"I'm leaving!"
Dylan, a tall, smiling young man, announced his departure from the front door of his house as he slung his backpack over his shoulder and snatched a pair of keys from a keychain.
From the other side of the house, an elderly woman emerged hurriedly from the kitchen. She wiped her hands on her floral apron, her sandals slapping against the floor with every rushed step she took. This was Morticia Laufey, known around the neighborhood as Mrs. Laufey—Dylan's grandmother and a fierce competitor in the city's annual chess tournaments.
"Goodness! Young people these days are always in such a rush," Morticia exclaimed with a smile, approaching Dylan anxiously. "Are you sure you haven't forgotten anything? Today is your first day of school, and I don't want to get any calls saying you left a book behind," Morticia warned firmly. It wasn't the first time Dylan had forgotten his books, and she knew it wouldn't be the last.
Morticia smiled before adjusting Dylan's collar, giving him one last look filled with warmth and pride. Today was Dylan's first day of classes at the city academy, and her only wish was that everything would go smoothly for her grandson.
"I have everything in my pack. I didn't want to leave anything behind for that exact reason," Dylan replied, shifting the backpack on his shoulders to demonstrate how heavy it was from carrying all his books at once. "According to my schedule, classes will be a bit long today, so I'll be coming back late—maybe after 5 p.m."
Morticia nodded, visibly reassured, and watched Dylan step out the door with a bright smile.
The moment the front door closed, Morticia's smile vanished instantly, replaced by an expression of agonizing pain on her aging face.
*THUD*
Right then, a heavy thud echoed from the other side of the door, followed by the metallic clatter of keys hitting the ground.
Morticia furrowed her brow in grief and fear, tears welling up in her eyes as she heard the sound that confirmed her absolute worst nightmare.
With slow steps and trembling hands, Morticia opened the door of her house. There, lying on the entryway, was Dylan's backpack, and right beside it were the keys he had just taken. Morticia choked back a sob, biting her quivering lip.
"May the Great Sage have mercy on you and guide you toward glory, my boy..." Morticia whispered sorrowfully before picking up the backpack and keys, walking back into the quiet house.
In an Unknown Place
Dylan stepped out of his house with utter confidence, only to be met by a heavy, entirely unexpected downpour. Dylan looked up curiously at the dark, overcast sky, where not a single beam of sunlight broke through. Then he looked down at the ground as he felt it give way beneath his feet, noticing the thick mud coating his shoes.
The rain beat down on him fiercely. In the distance, loud rumbles echoed—resembling the discharge of a massive cannon—followed by flashes of blinding light that Dylan could only guess were lightning strikes.
(What the hell?) Dylan thought, utterly confused. He quickly noticed that he wasn't just in an unfamiliar place, but he was also wearing clothes he had never owned. "Where did I get these?" Dylan muttered aloud, staring down at the white cotton shirt, brown trousers, and brown leather boots he was wearing.
"You finally awake?!"
A cheerful voice—a sharp contrast to the torrential rain—called out from in front of Dylan. Through the dark, pouring rain, Dylan couldn't see a thing. A few seconds later, a firm, heavy hand landed on Dylan's shoulder, and a tall, blue-eyed blonde youth—just as tall as Dylan—stood before him with a broad grin.
Judging by his smile, the young blonde seemed to actually be enjoying the miserable weather.
"You're the first one to wake up in the infirmary! We thought you lot would take much longer... well, you're not in terrible shape like the others, so well done!" the youth exclaimed merrily. Dylan instinctively turned to look, spotting an old, worn brown tent with a side sign that read Infirmary. "Let's head inside; this rain isn't going to let up anytime soon!"
With that, the young blonde guided Dylan inside the infirmary, leaving Dylan wide-eyed in sheer disbelief at what he saw.
From the outside, it looked like nothing more than a small, dilapidated tent that could barely hold a dozen people. From the inside, however, it was entirely different. A wide, long wooden hallway stretched out for at least 70 meters, lined with cots spanning the entire area.
Groans and screams of agony flooded Dylan's ears in an instant. There wasn't a single open bed in sight; every last one was occupied by the wounded, and the corridors were frantic with exhausted nurses rushing back and forth.
"Come on, there's a break room at the back," the blonde youth said, clapping Dylan on the back before walking toward the resting area.
Dylan followed him unconsciously, staring at the wounded as he navigated between the beds.
(What the hell happened here?) Dylan thought, frightened and bewildered.
"MY LEG!" screamed one of the wounded, snapping Dylan out of his thoughts.
Dylan instinctively turned toward the screaming man, noticing the complete absence of his right leg. It was a gruesome sight: the limb looked as though it had been violently torn off, the flesh shredded and the bone protruding prominently. Find the original chapter at novelping . com.
A moment later, Dylan averted his gaze toward the adjacent bed, where a woman lay weeping in agony. She was completely stripped of clothing and covered in severe wounds, biting down on a wooden block and groaning in pain while two nurses tended to her. One was bandaging her missing left arm, while the other applied a strange ointment to her right leg, which was gone from the knee down.
"Potions! We need more potions!" one of the nurses shouted frantically.
"NO!" the other nurse countered immediately, slathering more ointment on the girl's severed leg. "We've already administered two Healing Potions to her today! If we give her another, she won't survive—the magical overload is too much!"
Dylan stood staring at the woman clinging to life as she screamed in pain, not understanding what the nurses were talking about in the slightest. Then, a hand rested on his shoulder, drawing his attention away.
"Ummm, yeah... I heard about her. A talented adventurer. Is a shame her party couldn't hold their formation, and she suffered the consequences. Those damned pig-men tore her apart," the blonde youth said, standing beside Dylan and looking at the girl with disappointment.
Dylan nodded sorrowfully before frowning in utter confusion, suddenly remembering that he didn't even know where he was right now.
"Wait, wait, wait. Adventurer? Pig-men? What on earth are you talking about? And more importantly, where are we, or how the hell am I wearing these clothes?" Dylan asked, growing increasingly frustrated by the situation.
The blonde youth looked at Dylan curiously, now looking confused himself—unsure whether Dylan was joking or had taken a hit to the head.
"Did you get hit on the head out there or something?" the blonde asked, his wide grin returning as he guided Dylan into the break room. Upon entering, they saw several people sitting or sprawled across the floor, resting and talking among themselves.
Dylan quickly noticed the strange garments everyone wore and the weapons resting beside them. Everyone was drenched in sweat and caked in mud, visibly exhausted—or rather, defeated and covered in minor injuries.
"By the way, where's your weapon? Did it break in battle?" the blonde asked again, sitting down on the ground beside a massive, bearded man.
"Weapon? What the hell are you talking about? I don't have a weapon, and I wasn't in a fight! I was on my way to school when I walked through a door and ran into you... in this place!" Dylan explained, his voice rising in panic.
A deathly silence fell over the room the moment Dylan stopped speaking. Everyone turned to stare at Dylan with disbelief, though not with surprise.
"No. Way... Are you a damned transmigrator?!" the blonde burst out laughing, and a few chuckles quickly echoed throughout the room.
"What shitty luck you've got, kid!" the bearded man beside the blonde laughed.
While some laughed, others simply offered Dylan their condolences, understanding his current predicament all too well.
"You transmigrated at a terrible time, my friend!" the blonde laughed heartily.
"Transmigrated?..." Dylan repeated in disbelief.
Dylan was left speechless. He slowly sat down beside the blonde, who was watching him with an amused look, much like most of the people in the room.
(This... This can't be real. How did I transmigrate?) Dylan wondered, still in shock. (I don't want to be here! I've never wished for anything like this in my life!)
*BAM*
"I'm Connor Karolsen!" the blonde introduced himself, slapping Dylan on the back in an attempt to cheer him up.
"I'm Dylan... Dylan Laufey," Dylan introduced himself weakly, leaning back against the canvas of the tent and staring blankly at the ceiling, still struggling to process reality.
"Come on, don't look so down; you've barely just arrived!" Connor exclaimed, grabbing Dylan by the shoulder and shaking him lightly. "You'll see, you'll come to like it. Plenty of people from your world do... maybe. What world do you come from?" Connor asked, leaving Dylan even more bewildered. At 18 years old, Connor had already seen several transmigrators, and he knew not all of them reacted the same way upon arriving in Vaelthar.
Right at that moment, a massive explosion reverberated outside the room, followed by a violent tremor that shook everyone and everything inside the infirmary tent. Shortly after, the door opposite the entrance to the patient ward slammed open, admitting a tall figure.
It was a striking, incredibly beautiful young woman around 20 years old, standing at an imposing height of 1.90 meters. She had long, fiery red hair, brilliant blue eyes, and an athletic figure that instantly captured the gaze of everyone in the room—including Dylan, pulling him out of his spiraling thoughts for a brief moment.
"Armor and weapons, quickly!" the redhead roared in a commanding tone.
Without waiting for anyone to assist her, the young woman grabbed her half-destroyed leather armor and ripped it off in one swift yank, along with the clothes underneath. She then repeated the action with her skirt, which was riddled with holes, and her black stockings, which were practically nonexistent.
The young woman was covered in mud and sweat, yet she didn't bear a single wound—not even the slightest scratch on her body. Walking half-naked under the attentive gaze of the room, she strode over to a counter beside the door she had entered through, vaulting over it with effortless grace. She immediately began rummaging through the drawers until she pulled out a blue potion, chugging it down completely.
A few seconds later, a nurse carrying a change of clothes came rushing in, followed by a tall, well-dressed young man carrying several weapons. The young man's formal, Victorian-style attire stood in stark contrast to the garments everyone else was wearing, including the medical staff; nevertheless, he looked just as rushed and flustered as the rest.
"Lady Lydia, here is a fresh set of clothes!" the nurse called out. Despite her obvious exhaustion, her face reflected immense admiration for the young redhead.
"What took you so long? People are dying out there!" The redhead, now identified as Lydia, nodded in thanks with a slight hint of desperation before leaping back over the counter and dressing right in front of everyone. "Derek, what's the situation?" Lydia asked, her expression growing troubled, though she clearly lacked the time to dwell on it.
"Not good, Lydia. The new adventurers who recently advanced to Rank C are holding their ground on the battlefield, but the Rank D, E, and F adventurers are being slaughtered across the board by the pig-men. We have seven infirmary tents deployed, and every single one is filled to capacity," Derek explained grimly.
A wave of pessimism washed over the room, particularly among the adventurers who had been resting there prior. They felt as though their fighting had been entirely in vain.
Lydia let out a heavy sigh, nodding in understanding before taking three weapons from Derek's hands: an iron spear, which she strapped to her back; a massive warhammer, which she rested on the ground beside her; and a longsword, which she brandished with rapid, practiced slashes through the air, the blade's edge dangerously brushing past several onlookers before she sheathed it at her waist.
"Understood. I'll do my best to minimize casualties..." Lydia assured him, adjusting the sword at her hip and attempting to tug down her fresh skirt to cover her ass. "Damn it, was there really no longer skirt available? And where the hell is my armor?!" she demanded angrily, glaring at the nurse.
"I'm so sorry, Lady Lydia, but this is the very last change of clothes we have left! We ran completely out of armor two hours ago!" the nurse apologized.
"Tsk, shit! Those damned pig-men are going to grope my entire ass with this skirt—one shove is all it takes for them to try and force themselves on the women!... Whatever, it's not like I actually need the armor anyway..." Lydia grumbled, filterless, but knowing there was nothing else to be done. She turned to leave, only to pause right at the doorway upon seeing the group of adventurers lounging around. "And what the hell are you all doing in here?"
The adventurers visibly tensed at Lydia's words, exchanging nervous glances and quickly averting their eyes, hoping someone else would dare to answer.
"This is about to get ugly..." the bearded man beside Connor whispered, swallowing hard and breaking into a cold sweat.
Lydia's reputation was not something to be taken lightly. Rumor within the guild had it that she could not stand weaklings, and lazy ones even less. To her, there was only one path for an adventurer: laying down one's life for the guild and the people.
"These are adventurers who had to pull back due to various factors: broken bones, potion overload, and magical adrenaline exhaustion," Derek explained quickly. He knew Lydia's temperament all too well and knew she would force the adventurers back out onto the field if no one answered.
Lydia nodded in satisfaction before stepping out through the same door she had entered. Before everyone's eyes, she launched herself into a powerful leap that shook the tent once more, vanishing into the dark, pouring rain.
"I take it she's someone important or something," Dylan commented, wiping sweat from his forehead after having been grazed by the wind of Lydia's sword play.
"I suppose so..." Connor replied, clutching a lock of hair that Lydia's blade had neatly clipped off.
"Oh~ my beard..." the bearded man whimpered sorrowfully, staring at half of his beard lying on the floor.
Before anyone else could speak, the door Lydia had exited through swung open once more, filling the room with a sensation that was incomprehensible to Dylan, yet painfully familiar to everyone else.
Power.
The raw magical power flooding the room was recognized by every single person present, with the sole exception of Dylan. It was a pressure so immense that adventurers claimed it could knock out adult wyverns if left unchecked.
Through the doorway, a massive, muscular man stepped inside, ducking his head. At a glance, the man stood at least 2.30 meters tall, possessing muscles as large as Dylan's head. The man shook out his graying hair and long beard, flicking off excess water before looking around at everyone in the break room, breaking into a massive grin.
"BAHAHAHA! I see you bunch of useless fools took a beating!" the older man boomed, clearly amused.
"Master Robert!" the nurse exclaimed joyfully.
Robert, the master of the adventurers present, carefully scrutinized his tired, physically and morally defeated subordinates before glancing toward the infirmary ward, spotting several gravely wounded individuals. With a weary sigh, he shook his head in disappointment; the current situation was worse than he thought.
This war was not something they had anticipated. The adventurers were clearly unprepared. The pig-men had launched a sudden assault right as they were recovering from a previous battle. It was almost as though they had been waiting for that exact moment to strike—though Robert knew that was impossible. The pig-men lacked the intelligence to concoct a strategy even that simple.
"The current situation is worse than expected, Master," Derek stated bluntly. "More than 60 percent of the adventurers have fallen over the last two months. If this war drags on any longer... I fear we can only expect a survival rate of 20 to 30 percent for our forces."
Robert scratched his head in frustration and annoyance, a stark contrast to his previous jovial demeanor. Thinking for a few seconds and analyzing the room and his adventurers, Robert nodded, his gaze coming to a rest on the only two individuals who appeared to be in peak condition: Dylan and Connor.
"Is the batch of potions I ordered a few hours ago ready?" Robert asked aloud, expecting an answer from anyone.
"YES!" the nurse replied immediately. "The alchemists finished them a few minutes ago!"
"Good... Bring them here. We can't wait for the adventurers to come back to the infirmary for one; we'll bring the potions to them," Robert ordered, not averting his gaze for a single second. "Give them to these boys—they can at least still run," he said, pointing straight at Dylan and Connor before turning toward the exit.
"Wait, WHAT?!" Dylan stood up abruptly, ready to refuse. However, Connor was faster, clamping his hand firmly over Dylan's mouth to silence him.
"Don't worry, Boss. We've got this!" Connor exclaimed excitedly.