The night air on the property had a certain bite I’d grown accustomed to.
About early November in rural Minnesota, far enough from California that I wouldn’t have to worry about my family or anyone recognizing me.
"Come on already." I muttered to myself as my breath fogged in front of me.
Snow had already begun to trickle down from the sky, shrouding the moon and clouding my vision slightly.
This was going to be an issue later.
I thought already knowing what was coming. Pushing off my chair on the porch I stepped forward, the light of the house dying down the further I walked.
The farm plot below me was withered and neglected. Didn’t really have the time since this started.
I stretched out my arm to my side before I said the words, "System, armour."
And my plate mail armour materialized around me, over my clothes, chest, thighs, forearm and a sword sheathed in its scabbard.
It was meant to protect without restricting my movements, hence why it isn’t a full body armor.
Just enough to stop a mallet from crushing me—or at least try to—when a troll or fucking zombie came at me.
We were just getting to my evening ritual. Can I say ritual without sounding like a weirdo?
Raising my left hand, I glanced at the watch on my wrist.
12:28 AM
Almost time.
Trying to get some kind of warm-up, I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, enjoying the satisfying crunch of dried cornstalks and snow beneath my feet.
Alright, feels like I’ve stretched this out long enough, and I’ve always wanted to say this so I’m gonna do it right.
Scratch record, freeze frame.
You’re probably wondering how I got here.
Last you saw me I was just a mere salesman for Amazen who’d just transmigrated back to reality, let’s just say after winning a lawsuit and incurring millions, you start to know why the rich hate the poor.
The lawsuit was commercialized, the lawyer I met in the diner was free and dangerous, it was all over the news, on every major news channel on TV.
I couldn’t walk down the street without people pointing fingers at me—some were in awe, after all I was highly favoured to win the case, while others... they thought I was despicable white trash trying to use the easy way out.
Which wasn’t exactly wrong. Who wouldn’t want a leg up after the shit hand life had dealt me since forever.
And immediately the verdict was given and I was officially a millionaire, things only got weirder.
Something they don’t tell you about getting rich is everyone who knows you and doesn’t know you now assumes that you’re the answer to their prayers.
So, I left it all. Left the needy family members who needed help with businesses they couldn’t articulate with more words than "c’mon bro."
God, I sound like an ass. But you couldn’t blame me, it was a lot, and there’s the fact that I’ve kinda been on my own for what felt like years now.
Behind me, about a quarter mile back, sat my farmhouse, bearing witness to my adventures.
I allowed myself a yawn.
"Come on already," I muttered, my breath fogging in the cool air.
"There’s leftover ramen on the kitchen counter calling my name."
And then—as if hearing and heeding my words—the pressure in the air shifted. Not massively. Just like if gravity was increased by a fraction.
Rifts were different from gates. Gates had always existed in this world since in return transmigration, but rifts were odd.
For one, they never appeared in anywhere except my property, two, gates usually opened in places with a large population, and finally, for some reason it gave me a system.
My eyes immediately went to where the portal always opened from—a corner on the far end of the farm.
The air would distorted and squeeze in on itself before it spread out cracking across the space like it was glass.
"Finally," I bounced on the balls of my feet again. Unsheathing the sword to watch it gleam in the moonlight and traces of snow land on the blade.
My hand tensed around the leather, breathing even but I’d been doing this long enough to be calm about it.
I took some anime swordsman position I’d researched since gaining the armour from a troll a while back.
Note. Swords aren’t easy to use. Or learn. I had at least a dozen cuts as proof before, eventually, I got back used to it.
Weird how I had to learn to use a sword twice now, but it felt more familiar than my phone now.
The hand came first. Bloated and blueish-gray, like someone drowned and was just brought up.
Then the head squeezed through the small rift like a octopus would before falling like a graceless mannequin to the ground below us.
I felt I’d battled something like this before but I couldn’t recall. Maybe in this life or the last.
It looked similar to almost everything. Ugly. Stupid. And reeking like a flaming garbage truck.
It staggered back to its feet as it began surveying its surroundings. Most of the creatures did. They saw me as more of an afterthought.
But then it’s beady yellow eyes landed on me. It froze for a second. So did I, before it let out a screech.
I shot one eye close because it was that loud and that bad. Good thing I had no neighbours around, else that’d be hard to explain to the homeowner’s association.
"A little help, System?" I muttered low, knowing it was about to come for me.
Then the green interface popped up in front of my retina.
• · ─ ·✶· ─ · •
{New Entity Detected: DRAUGR — Undead / Norse-Class. Weakness: Figure it out. Caution advised.}
• · ─ ·✶· ─ · •
"Draugr," I said, remembering it from fantasy books. Some creatures could be found in games and fantasy books—others were just crazy.
"You’re not that big, think I can wrap this up in ten minutes." I was confident cause I’d done this that many times.
The draugr didn’t understand me. Nothing that came out of the portals were smarter than a nickel.
But in response to my taunt, it growled at me. Something like scratching on a chalkboard as its size stretched longer till it was about nine feet tall.
It pounded its chest with fists the size of chubby toddlers, then charged across the field towards me.
The thing was a lot faster than it had any right to be at its size.
I stood my ground until the last possible moment, then rolled to the side.
The draugr’s momentum carried it past me, giving me the perfect opportunity to slash at its hamstring.
I took that opportunity.
My sword bit deep, drawing a spray of foul-smelling green fluid that was gross enough to momentarily make me consider the merits of death by draugr rather than bleeding the thing any more.
The draugr howled and spun with surprising agility for something shaped like a refrigerator fucked a bear-gorilla and had a beautiful son they were both very proud of.
It swung a massive arm that I barely ducked under, close enough that I felt the wind ruffle my hair.
I countered with an upward strike that opened a gash across the creature’s belly, but watching the wound begin closing almost immediately made me sigh internally.
"Healing factor" I muttered, backing up to reassess my options. "I should’ve just stayed in California."