"Where the heck am I?!"
However, just as Xam is about to take his first step on this strange place, his world suddenly turns upside down.
*****
My head throbbed like I'd chugged a pot of rotten coffee on my breakfast.
I pushed myself up from the cobblestones, groaning as the world came into focus.
No city skyline, no honking cars, no smell of toxic carbon dioxide or street food.
Instead, everything screamed medieval village from a history book.
The street was narrow, paved with uneven stones that looked hand-laid, bumpy enough to twist an ankle if you weren't careful.
Wooden houses lined both sides—two stories high, with thatched roofs sagging under their own weight and walls made of rough timber and plaster, cracked in places.
Some had overhanging upper floors that almost touched across the street, blocking out the sun.
Windows were small, shuttered with wooden slats, and doors were thick oak slabs reinforced with stone bands.
People milled about in simple tunics and breeches, women in long dresses with aprons, men in vests and boots that looked professional.
They carried baskets of what smelled like fresh bread or herbs, hauling water from a stone well in the center square.
A blacksmith's forge belched smoke nearby, hammers clanging on metal, and carts pulled by actual horses—big, shaggy things—rattled past with barrels stacked high.
"Wow. Looks lively here."
In the distance, a wooden palisade wall circled the village, topped with spikes, and beyond that, rolling hills dotted with patchy farms and what looked like a volcano smoking lazily on the horizon.
The air hummed faintly, like a low vibration from those glowing plants hanging off eaves—blue and purple orbs pulsing softly, lighting up corners without any bulbs or wires.
"Maybe, this has to be a dream," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. "Or that truck turned me into some kind of character?'
But my scraped palms stung for real, and my clothes—jeans, hoodie, sneakers—felt way out of place next to all the linen and wool.
As I stood and dusted off, heads turned.
Stares everywhere. Not curious stares—more like "who let the idiot in?"
A burly guy with a beard down to his belt paused mid-swing at the forge, eyeing me like I'd tracked mud into his house.
An old woman at the well whispered to her friend, both glancing my way with narrowed eyes and kids pointed and giggled.
I should not get distracted now. I needed answers.
Spotting a girl about my age by a fruit stand—dark hair in a braid, sorting apples in a wooden crate—I walked over, hands up like I was approaching a skittish cat.
"Umm, miss? Can I ask you something? Where exactly am I right now?"
She spun around, eyes wide, then—SLAP! Her palm cracked across my cheek like a whip.
It burned and it f*ck*ng hurt.
She shouted something guttural, words like "Zorath kwe vadis!" pointing at me like I'd just stolen her whole dignity.
I staggered back, rubbing my face. "Whoa, hey! I didn't mean it like that! Also, can you speak English or something? You know, common words? 'Hello'? 'Xie Xie'? 'Arigatou'?"
Her face went redder than the apples. She yelled louder, waving her arms, and suddenly the whole square erupted.
People dropped baskets, grabbed whatever was handy—kitchen knives glinting sharp, wooden bats from a cart, rusty machetes from belts, even a guy hefting a giant metal spatula like a war club. "Zorath! DEMONIU! Kwe vadis!"
"Oh, come on," I yelped, backing up. "I just ask a damn question!"
They charged. No warning, just a mob howling as if I'd kicked their dog.
A knife whistled past my ear,
THUCK!
embedded in a wooden post an inch from my head. I ducked on instinct, heart pounding.
"GOD! see that I dodge it."
"Catch him!"
I bolted, sneakers slapping cobblestones as I weaved through the crowd.
The blacksmith swung his hammer wide; I slid under a cart like in those super cool action movies, popping up on the other side.
Bats whooshed overhead, a machete cleaved a barrel in half spraying cider everywhere—slippery mess underfoot.
That spatula guy was gaining, flipping it with ridiculous flair like he was about to cook me alive, yelling some battle cry that made me half-expect a food critic to pop out judging his face
"Get him!" they bellowed, more knives sailing my way. One grazed my sleeve,
RIPPED!
missed my skin by a hair. I zigzagged, dodging a low tackle from a kid with a rolling pin, laughing bitterly.
"Aren't you all trying to kill me at this point?! Also, can't you just do your damn shokugeki somewhere that doesn't involve a poor lamb like me?! "
They fanned out, trying to encircle me near the well—ten guys closing in from all sides, weapons raised, faces twisted in fury.
No escape straight ahead. Panic hit, but my big brain kicked in.
I spun, pointed dramatically at the sky behind them. "Hey! Look—a man flying there! Actual flying guy!"
They froze, heads whipping up as one.
"Kwe? Krun?!"
Idiots.
I darted left, slipping through the gap while their backs were turned, barreling down a side alley.
Laughter mixed with their confused shouts as I sprinted on, lungs burning, the volcano's glow lighting my path. Whatever this place was, I wasn't sticking around for round two.
*****
I didn't stop running until the shouts faded into the distance, ducking into a thick cluster of bushes at the edge of some scraggly woods.
My chest heaved, legs like jelly, but at least no one was chasing me with kitchenware anymore.
I slumped against a tree, wiping sweat from my forehead, and finally let my brain catch up.
"What the heck is going on?" I muttered to myself, staring at the glowing plants flickering like Christmas lights.
"Okay, fine—I get the basics. Got hit by a truck, woke up in some knockoff medieval village with angry villagers who think I'm a damn demon.
Classic setup, right? But why can't I understand a word they're saying?
Isn't this supposed to come with the full protagonist privilege?
Like, boom—auto-translate ability unlocked, so I can chat up the locals, charm a princess or whatever, and get handed a cheat system menu that says 'Welcome, OP hero! Here's your infinite mana or energy, and wealth!"
Nope!
I ask one simple question and get slapped, chased by a random group armed with freaking spatulas.
No status screen popping up. No goddess tutorial. No 'level up by killing slimes' starter quest.
Just me, in my cheap modern clothes, dodging machetes like a damn extra from an action movie.
If this is transmigration, they cheaped out on the perks. What, did I get the budget version? Do they also get inflation?!
Like 'Congrats, mortal! You get... legs that work. Good luck!'"
I kicked a rock, watching it skitter into the underbrush.
That's when it hit me—the goddess. That lazy voice in my head earlier.
Oh come on, it's me, the goddess of your destiny! You're being reincarnated? Congratulations. Well, I'm supposed to help you adjust, but I'm too lazy to deal with you… So figure it out yourself…
I groaned, slumping lower. "Of course. That mother fuc—Language…uhgrm uhgrm.
I mean, Divine customer service strikes again. Figures I'd draw the short straw even in the afterlife."
Dejection settled in again. Looks like I'm having a really bad hangover.
Stranded in who-knows-where, no phone signal, no wallet, no way to talk to anyone without starting a fight.
What now?
"..."
Find a town that doesn't want me dead?
Learn the language by miracle?
Pray for a conveniently dropped 5th leafed magic grimoire?
All of that sounded exhausting.
My body ached from the truck, the sprint, everything.
"Nah," I said aloud, yawning. "I'm damn tired already… I can't even think straight right now.
Future me will deal with this mess—he's got no choice. Hehehe."
I curled up in the bushes, using my hoodie as a pillow.
The ground was lumpy, but beggars couldn't be choosers.
Eyes heavy, I was out in seconds, snoring loud enough to scare off any wolves or whatever passed for wildlife here.