Pain.
A hot spike, twisting under his ribs like iron searing through flesh.
Knight Muetsukashi gasped and jolted upright.
His heart pounded so hard it hurt. He doubled over, clutching his chest—but there was nothing there. No wound. No blood. Just a pulsing heat that throbbed in his bones.
His breath fogged in the cold air. Sweat clung to his white T-shirt, clinging like wet paper. His gym shorts were soaked through. He looked like someone who'd collapsed on the street after a run—except the street was not a street he knew.
Cobblestone. Moss. Wooden crates. A strange, sour smell in the air, like rust and rot mixed with something herbal. The narrow alley pressed in on both sides. He could hear voices—but distant, above him.
He forced himself to his feet. His knees wobbled, but they held.
The sky above was a cold, pale gray—like dawn that never warmed.
He staggered toward the mouth of the alley and stepped into light.
And chaos.
The market stretched like a living maze.
Crowds, dust, shouting. The clatter of metal against metal. The stench of manure and grilled meat mingling into something animal.
A wagon rolled past, its wheels screeching, pulled by something that looked like a cross between a goat and a bear.
A child with cat ears—real cat ears—ran past him chasing a floating ball of light, laughing.
He blinked, dumbfounded by the fantasy that was unfolding before his eyes.
He rubbed his eyes and blinked once, twice but nothing changed.
He had been transmigrated and it wasn't just a dream or a video game.
A hulking man with greenish skin and tusks stood behind a forge stall, hammering out something that glowed orange with heat.
Farther down, three men stood on overturned barrels. One of them wore shimmering robes and gestured with sweeping fingers. A spark of light shot from his palm, dancing through the air in the shape of a bird. It exploded into glitter.
The crowd gasped. Coins clinked into a tin bowl.
"Conjured illusions! Cheap entertainment! Two silver for a lightshow, five for a love letter revealed from the wind!"
It was magic.
Knight stared too long. The mage looked at him and waved a hand with mock grandeur. "You, stranger! Fortune told for free if you dance!"
Knight politely shook his head and walked away.
His bare legs brushed against wool skirts and scabbards as he pushed through the crowd. Everything overwhelmed him—the noise, the smells, the motion—but he kept going. Just watching.
He passed a leatherworker's stall selling bracers and belts. Another hawked daggers and boot-knives. A group of adventurers laughed loudly around a barrel of steaming broth, slurping with one hand while wiping blood off their boots with the other.
One of them wore a red band around their arm.
He'd seen a few others with those, too.
They were adventurers.
Knight stopped.
He looked down at himself: short sleeves, bare legs, sweaty skin, empty hands.
He had nothing. No money. No food. No place to sleep.
He remembered his mother telling him once, before he became indifferent to everything in his life "You need to get a job someday. Just something to get you moving again."
And he'd laughed. A bitter, awkward thing. Back then, nothing sounded worse than working.
But now…
Now, everything in him whispered that he had to move. Do something. Or he'd rot again.
His eyes drifted back toward the laughing adventurers.
They looked tired. Dirty. A little dangerous.
But alive.
Another thought crept in, quiet but firm:
I've never done anything. Never had a job. But maybe…
He glanced to his right. A man shoveled animal droppings into a wooden cart, wiping sweat from his face with a frayed rag. He looked twice Knight's age. A kid beside him did the same.
Knight wrinkled his nose.
I'd rather die again than do that.
Adventurer it is.
He soon started walking back to the dark alleyway where he'd woken.
Being the penniless kid he was, he needed some basic gear first. A weapon and maybe some armor.
That's when he found them. Half-buried under collapsed crates and moldy cloth.
A dull, notched short sword.
And an iron helmet.
Old, damaged and covered in dust.
Knight stared.
Although they were in a bad condition they were intact.
He reached down to grab his newly acquired equipment.
The helmet was heavier than it looked. His fingers brushed the leather lining inside.
He didn't hesitate.
He pulled it over his head.
It clanked into place, obscuring everything but a narrow slit of light.
And for the first time, he felt still.
No face.
No past.
Only forward.