"Are you kidding me? After all those pulls, I still didn't get Saber?"
A young man who bore an uncanny resemblance to a certain spear-wielding guardian from Honkai: Star Rail walked down the city street, his phone clutched in one hand as he stared at the screen with mounting frustration. His dark hair caught the afternoon light, and his sharp features twisted into an expression of pure disappointment.
The gacha interface of Honkai: Star Rail glowed on his screen, mocking him with its spinning lights and false promises. But instead of the protagonist from this limited-time collaboration banner—the character he'd been dumping money into for the past hour—what flashed onto the screen was the Herrscher of Reason, Welt Yang. Again.
"Seriously?" Daniel Cross muttered, running his free hand through his hair in exasperation. "My luck is absolute trash. I only started playing this stupid game because my buddy told me there's a character who looks exactly like me."
He'd spent way too much money already. Money he probably should've saved. Money his mom would definitely lecture him about if she found out. The thought made him grimace as he decisively closed the gacha interface and exited the game entirely. No point throwing more cash into that black hole today.
Maybe I should just accept that gacha games hate me, he thought, shoving his phone into his pocket with more force than necessary.
As his gaze drifted away from the screen, his attention shifted to the other side of the street—and his heart immediately lurched into his throat.
A child, couldn't have been more than six or seven years old, had suddenly dashed out into the road. The little boy's toy truck had apparently rolled into the street, and in that thoughtless way children have, he'd chased after it without looking.
The traffic light had already turned green for vehicles.
A massive semi-trailer truck was rolling forward, gaining speed as it approached the intersection. The distinctive logo of a major shipping company gleamed on its side, and Daniel Cross could see the fully insured vehicle decal plastered across the trailer.
The driver clearly hadn't seen the child yet. This was textbook "death peek" territory—a truck that size, with that much momentum, wouldn't be able to stop in time even if the driver slammed the brakes right now. The physics simply didn't work in the kid's favor.
Time seemed to slow down. Daniel Cross's phone felt suddenly weightless in his pocket. His legs moved before his brain could catch up with what he was doing.
"GET OUT OF THE ROAD!" Daniel Cross's voice tore from his throat as he broke into a sprint, his sneakers pounding against the pavement.
"SOMEONE HELP!" A woman's terrified shriek cut through the air—probably the child's mother, her voice raw with panic. "MY BABY! COME BACK!"
The truck driver finally noticed the commotion. Daniel Cross saw the exact moment awareness struck—the driver's eyes went wide, his hands jerked the wheel, his foot probably slamming the brake pedal through the floor. But it was already too late. The laws of physics were cruel and unyielding.
Daniel Cross's world narrowed to a single point: that child, frozen in the middle of the road, clutching his toy truck, finally realizing the massive vehicle bearing down on him.
I'm not gonna make it in time to grab him.
With his last burst of speed, Daniel Cross planted his foot and kicked out, his shoe connecting with the child's back. Not hard enough to hurt—he hoped—but hard enough to send the boy tumbling back toward the sidewalk, out of the kill zone.
The child flew backward, landing in a heap on the curb just as his mother's arms caught him.
Daniel Cross didn't get to see the reunion.
The world became noise and impact. Metal and flesh and the terrible certainty that he'd made the right choice and the wrong choice simultaneously.
The last thing Daniel Cross heard before darkness swallowed him whole was the truck driver's voice, tinny and distant: "Forget it, just talk to my insurance company..."
Then nothing.
Armored Dragon Calendar, Year 395
Somewhere within the Blue Dragon Mountain Range
When Daniel Cross opened his eyes again, all he saw were leaves.
Lush, vibrant green leaves, backlit by golden sunlight filtering through a dense canopy. The light dappled across his vision in patterns that shifted with every slight breeze. Somewhere distant, he could hear the rustle of wind through branches and the faint trickle of water over stones.
"..."
He stared up at the foliage for a long moment, his mind completely blank.
"Is this heaven?" The words came out of his mouth automatically, more reflex than conscious thought. "Did I actually make it to heaven because I saved that kid?"
That would be nice. Heavenly rewards for heroic sacrifice and all that. Though he had to admit, heaven looked a lot less... cloudy than he'd expected. More forest-y. Very forest-y, actually.
Daniel Cross tried to move—and couldn't.
His body simply wouldn't respond to his commands. It was like his brain was sending signals down perfectly functional neural pathways, but somewhere along the line, the connection had been severed. Panic began to bubble up in his chest.
Am I paralyzed? Did the truck break my spine? Is this some kind of coma dream?
Then, as abruptly as the paralysis had come, it vanished. Like someone had flipped a switch, granting him permission to inhabit his own body again. He felt the weight of his limbs return, the slight ache in his back from lying on uneven ground, the coolness of earth beneath his palms.
Daniel Cross slowly pushed himself up into a sitting position, his muscles protesting slightly. He looked around, taking in his surroundings with growing confusion.
Forest. Definitely forest. Dense, old-growth forest with massive trees whose trunks were wider than he was tall. The underbrush was thick but not impassable, and shafts of sunlight pierced through gaps in the canopy like divine spotlights. The air smelled clean—almost too clean, like it had never known pollution or car exhaust.
"This definitely isn't heaven," Daniel Cross muttered, getting his feet under him and standing. "Unless heaven has a really rustic aesthetic going on."
As he rose to his full height, something felt... off.
His vision, for one thing. He'd been nearsighted since middle school—not terribly so, but enough that he wore glasses for driving and reading distant signs. Right now, he could see individual leaves on branches thirty feet away with perfect clarity. The world was sharp and crisp in a way it hadn't been since he was a kid.
That's weird. Getting hit by a truck shouldn't fix nearsightedness.
Then there was his height. Or rather, his apparent lack thereof. He felt shorter somehow, though without a reference point, he couldn't be sure if it was real or just his imagination playing tricks. His clothes felt slightly different too—still his jeans and t-shirt, but the proportions seemed just a touch off.
"Okay, this is getting weird," Daniel Cross said aloud, his voice sounding strange in the forest silence. "Could I have... transmigrated? Like in those web novels?"
The thought was absurd. Completely ridiculous. The kind of thing that happened in fiction, not real life.
He decided to test his theory by looking for signs of modern civilization. If this was still Earth—still his Earth—there would be something. Hiking trails with markers, distant sounds of traffic, maybe a cell tower visible above the trees. Hell, he'd even settle for some littered plastic bottles at this point.
Daniel Cross began to walk, picking a direction at random and pushing through the underbrush. He walked for what felt like twenty minutes, his eyes scanning for anything familiar, anything that would anchor him to the world he knew.
What he found instead made his blood run cold.
The creature perched on a thick branch about fifty yards away was massive—easily the size of a small car. It had the body structure of a bird, complete with wings and feathers, but its head was distinctly reptilian. Scales the color of sapphires covered its elongated snout, and when it turned its head, Daniel Cross caught sight of teeth that belonged in a dinosaur's mouth, not a bird's beak. Its eyes—cold, calculating, predatory—swept across the forest floor below it.
That's a dragon. That's an actual fucking dragon.
Daniel Cross froze mid-step, not even daring to breathe. Every horror movie instinct he'd ever developed screamed at him to stay perfectly still, to not make a sound, to become one with the landscape until the apex predator moved on.
The blue dragon-bird thing shifted on its perch, its talons gouging deep furrows into the wood. Then, with a powerful thrust of its wings, it launched itself into the air and soared away over the canopy, disappearing from sight.
Daniel Cross waited a full minute before allowing himself to breathe again. When he did, it came out as a shaky, disbelieving laugh.
"The fully insured semi-trailer never lies," he whispered, the absurdity of the situation hitting him all at once. "I really did get isekai'd. That truck sent me to another world."
Okay. Okay. Don't panic. Panicking gets you killed. Think.
He forced his racing thoughts into some semblance of order. He was clearly in a fantasy world of some kind—one with dragons or dragon-adjacent creatures. He had no idea how he'd gotten here beyond the obvious "hit by truck" method, no idea if this was permanent, and no idea if there was any way back.
What he did know was that he was standing alone in a forest full of God-knows-what kinds of monsters, with zero survival skills and nothing but the clothes on his back.
"The first rule of isekai survival," Daniel Cross muttered, channeling every light novel and anime he'd ever consumed, "is that nighttime is always worse. Monsters get more aggressive, visibility drops to zero, and protagonists die if they're not prepared."
He looked up at the sky through the gaps in the canopy. The sun was still relatively high—maybe early afternoon by his estimation. He had time, but not unlimited time.
"I need to find shelter. Or better yet, find people. Civilization. Somewhere with walls and guards and preferably no giant predatory dragon-birds."
He began searching the immediate area for anything useful. His eyes landed on a branch lying near the base of a tree—relatively straight, about five feet long, with a clean break at one end that left it sharp and pointed.
Daniel Cross picked it up, testing its weight. It was solid wood, good heft to it, and that pointed end could do some damage if he could jab it into something's eye socket.
Not exactly a sword, but it's better than being completely defenseless.
"Right," he said, gripping his improvised spear and choosing a direction opposite from where the dragon-bird had flown. "Let's find some people who can explain what the hell is going on. And preferably give me actual weapons. And food. God, I hope they have food."
The forest remained eerily quiet as he walked. No birdsong, no squirrels chittering, none of the ambient noise he associated with woods back home. Just the whisper of wind through leaves and his own footsteps crunching on fallen debris.
After what felt like an hour of walking—though without his phone, he had no way to tell for sure—Daniel Cross finally found something promising: a path.
It was crude, just packed dirt where countless feet had worn away the vegetation over time, but it was unmistakably man-made. Or at least, made by something intelligent and bipedal. The path was wide enough for maybe two people to walk side-by-side, and it curved away through the trees in both directions.
Paths lead somewhere. That somewhere hopefully has people.
Daniel Cross chose a direction and started walking, his makeshift spear held at the ready. The path made travel easier, but it also made him more visible. He tried to stay alert, scanning the trees on either side for movement.
The silence was oppressive. Unnatural, even. Like the forest itself was holding its breath.
Minutes turned into what might have been an hour. Daniel Cross's legs were starting to ache from the constant walking, and thirst was beginning to make itself known. His throat felt dry, his lips slightly chapped. He should've looked for a stream or something, but he'd been too focused on getting away from the dragon territory.
Just a little further. There has to be something at the end of this path. Villages don't build roads to nowhere.
Then he felt it—a subtle vibration through the soles of his shoes. Like a distant earthquake, or something very large moving through the forest.
Daniel Cross stopped walking, his entire body tensing. He looked around frantically, trying to identify the source of the tremor.
The ground shook again, stronger this time. Definitely not his imagination.
What now? Please don't be another dragon. Please don't be something worse than a dragon.
The sound of something crashing through underbrush reached his ears—something big, moving fast, accompanied by heavy breathing and the wet sound of... blood?
Daniel Cross's gaze snapped to the tree line just as a nightmare burst out of the foliage.
The creature was massive—a lion, or something that had once been a lion, though calling it simply a "lion" felt like an insult to its sheer size. It was as large as an elephant, its tawny fur matted with blood and gore. One of its hind legs hung at an unnatural angle, clearly broken, and deep gashes crisscrossed its flanks, weeping crimson that left a trail behind it as it ran.
The beast's amber eyes were wild with pain and rage, its jaws open in a soundless roar as it barreled down the path.
"Holy shit!"
Daniel Cross's body moved on pure instinct—he turned and ran, his legs pumping as fast as they could carry him. The spear in his hands suddenly felt laughably inadequate. What was I going to do with a stick? Poke that thing to death?
His heart hammered in his chest so hard he thought it might explode. Adrenaline flooded his system, giving him speed he didn't know he possessed. Trees blurred past on either side as he sprinted down the dirt path, his only thought a desperate prayer: Don't let it see me. Please, God, Buddha, Jesus, whoever's listening—don't let that thing notice me!
But fate, as it turned out, had a cruel sense of humor.
The wounded lion's gaze locked onto Daniel Cross's fleeing form. Despite its injuries—despite the broken leg, despite the blood loss—the beast's eyes lit up with something like vindication.
It had just been attacked by a group of human cultivators. A whole pack of them, working in coordination, wearing matching sect robes and wielding spiritual weapons that cut through flesh like it was paper. The lion had barely escaped with its life, and its hatred for the human species had reached a boiling point.
Couldn't kill a group of humans, the beast's primitive mind reasoned, but one lone human? That I can handle.
The lion roared—a sound so deep and powerful that the trees themselves seemed to shudder. Birds Daniel Cross hadn't even known were present exploded out of the canopy in a panic. The sheer force of the sound made his ears ring and his chest vibrate.
Then the beast charged.
"DON'T CHASE ME!" Daniel Cross screamed, not bothering to look back. He didn't need to look. He could feel the vibrations through the ground, each impact of the lion's paws sending shockwaves through the earth. Could hear the labored breathing getting closer despite the creature's injuries.
This is it. This is how I die. I survived getting hit by a truck just to get eaten by a prehistoric lion in a fantasy forest. What a joke.
But the lion's injuries were severe. As it accelerated, trying to close the distance, its broken hind leg kept throwing off its balance. It stumbled, nearly fell, caught itself—but the momentary hesitation cost it precious momentum.
Daniel Cross's lungs burned. His legs screamed in protest. But the adrenaline kept him going, kept him moving even when his body wanted to collapse.
After what felt like an eternity of running—probably only a couple minutes in reality—Daniel Cross noticed the vibrations behind him had lessened slightly. He risked a glance over his shoulder.
The lion was still coming, but it had slowed considerably. Blood loss was taking its toll, the creature's movements becoming sluggish and uncoordinated. Its broken leg dragged uselessly, leaving a furrow in the dirt path behind it.
It's slowing down. I might actually survive this.
But Daniel Cross's own stamina was reaching its limit. The initial surge of adrenaline was wearing off, and he could feel the beginnings of exhaustion creeping into his muscles. The spear in his hand felt heavy now, awkward, slowing him down with each step.
Got to lighten my load. That branch isn't going to save me anyway.
Daniel Cross made a split-second decision. He could either keep running with the spear and probably collapse from exhaustion, or he could try something stupid and potentially suicidal.
Fuck it. I'm already in an isekai world. Might as well go full protagonist.
He skidded to a stop, spinning around to face the approaching lion. The beast was maybe fifty yards away now, still charging but clearly on its last legs. Literally.
Daniel Cross gripped the wooden spear with both hands, feeling its weight, its balance. He'd never thrown a javelin in his life—hell, he'd barely managed a passing grade in high school PE—but something in his gut told him this might actually work.
Just like throwing a baseball. Except heavier. And if I miss, I die. No pressure.
He planted his feet, drew back his arm, and focused every ounce of concentration on the charging lion. The world seemed to narrow. His breathing steadied. Time slowed to a crawl.
Then he felt it—something stirring inside him. A warmth that started in his chest and flowed down his right arm like liquid fire. It wasn't painful, just... present. Powerful. Like his body was remembering how to do something it had always known but forgotten.
The wooden spear began to glow with a faint golden light.
Daniel Cross's eyes widened. What the hell is—?
No time to think. The lion was thirty yards away and closing fast.
He threw.
The spear left his hands like a bolt of lightning. The air around it shimmered and warped from the sheer force of the throw, creating a visible shockwave. The wooden shaft—which should have wobbled and spun awkwardly through the air—flew as straight and true as an arrow, wreathed in that impossible golden glow.
A high-pitched whistle filled the air as the makeshift weapon tore through space itself.
The spear hit the lion square in the chest with the force of a cannonball.
The impact was catastrophic. The golden light exploded outward in a brilliant flash, and the massive beast was lifted clean off its feet and hurled backward. It crashed into a tree with a sickening crunch of breaking wood and bone, then slumped to the ground in a heap, the wooden spear buried deep in its ribcage.
The lion twitched once, twice... then went still.
Silence descended over the forest once more.
Daniel Cross stood frozen, his arm still extended in the throwing position, his mouth hanging open in shock.
"What..." he whispered. "What the fuck was that?"
He stared at his hand like it belonged to someone else. The golden glow was already fading, the warmth in his chest dissipating like morning mist.
I just... I just threw a stick hard enough to kill an elephant-sized lion. With magical power. That I apparently have now.
The reality of his situation crashed over him all at once. This wasn't just a fantasy world. This was a fantasy world where he had some kind of power. Magic? Cultivation? Whatever it was called here, he could use it.
Daniel Cross slowly lowered his arm, his legs suddenly feeling weak. He stumbled over to the side of the path and sat down heavily, his back against a tree.
"Okay," he said to no one in particular, his voice shaky but gaining strength. "Okay. This is... this is fine. I can work with this. Transmigrated to a fantasy world, got some kind of magic power, and I'm not dead yet. That's... that's actually pretty good, all things considered."
He looked at the lion's corpse sprawled in the middle of the path, the wooden spear still jutting from its chest. The golden glow had completely faded now, leaving just an ordinary piece of wood that had somehow punched through hide, muscle, and bone like they were wet paper.
"I need to figure out what the hell that power was. And I need to find people who can explain this world to me. Preferably people who won't try to kill me on sight."
Daniel Cross took a deep breath, stood up on wobbly legs, and started walking again. This time, he left the spear where it was—he didn't trust himself to pull it free without the lion somehow coming back to life for a second round.
As he walked away from the corpse, one thought kept circling through his mind:
The fully insured semi-trailer never lies. This is really happening.
Whatever came next, he'd just have to figure it out as he went.
After all, he'd already died once today. How much worse could things get?
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