Year 1: Month 0
Beneath the golden sunlight in a vast meadow surrounded by rolling hills, stood a single tree. This tree was unlike any other. It was tall and majestic, its trunk thick and gnarled, with roots that seemed to dig deep into the earth itself. The tree's bark was silver-gray, and its leaves shimmered in shades of green and gold, as if touched by both the sun and moon.
Various animals in the forest would occasionally come by the tree, eating some of the fruits that fell off of its branches before leaving, never to be seen again. I, on the other hand, remain stuck to the tree.
No, if you were wondering, I'm not the tree. As a matter of fact, look to the left and look down. See those scraps of bones? Yeah, that's me.
Emerging from the tree's gnarled trunk was a decayed skeleton, its shape unmistakably human. The skull's mouth was twisted in a perpetual scream, staring blankly into the sky as though trapped in an eternal agony. Its limbs lay scattered and torn, separated from the body.
In front of me was a dark screen, with inky written words on it that read, “You have died.” No matter what I tried, I couldn't click off of it. Each time my hand reached for the button, or I attempted to close the screen in any way I could, my vision would fade to black. Seconds later, I would reawaken, still seated at my usual spot underneath the tree, as if nothing had ever happened.
Yes, if you cannot already guess by now, I am one of these 'you have reincarnated in another world' type guys. I was supposed to be the hero here, but somehow I felt like I was the victim that needed saving rather than saving others.
Well, how do I know that I am in another world, you ask? Well, it's mainly because of three factors. I don't know who I'm actually speaking to, but hey, better than staying silent.
Well, firstly, the time frame does not match up. I've seen some carriages and some occasional merchants standing by to either rest or just pass by. And Last I checked, carriages and stuff like that weren't used all that much unless you were talking about the late 17th century or the early 20th century. There are also monsters that would occasionally hunt or eat some of the fruits from the tree I was under, and one time I even saw a guy whose skin was all green using some of the 'Mana' of the tree to heal himself.
I assumed it was Mana anyway. I mean, what else would you call blue glowing orbs coming out of a tree that suddenly had the property to heal your skin instantly and better than any medicine could.
Yep it was quite the depressing world, no manga, no anime, no por—
I am legit the worst isekai protagonist ever. I mean, come on. Where are the big titty elves, the snarky thief girl, and the beautiful goddess waiting to be rescued by me? I feel like I got freaking cheated.
I looked around in the forest for a bit. There was nothing interesting happening. It was nighttime, so all the animals were going to sleep, with the exception of the nocturnal animals.
Oh well.
It wouldn't hurt to go to sleep as well; I mean, it's not like I had anything else to do.
Yes I know it's weird but even though I'm dead, I can experience some form of sleep although it's not like the sleep you the one with the living meat bag have.
Dizziness rolled over my face before my consciousness fizzled out until I could perceive nothing but the wind flowing in and out of my skeletal body.
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Day 1
The next day, it wasn't the sound of a rowdy animal trying to climb the tree to reach all the other fruits that hadn't fallen on the ground, but instead, it was the sound of strange voices that woke me up.
whatever waking up could mean for a being that wasn't even alive.
It was two figures: one of a man wearing priestly-like clothing, and the other looking like a common street rat that had been bought off as a slave. The priest circled the tree with slow, deliberate steps, touching the wooden bark for a bit and feeling across its smooth surface. He took care never to let his touch venture too close to my skeletal remains entwined with the roots.
I honestly wasn't that surprised by his reaction. Although some animals stuck around to eat some of the fruits of the tree, they always made sure to keep away from my skeletal remains, especially when I was talking. It's like I was a bad omen to them.
But this was a chance that I couldn't waste. I have to try to make some kind of interaction with them.
"Hey," I whispered. But the man didn't pay any attention to what I said, instead glancing briefly at his shoulder, barking out an order to a few of the slaves that were standing nearby a beautiful white carriage that had some golden marks on it, as he fumbled between his road before grabbing some kind of weird ointment from his bag.
“What is he doing?” I said out loud, trying to catch the attention of the slum girl, but she paid no mind to me, looking more uncomfortable than anything.
He approached me slowly, with a few of the slaves laying down a heavy box filled with who knows what on the ground as the priest opened the little ointment in his hand and splashed it all over my skull.
I never imagined that skeletons could feel pain.
Because I was feeling a lot of it right now.
The sensation of pain was unlike anything I had ever experienced in my previous life. Back then, pain had always been a physical reaction—a sharp sting, a dull throb, something my body could respond to and heal from. But this? This was something far worse. It was as if the very marrow in my bones—what little there was left—was being boiled alive, and the fire wasn’t just coming from the surface of my decayed skull but from deep within it.
The ointment the priest had splashed on me seeped into the cracks of my skull, igniting a burning sensation that spread down through my spine.
I couldn't scream. I had no lungs, no vocal cords, no mouth that could properly open wide enough to let out a cry for help. But I could feel it—every bit of agony crawling through me like a hundred tiny insects biting at the marrow of my existence.
My vision flickers—if you could call it vision at all—flashes of white, red, and black swirling together in a nauseating display that made me wish I could pass out, lose consciousness, or do something to escape the pain.
But I couldn’t.
The priest didn't pay any mind to my scream, which was starting to piss me off. He just stood there, watching as the terrible ointment went deeper into my skull.
The priest looked back over his shoulder once more, barking some orders at the slaves who were patiently waiting off to the side for his next command, as he grabbed another ointment from his bag; this one looking green, unlike the other one, which had a yellow appearance.
I was about to curse whichever damn author decided to make this character, but I caught myself mid-sentence as the man splashed the ointment all over his hand, mumbling to himself as he drew some weird symbols on the ground.
Sometimes I forget that I'm the main character of this story
Or at least that's what I'm hoping for.
The pain was finally starting to subside.
The priest had paused. The man didn't pay any mind to anything. It was so unnerving that if I were not dead myself, I would have figured that the man had died right there and then. Taking a short breath in, he began to chant again.
Despite living in this world for practically a year now, I still have no idea how the language works. This is partially because nobody was willing to stick around to try to teach a literal skeleton a foreign language he hadn't heard in forever, and because the vast majority of my interactions were with monsters and random creatures of the forest that wanted to eat my fruits.
But I was about to witness something magical.
The air around the priest seemed to hum with an energy, making the hairs on the back of my nonexistent neck rise as he tried to write the symbol of a snake eating its own tail on the soil, and it began glowing with a beautiful blue radiant light.
a smile appeared on the priest's face, and I watched in amazement as the drawing he wrote on the ground began to move. The process of the snake eating its tail played out in front of me, like an animator's drawing that was in the process of coming to life.
But the man made a horrible mistake.
I barely even noticed it. I was too caught up on the magic show that was going on in front of me.
Behind the priest, the slum girl slowly approached him, trying to come off as unnoticeable as possible as her ‘master’ (at least that's the vibe I'm getting from both of them) wrote on the ground. Eventually, when she was close enough.
Her eyes darted nervously between his focused figure and the snake symbol pulsing with an ethereal light on the ground. Each step was silent, her bare feet barely stirring the grass beneath her. She was so close now that she could see the faint beads of sweat forming on the priest’s brow, his muttering growing more fervent with each passing second.
“oh dear” was all I could say.
she tensed her muscles, her fists clenched at her sides. With a flash of determination in her eyes, she lunged forward. Her foot, dirty and worn from years of hardship, shot out with a surprising amount of force. The sole of her foot connected sharply with the back of the priest’s knee—a spot vulnerable to even the smallest amount of pressure.
The priest barely had time to gasp as his legs buckled beneath him, his chanting cut off by a sharp grunt of surprise. His hands flailed wildly as he tried to regain his balance, but the momentum of the kick had already sealed his fate. He stumbled forward uncontrollably, his once-composed posture crumbling like a house of cards.
He pitched forward, his body careening straight toward me.
And that was when the real nightmare began.
[ Chapter end. ]