Totally shameful.

His face pressed against the cool, rough ground, he spat out the taste of earth and stone. Dusting himself off, he staggered to his feet and checked his surroundings but this time focusing on any threats.

That wasn’t blood loss. But where am I?

The roar was totally unexpected, and living in the cities have dulled his senses.

What was that? What the fuck was that!? A bear? No, they sound different, and in his countless life, he hadn't heard that type of roar. At least it sounded from far away.

“Shit…” he muttered, a glint of determination in his eyes as he threw all these inexplicable events to the back of his mind. If this was all real, he needed to search for safety.

After giving a once over to the plain surroundings, he checked himself.

Wearing the buttoned-down shirt and black trousers, though the shirt was stained with dried blood at the center. No wound. He had his wallet and phone with him, but there was no service. He turned it off, his survival instinct flaring up.

Looking around, he caught a glimpse of the golden dagger a few feet from him. Dark black gleaming blade, with the golden hilt that he remembered. No blood.

The only oddity in his situation. The woman and the golden dagger.

But there was nothing he could do about her. After a pause, he picked up the blade examining it. It was his only weapon in the situation, and he was concerned about the bestial roar he heard. Far away but still within hearing distance.

The golden handle fitted him perfectly, with a sturdy grip. The black edge seemed sharp as he checked it with a little nick of his shirt. Tearing easily.

He slotted it in his pants for easy access and checked his surroundings. Time to move on.

The road was unusual. The ground was packed, but the sediment seemed native to the spot. In the modern world, even unpaved roads were made with at least a layer of sand and gravel to prevent them from being overgrown.

The trees looked similar enough, and the flowers decent. No value.

Things that grow everywhere didn't have any value, so he looked around to plan for the next move.

The sun was directly above, casting only a tiny shadow. It was hard to estimate the directions, especially with the sun in the middle. About morning or evening, it would be easy, so he had to wait a few hours to know the direction.

The road curved at the edges both sides seem similar enough. Picking a direction at random, he started walking to his right. He had to plan for his survival.

There was the occasional roar, but the beast appeared far away, and no sound was moving closer.

Water, food, shelter.

Three basic things that he would require. And two choices. Scavenge himself, or hope for human settlement or any clearing. And he was not a man to depend on others.

The road indicates that it couldn't carry a modern vehicle, mostly similar to when he was born in medieval times. That meant either foot travel or carts. Either way, there should be inns or villages along the way from towns or cities.

He would have opted for scavenging, but the frequent roar stopped him from going deep into the forest.

A man could travel twenty miles easily in a day. And looking at the sun, he could easily cover it, even though he had a late start. The only problem is it doesn't take the food situation into account.

He could either hope for civilization or take a risk to forage when he saw a clearing for rest. They were frequent in the medieval era and generally near conveniences like streams or ponds.

At least he would climb a tree and look around.

After walking for about an hour with the shirt draped over him to provide shade, the sound reached his ears, one he rarely heard outside of movies and TV.

He looked over his shoulder, seeing two adult men on horseback approaching him from down the road, escorting an old man with a driver handling a horse-drawn wagon.

The bend provided easy vision, and he could see that behind the wagon, over a dozen men and women of varying ages were bound in chains, wearing rags for clothes and walking barefoot.

I'm really in a medieval earth with all its darkness. Shit. There was no way these guys would let him get away.

Hell, even he would not let a young, healthy man get away if he was a slaver.

A bloodied man, alone on a deserted road. Recipe for a disaster. He cleared and scampered toward the edge of the road.

This strange caravan came to a halt in front of Mike, and the three men stared at him in confusion.

“You’re blocking the road. Get out of our way before you end up like them,” the guard barked.

His lips twitched hearing the words. At least he was able to understand the language. A slight accent in English.

But the words were totally shameless. There was no advantage in speaking with them, so Mike held his tongue and observed the men.

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

It had been a long time since Mike saw a slave shipment. He usually only found them in post-apocalyptic timelines, when society had broken down, or timelines where the South won the Civil War and other such occurrences.

“Did you hear me? Maybe he is not understanding… We should attack him as I suggested from the start.”

“Boss, look at all of the blood he’s covered in,” one of the men on horseback said.

Mike looked at them. Their clothes were shoddy wool not woven by any kind of modern machinery, and their coats and boots were made of primitively-treated leather. Maybe he had been reincarnated to a third-world country?

‘If this was a post-apocalyptic timeline, then whatever happened wasn’t manmade,’ he thought. It happened before the Industrial Revolution, some kind of natural disaster that halted mankind’s development. A meteor?

“I don’t think he understands us. He’s got some weird clothes. He might be the son of some noble,” the other horseman said.

They had sheathed swords but no signs of any guns. So, this is an era before the invention of gunpowder. Medieval? It sure seems like it.

“If he’s a noble, we can ransom him back, and if not, he looks healthy and strong enough to sell for a good price. Chain him up with the others.”

One of the men got off his horse and approached Mike with a length of rope.

None of them were aware that he still had his knife on him.

As the man reached out to grab his hands, Mike slashed him across the throat. It wasn’t the pinpoint jab he had experienced earlier; this was a bloody smile stretching from ear to ear.

It had been ages since he last killed someone, not something required in modern society, but it was something he was very well-practiced in.

A fountain of blood sprayed forth, and Mike threw his knife at the wagon driver, catching him in the chest.

Before his first victim could drop to his knees, Mike ripped his sword from its sheath and charged toward the other horseman, already drawing his blade to avenge his coworker. Mike deflected the oncoming attack and pierced the man’s heart.

“Fireball!”

There was a flash of light in his peripheral vision from the old man, and Mike’s instincts made him jerk back as a sphere of energy shot by his face.

It struck a nearby tree and exploded, spraying fire in all directions like a Molotov Cocktail.

Mike looked back at the old man, one hand outstretched while the other covered the stab wound in his chest from Mike’s knife.

A holographic ring of crimson light floated around his wrist, marked with letters that Mike didn’t recognize.

“You can’t be serious,” Mike muttered.

“Fireball!” the old man shouted again.

Flames appeared and condensed in the old man’s hand, then shot at Mike like a burst from a flare gun.

Mike dodged and rushed in to close the distance. The first fireball had forced him to let go of his sword, and the second drove him back before he could grab the second man’s. He’d have to finish this with his bare hands.

The horses were all throwing tantrums in fear from the fighting, but the old man continued to launch those mysterious shots.

Mike circled around the horses, jumped, and tackled the man. He grabbed him by the throat and began beating him with his fist with a rapid pace of controlled savagery.

His current body wasn’t trained for combat, but he kept it healthy and strong and knew how much force he had to muster to get the job done.

"Wait, wait, don't kill me… I could help…"

Blood started spraying with the third punch, and the old man soon blacked out. Mike promptly retrieved his fallen knife and finished him off.

Mike took his time to catch his breath while he wiped off the blade, folded it up, and stored it in his pocket. He took those few moments to quell his annoyance.

The blood gushed out of the body, and Mike settled down beside it.

He was used to being reborn as a baby after every death and considered those early years to be his vacation between each new life.

He used the time to time to dispose of old memories, catalog useful knowledge, and mentally deal with loose ends.

No one depended on him, and he usually had a parent or caregiver to look after him, giving him time to rest his mind.

Now, he had to jump back into a survival mindset and start from scratch in a world with new rules.

Those fireballs the old man had launched were undoubtedly magic, which he thought only existed in fantasy stories. He had never seen magic before, not in any of the timelines he had already lived in.

Under the belief of the Multiverse Theory, there was a timeline for every possible subatomic event, so was it possible for even magic to exist? What did this timeline have that all the previous ones lacked?

The old man would have been a valuable source of information, but with his subordinates now dead, he would never willingly tell Mike anything, and it wouldn’t be worth the time and trouble to interrogate him.

As soon as the blood stopped flowing, he stood up and was startled to suddenly see a screen flash across his eyes.

[ Garrow Harthore Killed ]

[ Initiating System… OK ]

Surprised, he had slashed across the startling thing, but his blade only passed through it.

It was transparent, and he could see the back if he didn't focus on it. It also moved with his view. A bloody screen.

[ Welcome to the Multiverse ]

A bloody screen about Multiverse.

A cold, detached voice echoed in Mike's ears. Or in my head? he thought while looking around, confused. Nothing in his life had prepared him for his current circumstances.

A botched reincarnation. A magical world. Now a fucking System with a creepy Voice Assistant.

But before he could further analyze these baffling events, the monotone voice interrupted his train of thought.

[ Registering User… In Progress ]

[ Scanning… ]

[ ERROR! Soul Strength outside Lorelyn World System Parameter ]

[

ALERT

THE LORELYN SYSTEM ./SYSTEM 11xCx454H / REPORTED AN ERROR 401 AND IS ACTIVELY TRYING TO READ YOUR DETAILS…

DO YOU WANT TO GRANT IT ACCESS

YES / NO

( Time Remaining: 59 seconds )

]

The request screen flashed across, and he narrowed his eyes as he read the screen. There were new terms there, such as Lorelyn and World System.

After reading for a moment, he accepted the request. The request was only to READ his details so the risk was minimized. At least, he hoped so.

[ Adjusting… ]

[ Hidden World Quest Unlocked: Prepare for the World Integration ]

Suddenly, he was transported to a vast blackness, though he didn't feel panicked.

“What? Hello?” he shouted, or at least he thought he did, as the utter blackness seemed like a natural dampener, quenching. But the voice seemed unaware or uncaring of his calls.

This was starting to feel less like some extremely elaborate practical joke or heatstroke, as everything felt just too real. Mike pinched himself, and the sting told him he hadn’t passed out either.

[ Adjusting… ]

[ User Details Generated ]

As he contemplated what to do, the air around him vibrated with a hidden magic, giving a strange sensation.

The world momentarily blurred as if reality itself was reshuffling, and then, as swiftly as it had arrived, the sensation vanished, replaced by the blackness where he was floating.

Oh well, the answers would come in time, and patience was something Mike had learned long ago.