The man woke up in the middle of the forest to a mouthful of dirt and no recollection of who he was or how he got there.
A feeling of vertigo hit him as he looked around, trying to get his bearings. The beginning of a splitting headache was soon to follow, and the man scrambled to flip himself to the sky before the avalanche of unpleasantness overwhelmed him.
Thinking was too painful, so he closed his eyes and focused only on the most pressing need. Slowly and deliberately, he breathed in and out, taking in the thick and humid air of the forest.
He wasn’t sure how long he laid there, oblivious to the world around him, waiting for the hurt and the confusion to go away. The pain eventually subsided, and he was left with nothing but the sole company of his thoughts.
The loudest and most insistent thought eventually found its way past his lips, as he let out a hoarse and breathy curse.
“What the fuck?”
This proved not to be the best of ideas, as the man began to choke on air, and devolved into a coughing fit.
He staggered to his knees, coughs wracking his entire body. His arms fumbled around him as he searched for anything to grab onto. His right hand crashed feebly against the bark of a nearby tree, sending another spike of pain through his body.
He steadied himself against the tree, the coughing eventually receding to nothing. He thought of trying to speak again, but the soreness of his lungs convinced him otherwise.
He twisted around, letting his back rest against what he now knew to be a truly gargantuan pine. Waiting for a few more breaths until the pain caused by the movement abated, he steadied his mind and opened his eyes again.
Everything started out a blur, but with every blink, he was able to more clearly see the giant forest before him.
A closer analysis only confirmed his suspicions.
He had no idea where he was or how he had gotten here.
Worse yet, as his mind became clearer, he could not remember anything, whether about himself or even whatever a normal human should know.
Something odd at the edge of his vision caught his attention. Looking downwards, he stared at his left arm. Written in scar tissue was a single sentence. Follow the memories.
Well, at least that confirms I can remember at least a language. Nevermind that I can’t remember anything.
The sound of a nearby stream interrupted his musings. He immediately realized that his throat was completely parched. No wonder I broke into a cough the moment I tried to speak.
The idea of heading to the stream was daunting. On the one hand, it would certainly help him recover more quickly, and he was fairly sure he would die sooner rather than later if he didn’t get something to drink. On the other hand, merely raising himself to a sitting position had brought him more pain than he would have liked. And he was no stranger to pain.
Huh. How did I know that?
Waving away the thought, he began to push himself up. The pain returned, but compared to his previous attempts, it was muted. Steeling himself, the man lifted himself into a standing position and began to walk in the direction of the stream.
He almost fell, wobbling unsteadily on legs that felt as if they hadn’t been used in centuries.
Maybe they haven’t.
He discarded that thought, remembering the scars on his arms — they were recent, and the stirring of a memory hinted to him that they were self-inflicted.
Lost in his own thoughts, he did not realize he reached the edge of the stream.
The next moments were a blur as he abated his thirst. He knew he’d regret drinking so eagerly, but he didn’t care. That was for future him to deal with.
Feeling significantly less like an old battered piece of leather, the man sat down next to a boulder and returned to his thoughts. He was approaching some dangerous conclusions, and he did not like them one bit.
For starters, he was thoroughly fucked.
Even disregarding his missing sense of identity, he was completely lost in what looked to be a forest completely untouched by mankind. Moreover, calling what surrounded him trees was an understatement. The thinnest one he could see was a good 5 meters in diameter. He could not remember much, but he felt certain that trees did not normally grow this large.
Something in his gut was warning him that there was something magical about this forest.
And therein laid the second problem. He couldn’t remember anything, but the same didn’t seem to be true for his subconscious. If that even was his subconscious, and he wasn’t actually being mind-controlled by something. Maybe even the trees.
I suppose being paranoid about everything won’t be very helpful in the short term. I’ll assume the gut feeling is indeed my subconscious, and that it has my best interests at heart.
Moving back to the place he had woken up in, he began methodically looking around, searching for a trail that could tell him how he got here. Either there was none, or his subconscious did not come with tracking skills.
Nothing else to do but to follow the stream.
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--
Several hours later, the man was just as lost as when he’d started, but now he was also hungry and tired. He recognized that following the stream was a good decision — the forest did not seem to be quite as deserted as he originally thought. He was able to find a couple of broken arrow shafts and a ripped piece of cloth as he made his way along the riverbed, which was encouraging.
He was unable, however, to find a hint of life beyond the trees and shrubbery. To make matters worse, none of the shrubs seemed to contain any berries.
The man was unsure how long he could last without food. Certainly longer than without water. Days, maybe. He didn’t want to find out.
The dimming light had made his trip more treacherous, and as the final embers of the sun made themselves scarce, he sat down next to a tree. There was little point continuing while he could not see, and his mounting fatigue demanded rest.
He was aware he should build a shelter, or set traps, or any other measure that would ensure his safety over the night, but he found himself unable to care. The worst thing that could happen was that he’d be killed and freed from this nightmare.
Still, he clutched one of the broken arrows — it still had the arrowhead attached, and if anything it could make a half-decent weapon should the need arise.
He closed his eyes and let sleep engulf him.
Sometime during the night, an unpleasant smell wafted to his nose. The man rolled around slightly, in an attempt to avoid the smell.
It saved his life.
Where his head had been just seconds before, a massive wolf chomped down on empty air.
Without thinking, the man’s body moved on its own, limbs a blur as the near brush with death sent him into a desperate frenzy. With reflexes he didn’t know he had, he lashed with his right hand, still clutching the arrowhead, driving it towards the wolf’s face.
Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, as the wolf, still stunned by its miss, suddenly found itself trying to dodge the weapon headed straight towards its left eye.
The wolf’s movements seemed comically slow to the man, who felt like a bystander watching as the arrowhead plunged deep into the wolf’s eye. He felt the flesh give, and life leaving the wolf as the arrow became embedded into its brain.
The moment seemed to stretch into forever, but the man was brought out of it when inside him, two things happened at the same time.
The first was a series of strange blue boxes appearing in front of his face. He barely had time to make sense of the boxes before his vision went white and he felt himself be pulled inside his own mind.
The scene changes. The man is once again a prisoner in his own body. He is sitting on his cot, inside a sparsely furnished campaign tent. He is resting his sword across his knees, rhythmically dragging a whetstone across its surface. The man finds the act relaxing. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
The canvas flap opens to reveal his bunkmate, a sturdy man by the name of Colt. He mutters indiscernibly as he heads towards his own cot.
Halfway through the tent, Colt explodes into motion as he attempts to rip out a chunk of the man’s neck. His hands had become a pair of monstrous claws. With practiced leisureliness, before Colt even has the chance to get close to his target, the man stabs once with his sword, piercing his assailant from the left eye through the back of his head.
The Colt-thing lets out a ghastly laugh as he asks, “How did you know?”
The dying doppelganger reverts to his original shape, that of a thin human-like entity with no face but a mouth with too many teeth. The man does not answer.
--
The man opened his eyes. The vision had seemed all too real.
Not a vision. A memory.
Focusing once again on the present, he stared at the boxes floating in front of him.
You have defeated a level 20 Wyrdwood Silverwolf! For defeating an enemy significantly above your own level, you have been awarded extra experience!
You have learned the skill Improvised Weaponry!
Improvised Weaponry is now level 2!
Improvised Weaponry is now level 3!
Improvised Weaponry is now level 4!
[Anamnesis] By recovering one of your lost memories, you have re-acquired a forgotten skill!
Execute is now level 4!
Anamnesis is now level 2!
Level up! You are now level 2!
Level up! You are now level 3!
Unlike the things he simply knew, such as the language he spoke, or how to follow a river in search of civilization, or how big trees were supposed to be, the boxes in front of him were wholly unfamiliar. Which seemed odd, because their text seemed to imply they were an inherent part of reality.
Since these boxes seem to know what kind of creature the wolf is, do they also know who I am?
He didn’t have time to finish that thought before another box appeared in front of him.
Well, well, well.
Name
Akkari
Level
3
Class
-
Race
Human
Status
Attributes
Health
50
Strength
5
Stamina
50
Dexterity
5
Mana
50
Intelligence
5
H. Recovery
10/minute
Vitality
5
S. Recovery
10/minute
Endurance
5
M. Recovery
10/minute
Wisdom
5
Perception
5
Charisma
5
Unassigned
2