Chapter 3 – Neverending day

  Self-reflection, Village of Engel

  The 15th Vulcarian day, year 2025

  Adrian stepped out of Engel’s kitchen, letting the door close behind him. He needed to find his bearing – he felt like a ship adrift in a storm, no shore in sight, only the pull of unseen currents dragging him further away. The scent of cooked meat and damp wood still clung to his clothes, but the village air was fresh, carrying a crispness of the snowy mountain peaks up north.

  The village of Engel had no high structures, allowing him to see many houses stretching toward the horizon. The homes, all built on sturdy stone foundations with practical wooden walls, were spaced widely apart, their yards rich with orchards, vegetable patches, and the occasional chicken coop. Between them, sheds and silos hinted at the daily labor that kept the village running.

  At the heart of it all stood the chapel, primarily dedicated to Sylvanor but housing shrines for all six gods. Adrian cast a glance at it, but the square surrounding the chapel was filled with mourning villagers, so he deliberately avoided the place. Their hushed conversations and open sobs pressed against him like a vice tightening around his chest, and only walking away eased the pressure.

  Not far ahead his steps slowed. He could turn away, find another route to avoid the grief and move on – but his eyes caught a woman clutching a couple of boys. Tears streamed down her face as she unsuccessfully tried to be the strong one and consoled the weeping boy.

  Something twisted in his gut. ‘What if I had moved sooner? Could I have saved them? Would it even be any better?’ His hands curled into fists at his sides. He had no answer – only the gnawing feeling that he didn’t even know right from wrong. Those, he knew, were intrusive thoughts. He’d battled against them for months before even arriving in this world.

  When he was invited to the shady forum, he only accepted out of boredom. He never thought of himself as suicidal, and he didn’t believe he could be sad. The truth was, he never accepted any feeling at all – not for years. Adrian lived mechanically, focused on school obligations, personal interests, and content to be left alone. It wasn’t something he saw as a bad thing.

  But the problem that chewed his brains now – what troubled him more than anything – was why he felt envy. The feeling was still a bit detached from him, as if it wasn’t real, but he searched for an answer. From Adrian’s memories, the last time his mother ever touched him was with a slap to his face. He was about eleven years old, when he woke up one night to hear her whimpering in pain. He got up to check, but as he reached her bedroom, he heard voices he didn’t recognize. Instead of helping, he froze, paralyzed with fear, and fled to his room, crying himself to sleep.

  The next morning, his father prepared breakfast – toast with eggs and some fruit on the side, just like every other day. His mother had a tired expression and red eyes, but she didn’t seem upset, just sluggish, as if recovering from the night’s events. Adrian felt brave enough to ask, “Mom, I woke up and heard you crying. Is everything okay?”

  SLAP. “You shouldn’t spy on people, you little brat.”

  And that was the last time his parents ever touched him.

  Adrian made his way through the village, retracing his steps from the previous night, trying to find the field where he had first arrived in this world. He hoped walking around would help him reconnect with himself, to make sense of his thoughts. The rural landscape was beautiful, the blooming colorful orchards, and the air heavy with the scent of herbs and flowers. The scenery and fragrances were both familiar and alien, further muddling his already confused mind.

  Since he decided to join the battle, something had shifted in Adrian. A subtle but unmistakable change had rippled through him, as though he had, in a way, accepted death – ready to embrace it, if only it had some meaning. Before, he had simply been prepared to exist, to drift without purpose. But now, that decision felt suffocating – the realization that living without being true to himself was no longer an option.

  During the battle for the village of Engel, he’d felt powerless, with no prospect of surviving. Yet, Aurora had carried him to victory – though that power wasn’t his own. The realization that he was willing to face whatever came next, even if it meant confronting his own existence head-on, continued to boil inside him.

  He liked being alone, didn’t care for regular socializing, and valued rationality over sentimentality. But no longer would he hide from life or other people, nor would he remain apathetic just to avoid facing his feelings. It was a subtle distinction, but for the first time, he truly understood it.

  As Adrian walked past a few houses, he recognized the street ahead as the road where the battle had taken place. He was passing by the exact spot where he’d received treatment from Wakina. He absentmindedly touched his scarred shoulder, the impulse to reopen the wound with his nails rising up within him. But he suppressed it, acknowledging the frustration of finally coming to terms with his pain, only to feel utterly lost once more.

  A group of teenagers passed by on the road, shovels in hand, teasing and pretending to fight. One swung his shovel, and the other blocked, while a third hit the first. Adrian smiled shily at the scene, noticing that not all were tears, and felt happy for them. They were just playful jabs, but they stopped as soon as they noticed Adrian, the newcomer. They quickly whispered among themselves and hurried away. Adrian couldn’t help but wonder if any of the boys in the village felt the way he did – always on the outside, never fully included, just there to complete the picture.

  Adrian had had friends in his life – other kids to play with. At some point, he could call someone his best friend, but he always knew it wasn’t truly reciprocal. He was never anyone's best friend. He was never the one people chose to be part of their group; he was simply there by default, and eventually, as he got older, he was ignored. By then, he stopped trying.

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  Both his parents were real estate agents, and moving was a constant in his life. Making lasting friendships was difficult, especially with the frequent relocations and new schools. As a result, Adrian developed a social adaptability – he could easily engage with people, but his connections were always shallow. He was articulate and confident in conversation, but others often mistook him for someone who simply preferred being alone. In reality, he wasn’t shy or anti-social; he just didn’t see the point in opening up to anyone, never believing it would lead to something worth pursuing.

  As Adrian retraced his steps and arrived at the spot where he had first appeared in this world, he found himself standing in the middle of a small, irregular patch of the field – roughly two meters in diameter – where the crops simply didn’t exist. It wasn’t an empty space, exactly; rather, it was as if reality had been cut away, leaving behind a disjointed circle. Short stalks of cereal that should have grown here were missing, as if severed with a perfectly sharp tool. The remaining plants varied in height, some torn from their roots, others abruptly sliced at odd lengths. To the untrained eye, it might seem like an odd quirk of the field’s growth, but to someone who knew it well, it would be clear – something had disrupted the natural order here.

  Adrian’s mind lingered on the disorientation that had flooded him when he first arrived—it still felt fresh, a sensation he hadn’t fully shaken. The spot looked ordinary, as if the land had already begun to heal itself. By next year, farmers would plant new crops here, and no trace of the strange circle where he had appeared would remain.

  The fields lay at the village’s edge, with no buildings beyond them. Using his compass, Adrian identified north, where the snowy peaks stood, while to the south, a small river with crystal-clear waters meandered. Engel stretched to the west, while to the east, fields sprawled endlessly. He wondered how such a small village could tend so many crops, and magic was a probable answer. Bordering the river, however, a pine forest stood – the same forest from which the bandits had come.

  “Was I sent here to prevent this, or was it just a coincidence?” He muttered to himself. It was human nature to search for meaning, and Adrian couldn’t shake the thought that his arrival here might not be random. He contemplated the gods Priest Hugo had spoken of, realizing how little he knew about this world’s culture. Was transmigration a common event here, or was his case unique? Was it divine intervention or a magical accident?

  Then, he remembered how people had learned before the internet existed. Books. His mind latched onto the idea. “I need to ask for books,” he said aloud, as if declaring a solution to all his problems – he already knew hot to read the local language. Though he hadn’t noticed at first due to the overwhelming nature of his arrival, only the “Otherworlder’s Authority” magic skills remained in English – everything else in the system was in Granadian.

  Lost in thought, Adrian had unconsciously started walking toward the pine forest, as if searching for the bandits from the night before. A man’s voice stopped him in his tracks.

  “Lord Adrian, how can I help you?” Sergeant Forrest asked, emerging from the woods with a brisk step and a tired expression.

  Adrian didn’t recall the man’s name, so he discreetly used Analysis for help.

  Name: Forrest

  Titles: Serf of Bellator

  Species: Human

  Age: 25 years

  Class: Axe Fighter Lv. 19

  “Sergeant Forrest, good morning. I suppose my feet brought me here out of curiosity. Is the area secure?”

  “I’ve already scouted the entire forest. The bandits are gone. They fled southeast, moving from one patch of woods to another beyond the river. At that point, they split up, and I had to call off the pursuit.”

  “Is there anything I can do to assist?” Adrian asked.

  “Sir Adrian, we are simple men – we’re not in a position to give you orders. If you wish to offer aid, you should speak with Lieutenant James.”

  “No need for such formalities, Sergeant Forrest. Consider me a simple man, just like the rest of you.” Adrian met his gaze. “If you had another scout at your disposal, what would his orders be?”

  Adrian had already made up his mind – he would track the bandits. His rational mind told him the village needed a secure perimeter, but his instincts whispered otherwise. The timing and location of his arrival didn’t feel like coincidence. He wasn’t afraid for his life – he had already conquered that fear. What he felt now was the need to know.

  “Sir Adrian, like I said, I dare not order you. But I shall not withhold information from the hero who saved our lives. If you insist on knowing—about two kilometers southeast you’ll find the trail they left when they crossed the river. From there, their tracks split in multiple directions, so I didn’t pursue them further and instead focused on scouting the woods. They are nowhere on this side of the river, and that was our priority. Further south, following the river, there’s the village of Dinoco, but I doubt they’d go that way. My bet is they’re scurrying back to their base in Larianos.”

  “Sure.” Adrian replied simply and started walking toward the woods.

  “Be careful, Lord Adrian. We’re beyond the monster spawning zone, but there’s still a chance creatures might appear in these woods – especially once you cross the river. The new dungeon is very close to the Barony of Ruthy, directly southeast of here.”

  That made Adrian pause. ‘What the fuck? Monsters. Of course there would be monsters in a magical world. And what was that about a new dungeon?’

  “I’m sorry, sir. Do you not know about the new dungeon?” Forrest asked.

  ‘Oh fuck, I said that aloud.’ Adrian cursed himself and this time focused on keeping his thoughts internal.

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to say that aloud, Sergeant Forrest. Sorry. Could you tell me more about this dungeon and what kind of monsters we’re dealing with?” Adrian asked.

  “Well… that’s hard to say, as the dungeon isn’t yet stable. At most, you might encounter small groups, likely no more than six, and none above level six. But the closer you get to the dungeon, the more dangerous it becomes. There are reports of dozens of monsters above level twelve spawning at once. It’s still classified as a rank D dungeon in terms of level, but the sheer number of spawns is far beyond what’s expected for an emerging dungeon, making it far riskier.”

  ‘So, monsters are classified by power ranks,’ thought Adrian, acknowledging the new information. Considering how he had fought even before obtaining a class – and now, a level eight Breaker of Chains, with Aurora at his belt – he didn’t feel truly threatened. Whether that confidence was justified or just reckless bravado remained to be seen.

  After thanking Forrest, Adrian stepped into the shadowy pine woods, leaving the open fields behind. The air grew cooler beneath the thick canopy, the coniferous musk and damp earth filling his lungs with freshness. With each step, the world of men faded behind him. Ahead, only the unknown awaited.