Austin swallowed and shook his head.

  "Yeah," he said aloud, mostly to reassure himself, "this guy is definitely not human."

  He crouched and forced himself to focus on the practical side of things—because standing around philosophizing next to a corpse felt like a great way to get ambushed. A quick scan revealed something useful: a small pouch tied to the orc's belt.

  Austin tugged it free and carefully shook it open.

  A faint clink echoed as several coins spilled into his palm.

  He frowned at them.

  They were definitely not quarters. Or dimes. Or anything remotely Earth-like. The coins were roughly stamped from a dull, unfamiliar metal, each one etched with jagged symbols that looked like gibberish runes to his untrained eye.

  "These are definitely not Earth quarters," he muttered, turning one over between his fingers.

  They didn't look especially valuable—no shine, no weighty grandeur—but Austin shrugged and closed his hand around them anyway. In a new world, any kind of currency was better than none.

  Then he noticed something else.

  Strapped across the orc's shoulder, partially hidden beneath the torn clothing, was a small leather satchel. He hadn't seen it earlier—hard to notice loot when you're busy not dying.

  Carefully, Austin slipped it free and opened it.

  Inside, wrapped in cloth, was a scroll.

  Not just any scroll.

  This one was… beautiful.

  Far too refined for something carried by a bloodstained orc. Its binding gleamed faintly with a golden hue, intricate patterns curling across its surface like living vines. The craftsmanship was delicate, almost reverent—nothing like the crude brutality of the weapon that had nearly taken his head off.

  When Austin touched it, his breath hitched.

  The scroll hummed.

  Not loudly—just a soft, radiant pulse beneath his fingertips, like a distant heartbeat. Warm. Steady. Alive.

  "This definitely seems important," Austin breathed.

  He lifted it slightly, holding it up to the shafts of light filtering through the trees. His chest tightened as unease crept in alongside awe.

  "I hope I'm not imagining this," he muttered, "but this scroll feels… weird."

  It terrified him.

  It fascinated him.

  What if it wasn't a scroll at all but some kind of magical trap? What if the moment he opened it, it exploded and turned him into a glowing cautionary tale? His imagination helpfully supplied several graphic possibilities.

  And yet…

  It radiated something else too. A gentle warmth. Almost comforting. Angelic, even—like it wasn't meant to harm him.

  "Maybe it's a magic scroll," he whispered, eyes wide as excitement sparked through his fear.

  His pulse quickened.

  Fear and curiosity wrestled violently in his chest—and curiosity, as usual, won.

  "YOLO," Austin said, trying very hard to sound braver than he felt.

  Before he could talk himself out of it, he cracked the seal in one swift, decisive motion—like ripping off a bandage—and unfurled the scroll.

  Light exploded.

  A blinding flash seared into his vision as if the sun itself had detonated in front of his face. Austin cried out and staggered back, arms flying up as his heart slammed against his ribs. The forest vanished, swallowed whole by white.

  When his vision finally returned, regret arrived immediately.

  His eyes burned. His head throbbed. The world shimmered at the edges like reality itself was buffering. He rubbed furiously at his eyelids, groaning.

  "Okay," he muttered hoarsely, "definitely did not expect to get flashbanged."

  He squinted through the lingering spots. "I guess that's what I get for opening mystery scrolls off a dead orc in the forest."

  He blinked a few more times.

  Then the blur cleared.

  And glowing text shimmered into view.

  Austin froze, breath catching in his throat.

  A familiar sound followed—clean, unmistakable.

  A system notification.

  Acquired skill: Great Healing (Rank S) (Active) (Magic)

  Using a large sum of magic, Great Healing channels a wave of restorative energy into a target. A versatile healing art for nearly any ailment.

  Austin's jaw dropped. "Nice," he whispered, then broke into a grin. "This is super sick!" His heart thudded with excitement. His first skill, and it wasn't just any starter ability—it was S-rank.

  But as quickly as the thrill came, doubt followed. "Dang," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "I have no idea how to use this. Would've been nice if this came with a tutorial or something." He chuckled nervously, the absurdity of his situation catching up with him.

  He scanned the description again. A "large sum of magic"? How much was that supposed to be? A little? A lot? Enough to pass out from nosebleeds? He had no clue. "Bummer," he sighed. "I wonder if I can even use this with my magic stat being as low as it is." Still, he couldn't help but grin. S-rank had to mean something. If this was a game, he'd just pulled a jackpot drop.

  His thoughts started spiraling—questions piling onto questions until it felt like his brain might overheat. He forced himself to stop, closing his eyes and shaking his head. "Don't think too hard, bro. You might overheat your brain and explode." He said to himself.

  When Austin opened his eyes again, the light was gone.

  The scroll no longer glowed. The soft, reassuring pulse he'd felt beneath his fingers had vanished completely, leaving behind nothing more than a beautifully crafted—but utterly inert—piece of parchment. Whatever power it had held was spent. Used. Gone.

  "Well," he muttered, squinting at it, "guess you were a one-time thing."

  Carefully, he slipped the spent scroll back into the orc's satchel, treating it with a respect he didn't fully understand. Then he slung the bag across his chest, the leather strap settling awkwardly against his shoulder. It felt strange—like he was putting on a costume he hadn't earned yet.

  Next, he reached for the smaller pouch.

  Five rough coins clinked into his palm, heavier than they looked. Not shiny. Not impressive. But real.

  "Five coins is better than no coins," Austin said, nodding sagely as he tucked them into his pocket. In a world where he'd started with absolutely nothing, this felt like a win.

  Then his gaze drifted to the sword.

  It lay a few feet away from the body, where it had fallen during the fight. Austin approached it cautiously, half-expecting rust, dried blood, or something slimy that would make him immediately regret touching it.

  Instead, when he bent down and lifted it, he froze.

  The blade was clean.

  Not just clean—well-maintained. The metal gleamed faintly in the filtered sunlight, edges sharp and carefully polished. It reflected his face back at him with uncomfortable clarity.

  "Wow," Austin murmured. "For a guy covered in murder tattoos and questionable hygiene… you really took care of your sword."

  He tilted the blade slightly, studying his reflection. Messy hair. Tired eyes. Familiar face. No horns. No scars he didn't recognize. No glowing eyes or sudden anime upgrades.

  He snorted softly. "Good to know Lizzy didn't take any creative liberties with my character creation."

  He gave his reflection a crooked smile. "Copy and paste from Earth to here. I'm good with that."

  He tested the weight, giving the sword a cautious swing.

  It cut smoothly through the air.

  Solid. Balanced. Real.

  Not a prop. Not a menu icon. Not a tutorial weapon with training wheels attached.

  A real weapon.

  His grip tightened instinctively, then loosened as he exhaled. He glanced back at the orc's body, unease twisting in his gut. He didn't want to touch it again—but he forced himself to anyway. Rolling the corpse just enough, he unclipped the belt and scabbard.

  The buckle was oddly complex, a puzzle of interlocking metal pieces, but after a few clumsy, muttered attempts, he managed to fasten it around his own waist. Sliding the blade into its sheath, he felt something shift inside him.

  Not safer.

  But… less exposed.

  "Sword and money acquired," Austin said quietly. Then, after a beat, he added, "Thanks for being my first weak-ass mob."

  He stood there for a moment longer, looking down at the body.

  The tattoos.

  The empty eyes.

  The pool of dark, oil-thick blood soaking into the dirt.

  None of it quite felt real yet. Like his brain hadn't caught up to the fact that this wasn't a cutscene or a cinematic—it was something he'd actually done.

  He took a steadying breath.

  "Rest easy, super-orc man," Austin murmured.

  With that final, awkward farewell, he adjusted the sword at his hip and stepped back onto the dirt path. The forest stretched forward, quiet and indifferent, broken only by the steady crunch of his sneakers against the earth.

  And, naturally, he started rambling again.

  "For my first fight," he said to no one in particular, puffing out his chest just a little, "I got some pretty decent loot."

  He glanced down at the satchel, then the sword. "Not amazing, but hey—it's more than a pocket full of lint and buttons."

  His grin tried to stay confident.

  His eyes, however, kept flicking down to the weapon hanging awkwardly at his waist.

  The weight of it felt… strange. Unfamiliar. Real in a way that made his palms itch.

  A thought crept into his mind, uninvited but impossible to ignore.

  I've never actually used a sword in my life.

  Well. Physically, anyway.

  Sure, he'd wielded hundreds of swords—epic ones, legendary ones, cursed ones—but always through a controller. A keyboard. A screen.

  Never like this.

  He shot the blade a sideways glance, the kind that said he wasn't sure if he should be impressed or terrified. Each step he took made the weapon sway at his side, a constant reminder that he was carrying something dangerous—and that he had no clue what he was doing.

  "This is definitely nothing like the games I played on my pc," he muttered aloud, shaking his head. "No controller, no combos, no quick-save button if I mess up. Just me, a pointy stick of sharp metal, and a whole lot of wishful thinking." His lips quirked into a nervous grin. "Let's just hope when push comes to shove, I can swing this thing without chopping off my own leg. That'd be one way to go out—respawn not included."

  The thought made him chuckle, though underneath it, a knot of nerves still sat tight in his chest.

  ***

  Time blurred as Austin followed the winding path, his footsteps falling into a steady rhythm. His thoughts bounced back and forth between excitement and nerves, hope and paranoia, like a badly balanced loading bar that refused to settle on one emotion for more than a few seconds.

  Then something ahead moved.

  Austin's shoulders stiffened instantly.

  Two shapes emerged at the far end of the path, small at first, then growing clearer with every heartbeat.

  Please don't be more super-orc friends, he thought desperately, his grip tightening on the strap of the satchel across his chest.

  But these figures moved differently.

  They were fast. Smooth. Purposeful.

  And loud.

  The unmistakable thunder of hooves carried through the forest, vibrating faintly through the ground beneath his feet.

  Horses.

  Two of them.

  Two riders came charging down the path at a speed the orc could never have managed even on its best day. Their approach was controlled, disciplined—nothing like the desperate, uneven sprint he'd witnessed earlier.

  And they weren't dressed in rags.

  They gleamed.

  Armor caught the light with every stride of their mounts, polished steel flashing through gaps in the trees. Plates layered over chain, edges clean and well-kept. Even the horses bore protection—metal guards strapped across their necks and chests, stamped with simple but authoritative designs.

  "These guys look… official," Austin whispered, heart pounding.

  He edged toward the side of the path, careful not to make any sudden movements, but he didn't stop walking. Stopping felt like a bad idea. Running felt worse.

  As the riders closed the distance, details sharpened.

  One of them was human.

  His features were visible beneath a steel helm—sharp eyes, focused and assessing, jaw set in the kind of calm that came from training and confidence. Relief surged through Austin so hard it almost made him dizzy.

  "Oh thank God," he breathed. "Actual humans."

  A knot he hadn't realized was there loosened in his chest. "I'm not stuck in a completely alien world after all."

  The horrifying mental image of being the lone human survivor on a planet full of orcs finally dissolved.

  "Yeah," he muttered under his breath, "no Planet of the Orcs for me."

  Then his gaze slid to the second rider—and he blinked.

  Twice.

  This one was… not human. Not entirely.

  Thick fur covered his face, dark and coarse like a wolf's mane. His ears were long and pointed, twitching subtly as they tracked sound. Even at rest, his mouth held a faint snarl, lips pulled just enough to reveal sharp teeth.

  A beast-man.

  Austin swallowed, reassessing his relief. "Okay," he whispered, "mostly humans."

  The two riders slowed as they drew closer, hooves striking dirt instead of pounding it—but they didn't stop. Their presence filled the narrow road, a moving wall of steel, muscle, and authority that made Austin feel painfully small by comparison.

  They definitely look more civilized than the orc, he thought, edging even farther to the side.

  Then another thought followed immediately.

  And they could absolutely tank one of my attacks without blinking.

  Not that he had any intention of attacking them. Very much the opposite, actually.

  The human rider's gaze flicked toward him as they passed. It was quick—but not casual. Austin felt the weight of it, the way the man seemed to assess him in a single glance. Weapon. Stance. Posture. Threat level.

  Then the rider looked forward again, already done with him.

  Judged.

  Measured.

  Found wanting.

  Austin turned slightly, adjusting the sword belt at his waist as the riders continued down the path behind him. He watched them go for a moment before facing forward again.

  "Alright," he murmured, picking up his pace. "That's promising."

  He kept walking, following the same direction they'd come from.

  Hopefully toward something better.

  A village.

  A city.

  Walls.

  Food.

  Anything that wasn't another surprise fight in the woods.

  ***

  The sun was sinking now, its light turning warm and orange as it threaded through the forest canopy in long, slanting beams. Shadows stretched across the dirt path, growing deeper and more dramatic with every passing minute. That was when Austin spotted movement ahead—a lot of it.

  People.

  Actual people.

  Relief bloomed instantly in his chest… and then immediately tangled itself with suspicion.

  His last few encounters hadn't exactly painted a glowing picture of the local hospitality.

  Still, he kept walking.

  As the path widened, the reason for the gathering became clear. Something large was blocking the road—an entire formation of soldiers clustered tightly around a massive conveyance that took up most of the space. Wagons, carts, or some kind of armored transport—it was hard to tell from a distance, but whatever it was, it looked important.

  And heavily guarded.

  Austin's eyes flicked over the soldiers, and recognition clicked into place. The armor. The mounts nearby. The posture.

  Yeah… those two riders were definitely from this group, he thought. Same gear. Same vibe. Same "don't mess with us" energy.

  Unlike the mounted riders, these soldiers were on foot, which gave Austin a much clearer look at their armor as he crept closer. Every single one of them wore identical polished gear, matching down to the smallest rivet. The breastplates gleamed faintly in the fading light, clean and well cared for—nothing improvised or patched together.

  Each bore the same emblem.

  A raven clutching a sword.

  Bold. Sharp. Almost aggressive in its design, like the symbol itself was daring someone to test it.

  Finally, Austin thought, hope stirring again. People who might actually know what's going on around here.

  He'd been walking for what felt like half a lifetime, and with the sun slipping closer to the horizon, priorities were starting to stack up fast. He needed to know how far the next city was. He needed food. A bed. Walls. Maybe even—dare he dream—a map.

  Honestly, anything sounded better than wandering the forest in the dark with a sword he barely knew how to use.

  Still, he wasn't about to charge straight up to them waving hello like some lost puppy.

  His earlier run-in with riders hadn't exactly been welcoming. They hadn't attacked him—but that didn't mean they were friendly. For all he knew, they'd just been busy and were planning to circle back once their errand was done.

  Or maybe they just didn't like strangers.

  Either way, caution felt like the smart play.

  Austin edged off to the side of the path, slowing his pace and giving the formation a wide berth. He kept his hands visible, posture relaxed but alert, doing his best to look non-threatening without looking suspicious.

  Just passing through, he told himself. If they're cool, great. If they're jerks… at least I gave myself some space.

  As the light continued to fade, Austin moved carefully forward, balancing hope and caution with every step.

  At the head of the group strode a man who immediately stood out. His helmet was off, revealing a square jaw set in stone, a neatly trimmed beard framing his mouth, and a scar that dragged from his temple down to just beneath his right eye. His expression was calm, almost unreadable, but it carried the kind of weight that made Austin's stomach tighten. One look was enough to tell him—this was not a guy to mess with.