe we sell him."
Cael's fingers tightened.
His stats flashed in his mind—
Strength 3,
Endurance 2. A joke.
If he fought, he'd die.
If he didn't… he'd die anyway.
The bandit leader stepped closer. "Come on. Don't make it hard."
Cael inhaled once.
Then he moved.
He jumped off the cart, landing awkwardly, knees bending too far under the impact. Pain shot through his legs—but he forced himself upright. His eyes locked onto the bowman.
Ranged first.
That was one rule the game taught him that reality agreed with.
He grabbed a small wooden crate from the cart—lightweight, barely held together—and hurled it with everything he had.
It wasn't strong.
It wasn't fast.
But it didn't need to be.
It startled the bowman, forcing him to raise his arms in reflex.
The arrow that should've pierced Cael's throat flew wide, slicing into the dirt instead.
The merchant shouted. "What are you doing?!"
Cael didn't answer.
He rushed forward, grabbed a loose stone from the roadside, and swung it like a weapon toward the bowman's wrist.
The impact was clumsy, but it worked.
The bow slipped from the man's grip and fell into the grass.
"Little rat—!"
The axe bandit charged.
Cael's breath caught. His body couldn't handle a direct hit. One blow and he'd crumple.
He twisted sideways, barely avoiding the axe as it chopped into the cart's wooden side, sending splinters flying. The merchant yelled in panic and tried to whip the horses.
The bandit leader snarled. "Kill the kid!"
Cael felt his chest tighten.
Too many.
No weapon.
No strength.
His brain ran through game logic, through map memory, through every hidden path he could recall—
And then it clicked.
A slope to the left. Not visible from the road unless you knew it was there. A narrow downhill path leading into tall grass and broken stone.
A place where sightlines vanished.
A place where a weak man could disappear.
Cael didn't hesitate.
He turned and ran.
Pain exploded in his calves and lungs, his stamina draining like water from cracked glass. Behind him, footsteps thundered. Angry shouts tore through the air.
"Get back here!""Don't let him escape!""Shoot him!"
Cael forced himself faster.
His vision blurred at the edges. He tripped once, catching himself on his hands, gravel ripping skin from his palms. He tasted blood, metallic and warm, but he pushed up immediately.
Move. Move. Move.
An arrow whistled past his ear.
He flinched, heart lurching, then dove into the tall grass as the ground dipped sharply. His shoulder slammed into the earth. His ribs screamed.
He rolled behind a jagged rock formation half-buried in weeds and held his breath.
Footsteps pounded close—so close he could hear them sliding on dirt.
"Where'd he go?!"
"I saw him drop here!"
Cael pressed his back against the stone, throat tight, body trembling. His lungs begged for air.
He didn't breathe.
Seconds passed like hours.
Then the axe bandit cursed. "Damn weeds… he's gone."
The leader spat. "Forget him. Get the cart. The coin matters more."
The footsteps began moving away.
Cael waited until he couldn't hear them anymore.
Only then did he inhale—quiet, shaking, like a man returning from death.
He stared at his scraped hands, his dirt-stained clothes, his trembling knees.
He was alive.
Barely.
And it wasn't skill that saved him.
It wasn't strength.
It was luck.
Luck… and his knowledge of the world's hidden paths.
The System chimed softly, like it was amused.
[Survival Condition Met.]
[Minor Reward: +1 Perception]
[Warning: Death Flag Event Recorded.]
Cael swallowed, staring at the blue text until it faded.
Then he turned his gaze toward the hills ahead.
The Withering Grove was close now.
And if bandits like that were guarding the road…
Then whatever lay deeper in the wilds was waiting to tear him apart.
Cael wiped blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.
His voice came out as a whisper, rough and cold.
"…Fine."
He rose, forcing his weak body forward again.
"If I can't fight yet…"
His eyes narrowed.
"Then I'll survive until I can."
And with that, Cael Thornwood stepped into the tall grass, walking toward the place where most weak men vanished forever.