The suffocating press of damp earth was the first thing Kenji Tanaka registered. Not the sterile, recycled air of his university dorm, nor the familiar, rhythmic thrum of his gaming PC. This was a profound, ancient cold that clung to his skin, seeping into the very marrow of his bones. A dull, insistent ache throbbed behind his temples, a relentless drumbeat against the silence that enveloped him. He tried to shift, to push away the oppressive weight, but his limbs felt encased in lead, heavy and unresponsive, glued to the rough, uneven ground beneath him. A bitter, metallic tang coated his tongue, mingling nauseatingly with the cloying, stale scent of mildew and something else—something distinctly acrid, vaguely reminiscent of dried blood and raw, disturbed earth. He could feel grit between his teeth, the taste a harsh reality check.
Panic, cold and sharp as a newly honed blade, began to prickle at the edges of his fading unconsciousness. Where am I? His thoughts were sluggish, fragmented, like trying to grasp smoke. The last thing he recalled was the late-night study session, the flickering blue light of his laptop screen illuminating complex engineering diagrams, the forgotten mug of lukewarm coffee growing cold beside him. He'd been working on his final project, a complex propulsion system. He remembered a sudden, sharp jolt, like static electricity, then an abrupt, terrifying void. And now this. This crushing darkness, this primal chill.
He forced his eyelids open, the effort monumental, but for a long moment, saw nothing but an inky, absolute blackness that seemed to swallow even the faint traces of light that might have once existed. His heart, already hammering against his ribs, accelerated into a frantic, erratic drumbeat against the overwhelming silence. This isn't right. This isn't my room. This isn't anything I know. His mind screamed for recognition, for a familiar landmark, a comforting sound, anything that could tether him to the reality he knew, the one where he was a perfectly ordinary, if slightly sleep-deprived, university student.
But there was nothing. Only the unsettling rhythm of a faint drip, drip, drip echoing somewhere nearby, punctuated by the soft, disturbing rustle of unseen creatures scuttling through the gloom. His nostrils flared, trying to pinpoint the source of the unsettling sensations. The heavy scent of damp, mineral-rich earth mixed with something vaguely feral, animalistic, sending a shiver down his spine. This was a cave. He was definitely, inexplicably, in a cave. How? Why? The questions hammered at him, unanswered, terrifying in their scope.
A sudden wave of intense nausea washed over him, bile rising in his throat. He gagged, a dry, painful sound, his throat raw and scratchy as if he'd been screaming. He pushed himself up again, this time with a surge of desperate energy, ignoring the screaming protest of every muscle in his body. He finally managed to get to a half-sitting position, slumped against a cold, rough stone wall that scraped against his cheek. His fingers, numb at first, slowly began to register the uneven, gritty surface of the rock, the sharp edges, the damp moss clinging to unseen cracks. He realized he was not wearing his comfortable university hoodie, nor his familiar jeans. His clothes were coarse, scratchy fabric he'd never felt before – a roughspun tunic and trousers, utterly foreign to his touch, stiff with dried dirt and perhaps something worse. It felt less like clothing and more like a sack.
He stumbled forward, hands outstretched, navigating the oppressive, absolute darkness that pressed in on him from all sides. Each tentative step was a gamble, his feet sliding on loose pebbles, his shins scraping painfully against unseen debris. The cave air grew heavier, colder, pressing in on him, stealing his breath. The claustrophobia mounted with every passing second, a suffocating dread that threatened to overwhelm him, to paralyze him completely. He desperately needed light. Any light. Even a flicker, a spark, anything to dispel the overwhelming blackness that felt like a physical weight on his chest.
Then, from somewhere deeper within the cavern, beyond the reach of the absolute darkness he occupied, he heard it. Voices. Low, guttural, and undeniably human. He froze, his breath catching in his throat, every nerve ending screaming a silent warning. He strained to listen, his fear sharpening his senses to an unbearable degree.
"...still alive, I tell ya. Barely clinging on." The voice was raspy, edged with a casual cruelty that made Kenji's stomach clench. It sounded like gravel being dragged over stone.
"Leave 'im then," another voice growled, rougher, impatient, laced with a brutal indifference. "He ain't worth the trouble. Less loot on 'im than a stray dog. Probably just some weak commoner trying to cross the Whispering Peaks on his own."
"No, no. Master Kordus wants all stragglers cleared," the first voice chuckled, a chilling, wheezing sound that sent shivers down Kenji's spine. "The Dusk Raiders leave no loose ends. Besides," the voice paused, a sickening pause that stretched Kenji's nerves taut, "he might still have a coin or two hidden. Or his organs. Master Kordus pays well for prime specimens. A young one like this… good blood, good organs."
Kenji's blood ran cold, a glacial torrent through his veins. Organs? Dusk Raiders? The words tore through his mind, stripping away any lingering disbelief. This wasn't a nightmare. This wasn't a hallucination. This was terrifyingly, brutally real. These were brigands, and they were talking about killing him, about butchering him for spare change or body parts. He was stranded, disoriented, and utterly alone in a dark, unfamiliar cave in some unknown, savage land called Aethelgard, with men who viewed him as nothing more than raw material.
He scrambled backward, pressing himself against the cold, unyielding rock wall, desperate for a deeper shadow, a hidden crevice, anything that could conceal his presence. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage, desperately beating its wings against impossible bars. He could hear their heavy boots now, scraping against the uneven cave floor, drawing closer with agonizing slowness. Each scrape was a hammer blow against his sanity.
The air grew heavy with their approach, carrying the undeniable stench of unwashed bodies, stale blood, cheap spirits, and something metallic, like crudely forged iron. He could almost feel their eyes piercing the darkness, sweeping through the cavern, searching for him. His muscles tensed, screaming in protest, but ready to bolt at a moment's notice. But to where? The cave seemed endless, and he was cornered, nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, a desperate, futile prayer forming in his mind, begging for this to be a dream.
Then, just as the first flicker of torchlight danced at the cave entrance, casting grotesque, dancing shadows that stretched long and menacingly across the ancient stone walls, something utterly impossible, something truly miraculous, happened. A translucent, ethereal blue screen flickered into existence directly before his eyes. It was so close he could have reached out and touched it, yet it felt distant, intangible, shimmering with an inner light that defied the oppressive darkness of the cave. It was not a physical object, but a projection of pure, luminous energy.
And on it, in crisp, glowing white text that seemed to burn itself directly into his consciousness, were two words that instantly froze the fear in his veins, replacing it with a bewildered, desperate hope, a fleeting surge of adrenaline that defied his physical exhaustion:
SYSTEM ACTIVATED
His mind reeled, struggling to process the impossible sight. System? Like in a game? Is this… is this one of those transmigration novels? The absurdity of the thought clashed violently with the very real, very present terror. But the torchlight was drawing closer, steadily, relentlessly, illuminating the rough, tattered garments of the brigands, their crude, sharpened blades glinting ominously in the flickering glow. Their shadows stretched long and menacing, swallowing the last vestiges of darkness in the cavern.
And then, a new line of text materialized on the glowing interface, stark and undeniable, vibrating with a subtle energy that resonated deep within him:
Mission: Survive the Night.Reward: Beginner's Cultivation Pack.Failure: Death.
Kenji's eyes, wide with a mixture of terror and disbelief, darted frantically between the terrifying words on the shimmering screen and the approaching brigands. Their low murmurs grew louder, their forms becoming clearer, more menacing. One of them, a burly man with a scarred face that seemed to have been carved from rock, held a crude, heavy axe over his shoulder, its edge reflecting the torchlight with a cold gleam.
"He's over here, lads! Cornered like a rat!" the raspy voice from before crowed, pointing a grimy finger directly at Kenji, his eyes glinting with a savage satisfaction. The words echoed in the enclosed space, sealing Kenji's fate.
His breath hitched, a painful gasp. He was found. There was no denying it now. This wasn't a game. This was terrifyingly, brutally, unequivocally real. The System. Survive. Reward. Death. The words hammered in his mind, each one a desperate imperative. He had to try. He had no other choice. His life, his very existence, depended on it.