As soon as I opened my eyes, the world exploded in painful light. No sky, no clouds - just a pale, pulsating glow filtering through a fleshy membrane. The air, or whatever it was, scorched my lungs. Every breath felt like acid pouring into me, making me cough involuntarily.

Around me were nothing but slick, mucus-coated walls, folded like the insides of a living creature. They were so soft that my fingers sank into them when I touched them. The walls pulsed, expanding and contracting as if alive - pushing me out, or maybe pulling me deeper. Raising a hand to wipe my damp face, I felt a searing pain; my fingers were streaked with crimson, as if dipped in acid.

Ah, this sensation. Familiar. But there was no time for reminiscence. I thought.

In the center of the “ceiling”, something glowed brightly. The temperature spiked, and a sulfuric aroma assaulted my nose. It was an organ resembling a colossal lantern, crisscrossed with pulsating blood vessels.

Thanks to its light, I saw what lay beneath my feet: bodies submerged in a bubbling, semi-transparent liquid. Not one, not two - dozens. Or maybe hundreds? It was hard to tell. Some were nearly dissolved, pathetic remnants of skulls clinging to their form, covered in slime. Others looked fresh, as if they'd just screamed and fought for life moments ago. Their skin peeled off like wet paper, exposing bones jutting out of a grotesque mess.

I made the mistake of stepping back. Staying still would’ve kept me from slipping and plunging into the thick, scalding mixture. The liquid rushed into my mouth and nose, and I started choking. It burned me from the inside out, and all I could do was thrash around, grabbing at the remains floating near me.

The pain intensified with every second. The skin on my arms and legs blistered and peeled away, exposing raw flesh.

Death simply found a new way to play with me, and that is the real answer to why I was given an immortal body.

What next? Will the creature whose stomach I’m trapped in digest me? Even if I regenerate from that, I will die again, no matter what. How? A sword to the heart? A beheading? Oh, no - it has to be slow and agonizing, like every other time.

Alright, fine! I’ll play by these stupid rules! I wanted to scream it out loud, but the acid had eaten away at my throat.

Fueled by adrenaline, I bit into the fleshy surface with my teeth, desperate to stay on “shore”. Underwater, my hand found a sharp bone, which I used like an ice axe.

The creature didn’t even flinch.

Shouldn’t a little bleeding make it react somehow?

My body wouldn’t recover from this kind of damage fast enough, so I’d die again anyway. My only hope is not to wake up in the acid.

******

After dying, as usual, I sink into nirvana.

It’s always so peaceful here - the perfect place to plan my escape.

First off, what exactly swallowed me? Judging by the structure of the stomach, it isn’t humanoid. Probably a fish. Or a bird. Hopefully the latter. Maybe it was one of those manta ray things? Wait, manta rays aren’t birds - they’re fish. But in this world, they gracefully glide through the skies.

Never mind. The escape plan is what matters now.

There are only two ways out of this situation, and both suck. Crawling through intestines? Hell no. That leaves climbing up to the esophagus, even though it’s three meters up and the walls are slick.

No way I can do it alone. I’ll have to make the damned beast vomit me out.

******

The moment my heart started beating again, I scanned the stomach’s contents. The scratch I’d made with the bone earlier had no effect, so I needed a real weapon. When I fell into the acid, I’d accidentally brushed against something metallic at the bottom.

Could it be a soldier's armor? If so, there might be weapons too. At least, the odds seemed decent.

The thought of diving back into the acid made my legs tremble. But as they say, “Feel the fear and do it anyway”. I gulped nervously and jumped in to avoid overthinking it. This time, I preemptively covered my airways to keep the acid out.

Navigation was purely by touch, but the pain made it hard to distinguish objects. When I reached my limit, I grabbed the first thing my hands found and surfaced. Staying in the acid much longer would turn me into literal crap.

My eyelids had melted, and my eyeballs felt boiled, so I couldn’t even see if I’d struck the jackpot. Gasping hoarsely, I lay on the “shore”, waiting for my body to recover.

******

Turns out it was just a helmet. So, I dove again. And again. And again… I lost count. Finally, on what must’ve been the eighth attempt, I surfaced with a dagger.

Enough.

Gripping the hilt until my knuckles turned white, I cursed under my breath and delivered the first stab. The blade sunk in with difficulty, as if piercing thick fabric. Hot liquid sprayed my hand, splashing onto my face.

Suddenly, everything came alive. The walls contracted, trying to crush me. My body was flung around, but I anchored myself by shoving my free hand into the wound. Then I struck again. And again. Each blow was met with a deep, resonating rumble. The creature roared. I felt it in my bones - a low, vibrating sound that made the walls tremble.

Blood gushed from the wounds, mixing with the acid. The liquid bubbled and rose higher. I was standing knee-deep in this mess.

The beast's heart raced.

I screamed, shredding my throat. It fueled my strikes. The vibrations grew stronger; the surrounding space convulsed chaotically. The beast was panicking.

Suddenly, the liquid surged like a raging river, sweeping me along. Everything shook, and my head spun. I clung to my dagger, my last shred of hope.

I kept slashing. One blow, then another… until I was violently expelled.

Light. Cold. Air. That’s when I saw my captor - a horned black dragon spewing out its stomach’s contents mid-flight. Its agonized roar was deafening.

Smiling with grim satisfaction, I spread my arms wide, ready to embrace death. However, by an ironic twist of fate, I didn’t die. Giant branches of a tree, resembling a sequoia, broke my fall.

And so I found myself on solid ground. Every bone in my body was broken, leaving me immobile. Honestly, I’d rather have died than feel my skeleton painfully realign itself.

******

I feel a bit guilty about how I treated the dragon. Sure, it devoured me, but who knows how long it would’ve taken me to cross the sea otherwise? From what I could tell, the zombie village was on an island, meaning there was no other way off it. There was a good chance sea monsters would’ve eaten me during the crossing. And if I escaped from their stomachs, I’d probably end up crushed by water pressure. Without a famous Logitech controller to guide me, that’d be game over.

Enough dwelling on what could’ve been. What matters is that the worst is behind me. At least, I hope it is.

My body didn’t fully recover until nightfall, so I had no clue where I was headed. The towering sequoias barely let the moonlight filter through their canopy, leaving the grove shrouded in darkness.

Danger could lurk around any corner.

What’s the plan? First - a bath. Second - find clothes. Third - food. I’m not particularly hungry, but after all the crap that’s been in my mouth, I want to savor a proper meal. Plus, there’s alcohol to consider! I can drink as much as I want without getting drunk. In my first life, I wasn’t legally allowed to drink due to my age, so it’s high time I made up for lost opportunities.

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

On a more practical note, it wouldn’t hurt to learn this world’s laws. And I’m not just talking about state regulations - I mean the rules governing magic and other forces here. But I have a feeling it won’t be easy. The real world isn't filled with convenient clichés like in those books I used to read after school. A random peasant living in the middle of nowhere probably won’t be able to explain how everything works, given their lives revolve around fields and forests. I’ll have to gather information bit by bit from those who know the subject.

The problem is, I’m not entirely sure how to go about it. I understand the local language, but I’m still struggling to speak it properly.

By the way, the fact that I know the language is a result of the synchronization of my consciousness with the body’s brain. The previous owner’s memories become mine. But this time, there’s something odd - I didn’t get any memories at all. In previous lives, I’d recall the body’s backstory within a few hours. Assuming I survived that long, of course.

A strong gust of wind blew, and huge pinecones fell from the branches. I wondered if one would kill me if it fell on my head, but I decided not to test it. Covering my head with my hands, I climbed into a hollow to wait out the storm.

******

Three days of wandering finally brought me to a road. Fresh tracks of hooves and wagon wheels were still visible in the wet dirt. Following them, I eventually left the forest, and before me unfolded a new landscape: a sea of smooth fescue grass stretching to the horizon. Waves of golden hues rippled with every gust of wind. In the distance, nestled among the hills, stood a slender pagoda, much of it hidden in the morning mist. The sky, painted in somber gray tones, hung heavy like a harbinger of a storm.

Lately, the rain has hardly stopped, and it seems today will be no exception. That might explain why I’d encountered so few animals. The only ones in sight were small rodents, which immediately hid as soon as they saw me. Or maybe it’s because of the hunters? Along the way, I occasionally came across their huts, but never found anyone at home. But that's just as well, since they probably wouldn't have appreciated how treacherously I broke in, searching for something to wear.

Yes, yes. I’m no longer naked! The risk of awkward situations is behind me.

******

When I reached a bridge spanning a river, I checked off my second goal. Jumping into freshwater wasn’t as exciting as plunging into acid, but it would do. After the rain stopped and the ripples on the river’s surface settled, I finally saw my reflection. A teenager stared back: fair-skinned, with short black hair and gray eyes.

The face of the most average protagonist from a third-rate isekai. If that’s the case, shouldn’t the beginning of my journey have been equally generic? I wouldn’t have minded being a noble with a leveling system and a harem of beauties inexplicably chasing after me. Trite, but still better than the way I started.

However, it would be a sin to complain, considering that I've just set a new record - three whole days without a date with Death. And on top of that, I'm knocking off tasks one after another.

That leaves only food, and then I can start thinking about new objectives. But a proper meal doesn’t come free. Time to learn about local currency and how to earn it.

******

According to a signpost, the village I stumbled upon was called Apelfaund. It was nestled along the river I’d just bathed in. Cheerful girls and women were washing bedding and clothes, splashing each other with soapy water. A little farther downstream, ducks floated lazily, and on a wooden pier, a fisherman dozed with his rod in hand. Clearly, the fish weren’t biting.

Children darted through the streets, followed by wagging-tailed dogs. A well-trodden road cut through the village, suggesting it saw its fair share of traders and travelers. Wagons loaded with goods and tied-up horses by the stable confirmed this.

There should be a resting spot somewhere.

This place seemed peaceful. At least I didn’t encounter any hostility from the locals. Most smiled or nodded slightly when our eyes met.

I’m unlikely to get killed here, though again, I won’t make any predictions.

The small houses, which seemed to have grown straight from the earth, remind me of a zombie village. The walls, made of yellow logs, had already darkened with the passage of time. Thin tendrils of smoke lazily rose from the clay chimneys protruding from the straw roofs. Simple carvings adorned the beams, their patterns modest yet charming. The windows were tiny, with curtains that looked like they had been made from burlap sacks.

There was a church, too. It lacked a distinctive symbol like a cross, but its stained glass marked it as a place of worship. Besides, it stood a humble bell tower, and the bell rang out just as I passed, marking the hour. Judging by the occasional appearance of the sun, it must’ve been around eight in the morning. But for such an early hour, the streets were unusually lively. A crowd had gathered nearby, and I wondered what the commotion was about.

As I approached, a strange scene unfolded before me. Two men stood in the middle of a circle - one an elderly man in his seventies, the other a grimy drunkard who, judging by his state, had likely slipped on the steps outside the tavern across the way.

Are they about to fight? Both were barely standing, spitting curses at each other.

Among the onlookers were some enterprising villagers collecting bets. Instead of coins, the gamblers handed over colorful stones.

Is that their currency?

“What’s the problem here?” I asked one of the spectators.

My earlier practice talking to myself was paying off. If I repeated a sentence in my mind enough times, I could finally speak it aloud.

“Old Petar didn’t like his son-in-law badmouthing our prince,” the man replied. Then he turned to look at me. “Ah, you’re not from around here.”

Do I stand out that much? Or does he just know everyone in this village? The latter seems more plausible.

“Does this kind of ‘fun’ often happen?” I inquired.

“Nope. Just lucky a wandering musician showed up. Petar’s an old-school guy. He wants to teach that freeloader a lesson the traditional way.”

“I'm not quite catching the connection,” I said, scratching the back of my head while glancing back at the fighters.

That's when I noticed a young, pretty girl standing nearby. Her chestnut hair was neatly gathered into a high bun, decorated with a ribbon and floral hairpins. The girl was petite, wearing a short brown jacket with wide sleeves, the edges of which were adorned with crimson petal patterns. Under the jacket, a layered skirt made of light fabric peeked out. She wore high leather boots with metal accents, and in her hands was a violin, with a delicate flute fastened to her belt and a lute case hanging over her back.

“In Velisatia, it’s an old tradition to settle disputes with fists, but only during duels. It’s different where you’re from, huh?” the man continued.

“I’ve heard that the Deorites, those bastard sons of whores, beat their wives every day for no reason,” chimed in another villager.

Big Land? Deorites? It seemed my ignorance of their customs made them conclude I was a foreigner.

“What does the musician have to do with this?” I deflected the question and posed my own.

The man squinted at me like I was an idiot. “A duel without music is like a battle between pigs stuck knee-deep in their own shit.”

I nodded as if I understood.

Earlier, he’d practically admitted that this was an outdated tradition, so clearly not everyone in this country adhered to it. But when it comes to a duel, the musical accompaniment is a must. Ah, I hoped that this applied to any kind of violence, and that when I encountered bandits, I could simply refuse to duel, and they’d let me go without any fuss.

“By the way, if you’re planning to place a bet, go with the old man,” the man said, spitting on the ground before continuing. “He used to serve in the Fourteenth Division under the late Prince Tuali-” But my companion didn’t get to finish his sentence, interrupted by a drunken man standing in the circle.

"And then they disbanded them and tossed them out onto the streets like decrepit, hic... stray dogs!"

“Shut your filthy mouth!” Petar growled, glaring at him from under his brows.

“And what, am I wrong, Daddy? Hic… His Highness wiped his…” holding back vomit, he continued, “He wiped his ass with every Velisatian, hic… and here you are, still worshiping him,” the drunk slurred, gesturing wildly as he spoke.

Not knowing the full picture, it’s hard to tell who’s in the right. But I definitely wouldn’t bet on the old man. Even though the drunk can barely stand, the odds are still against the elder. Their weight and age categories are just too different.

“A parasite has no right to criticize the actions of his superiors!” the older man got worked up and started coughing.

“Exactly what I thought. A lapdog through and through,” Petar’s son-in-law said with a playful grin, casting a glance at the bard before giving her a wink. He clearly has no clue what’s going on.

“Girl, play your music,” the old man muttered, as he tightened his grip on a wooden club.

His opponent stepped forward, fists bare.

Suddenly, the air was sliced by the unexpectedly pure notes of a violin. The melody was so delicate and out of place in this setting that I froze, doubting my ears. I don’t have many weaknesses, but music is definitely one of them. In the past, it often saved me in tough times, brightening the dullest of days.

And, as it turned out, music could even save this absurd brawl.

Or maybe it couldn’t.

The son-in-law slipped and face-planted into the mud. The old man seized the opportunity, dropping to his knees and beating his opponent mercilessly. It was hard to believe those frail hands could still hold so much strength.

The younger men pulled the swearing elder away just in time. Despite the gaping, bleeding wound on his head, the loser was still breathing.

“I told you, the Fourteenth Division is no joke,” someone muttered from the crowd.

The audience didn’t seem too thrilled with the outcome. I couldn’t tell if they were upset about the drunk’s loss or the fact that he survived.

But honestly, I didn’t care about them. My attention was on the girl, who was now pocketing her payment and stashing her violin back in its case.

“Hi,” I said confidently, stepping toward her.

She shot me a look of indifference before walking off.

“I really liked your playing. I’d love to hear more.”

Without breaking stride, she held out her open hand, silently demanding payment for a private performance.

“Sorry, I don’t have any money.”

At that, whatever sliver of interest she had vanished, and she quickened her pace.

She told me to fuck off without saying a single word. Well, it is what it is. I’m not the kind of guy who chases after women. Especially not ones who couldn’t care less about me.