By a small lake on the edge of the Forbidden Forest's core zone, on the continent of Saint Roland, an old man named Webster had been staring at a very strange young man for three days.
Three days.
Webster was 176 years old. In Saint Roland, where the average human lifespan hovered around 140, he had already lived long past his warranty. But here's the thing about dying: nobody actually wants to do it. Especially when you've got money, status, a family who tolerates you, and a burning obsession to live just a little longer.
Unfortunately, the universe doesn't care about your feelings.
Webster was a dual-element Archmage of Wind and Fire – a Black Robe, level 6. He'd been stuck at the peak of level 6 for over twenty years. Every attempt to break through had failed. And lately, he'd felt his mana slowly leaking away, like a phone battery that wouldn't hold a charge. If he didn't advance soon, he had maybe two or three years left. Or maybe just until next Tuesday. Once the mana was gone, so was he.
So he'd come to the Forbidden Forest – the core zone – hoping to find something, anything, that could push him over the edge.
Three days ago, just as he was about to venture deeper, he spotted a small magical beast that looked a lot like a Wind Cat. Fast. Flickering through the trees like a glitch in reality. If Webster hadn't been a Wind-attribute mage himself, he wouldn't have seen it at all.
But when he got closer, his jaw dropped.
Beneath the creature's strong Wind – no, Metal – elemental waves, there was an equally powerful Fire element hiding. Sneaky little thing.
Of course, Webster realized. A level-one Wind Cat would never survive in the core zone.
His heart nearly exploded. He was Wind and Fire. This beast was practically tailor-made for him. It was like the universe had sent him a gift basket with a bow on top. He could almost see the staircase to level 7.
He had no idea what species it was. Who cares? Humans didn't know every magical beast, especially not in a death trap like the Forbidden Forest. The only thing that mattered was catching it.
Webster started whispering a spell, creeping toward the creature – when the beast suddenly turned its head and looked at him.
No. Not at him.
Behind him. Above him.
It screeched once and vanished even faster than before.
Webster froze. What the hell?
He turned and looked up.
Nothing.
Then the sky cracked open like an egg. No warning. No spatial波动 (ripples) – just rip. And out of that tear fell a glowing object. An object that looked suspiciously like… a person?
Before Webster could process why a spatial tear had no magical signature, the glowing thing slammed into him. He hit the ground.
Lying on his back, staring at the sky, Webster had a brief existential crisis: Am I already dead? Did my brain just give up? Because in the last five seconds, I – a level 6 Black Robe Archmage – failed to react to a magical beast, a spatial rift, AND a falling human. I can literally cast shields instantly. I'm in the most dangerous forest on the continent. What is WRONG with me?
Then warmth flooded his body. Like drinking hot soup on a freezing night, except it went through every pore, every cell, every grumpy old-man bone.
When the warmth faded, Webster – still lying on the ground like a confused turtle – realized something.
He had leveled up.
From 6 to 7.
The barrier between these levels was called the Abyss. Because the difference was literally heaven and earth. This Abyss had stopped countless geniuses, broken countless dreams, and left countless Black Robes to die with nothing but regret.
Now? Webster could beat the crap out of his old level-6 self. Five times over. Maybe ten. He was now standing firmly at the very top of the continent's food chain.
He felt amazing. His mana wasn't leaking anymore – it was swirling around him like an ocean. His body felt younger. He cast a zero-level Water Mirror spell and stared at his reflection.
Most of his wrinkles were gone. His white beard had turned silver-black. His hair had gone from pure white to a cool platinum-and-dark mix. He looked like he'd rolled back fifty years.
But, he thought, this is weird.
Leveling up to 7 should have caused a huge commotion – elemental storms, sky darkening, the works. In the Forbidden Forest, that was a death sentence. Every hungry magical beast in a ten-mile radius would have shown up for an all-you-can-eat archmage buffet. He'd planned to leave the core zone before attempting the breakthrough.
Instead, it had happened like… drinking water. Smooth. Silent. No drama.
And then there was the strange young man with black hair. For the past three days, Webster had been sitting next to him. Not just staring – but he'd noticed something even stranger: his newly upgraded mana, which should have been unstable and wild, had naturally settled just by being near this unconscious guy.
What IS he?
Webster couldn't help himself. He kept casting Water Mirror every few hours, checking his new look. Maybe he grinned like an idiot once or twice. Maybe more. No one was watching.
Well, no one was watching. Until now.
The glow faded completely into the young man's body. His eyes opened.
Ye Yifan saw a blurry face. Then the face came into focus: an unfamiliar old man's face, staring down at him.
"AAAAHHHH!"
Yifan shot up like he'd been electrocuted. He looked left. He looked right. Giant trees. Weird forest. No grapevine. No rocking chair. No stupid thunder dragon.
His brain replayed the last thing he remembered: the blue-robed Taoist, the dragon, the lightning, the water wall…
"WHAT THE ACTUAL—WHERE AM I?! What happened?! Where's the Taoist?! Where's the dragon?! And that 'baby boy' they were talking about – that was ME, wasn't it?!"
He turned to the old man. Black robes. Kinda like a trench coat, kinda like a traditional gown. Not bad, honestly. The old guy looked about seventy or eighty – but pretty sharp for his age.
Wait, Yifan's brain screeched to a halt. That Taoist was about to subdue the dragon. Then the dragon zapped me. I went through a water wall. He said something about thunder attribute, five-element chaos energy… and 'don't lose the ring.'
What ring?
Yifan raised his right hand.
On his pinky was a silver ring. A keepsake from that relationship – you know, the one that ended. The one he told himself he was over. (He wasn't.) They'd bought matching couple rings, silver, wearing them on opposite hands because they weren't married. His on the right. Hers on the left.
After the breakup, he'd just kept wearing it. Habit. Or maybe something stupider, like hope.
But now the ring looked… different. Strange patterns. Not words. Not drawings. Something in between.
He stared at it.
Then his eyes drifted downward.
"AAAAHHHHHH!"
Yifan crouched down so fast he nearly gave himself a hernia, covering his junk with both hands. Because – and this was just fantastic – he was completely, utterly, one-hundred-percent naked. In front of a strange old man. In the middle of a creepy forest.
Of course. Of COURSE. I finally get isekai'd, and I don't even get to keep my pants.
Webster watched the young man scream in a language he didn't understand, then go silent, then look at his hand, then scream again and drop into a crouch like a startled crab.
Awkward.
The glowing cocoon had hidden the fact that the guy was naked. Now that the glow was gone… well. A 176-year-old man staring at a naked young man. Webster had many, many questions. But right now, he had no idea where to start.
So he did the decent thing. He reached into his spatial ring – yes, he had one, don't be jealous – and pulled out a spare, unranked mage robe. He turned his back and held it out.
Yifan, face red enough to cook an egg on, grabbed the robe. "Thanks," he muttered, though he wasn't sure the old man understood.
He pulled it on. Weird style, but clothes were clothes.
As he tied the belt, he looked around again. The ancient forest. The strange old man in black. The fact that he'd just fallen out of a hole in the sky.
Yifan took a deep breath.
Well. I guess… maybe… probably… I've been isekai'd.
Looks like I finally caught the truck – I mean, the lightning bolt.