Luc blinked, the morning light filtering through the cave entrance. He'd spent the night on high alert, his nerves prickling at every distant rustle, every twig that cracked in the dark. But nothing had come. No darkwolves, no white-furred monkeys, not even a stray breeze.

The reason during the night he's not exploring is because he'd felt too worn out and just wanted to take things slowly. When dawn came, he’d given in and slept, his mind and body both drained.

Now, as he woke, he saw the spear wall he'd constructed yesterday preparing for night. but when the night come, it not following him.

So much for that brilliant idea.

Luc realized that only the things he carried with him followed him from the foggy realm to what he hoped was the real world.

Maybe I can make a rope to hold all the things I want to bring? Will that do?

He stepped out of the cave, squinting against the bright sunlight. The forest seemed almost peaceful now, the morning light filtering through the leaves. Luc glanced down at his bare skin and grimaced. "Right. Clothes. That should probably be on the to-do list."

As he moved towards the river, Luc's mind raced. The night had passed without incident, but he couldn't count on that luck holding. He needed a plan—a way to survive whatever was out there.

The cool water shocked him back to the present as he waded in. He dunked his head underwater, then came up sputtering and gasping. For a moment, he just floated, letting the current gently pull at him.

What should I do after this? Should I start some training regimen?

He just felt the urge to rush out of the forest, to find civilization, had faded. It is just that he thinks that even if he succeeds to come out of the forest, what would he find? He's now in a different world isn't he? Could he speak the local language? Did he have the cheat for that?

What if the outside world was at war, and he was brought here to be some kind of hero? What if he was captured and made a slave, or what if there is no civilization out there and he's only in the strange planet full of monsters?

Why do I even think this is a medieval world?

He might be overthinking, but what if any of this is true?

Luc sighed, turning to swim back to shore. As he climbed out, water streaming off his body, he caught sight of his reflection in a still pool.

The man staring back at him looked... different.

"Well, Luc," he said to his reflection, "looks like you're finally living an interesting life. Careful what you wish for, huh?" He shook his head.

Luc walked back to the cave, his stomach growling. He dug through his small stash of supplies and pulled out the remaining chunks of darkwolf meat.

“Alright,” he said, placing the meat over the fire. “Let’s try this again.”

As the meat cooked, Luc glanced down at his bare skin and smirked. He felt the loneliness creep in but quickly pushed it away, focusing on the task at hand.

The smoke from the fire gave the meat a rich, earthy scent making his mouth water

Once the meat was cooked and some set aside for smoking, Luc tore into it with gusto. As he ate, his mind churned with plans for clothing. He eyed the wolf pelt.

Time to get to work. It was time to make some clothes.

With a full belly Luc set to work. He spread the pelt on the ground, trying to figure out how to turn it into something wearable. His hands, more used to typing than crafting, fumbled with the thick fur.

Hours went by as he struggled with his makeshift clothing. The sun climbed higher, and Luc was sweating as he worked. Finally, he managed to create something that resembled a vest and a rough skirt. They weren’t pretty, but they’d do the job

Luc slipped them on, feeling the scratchy fur against his skin. He stood, feeling the weight of the leather, the way it moved with his body. It wasn’t comfortable, but at least he was covered.

Luc took a deep breath, feeling the cool forest air fill his lungs. He needed to get out of the cave for a bit, stretch his legs, and clear his head.

The mist was still hanging low, clinging to the trees like a damp veil, but there was a calmness to it—a quiet that felt like the forest was giving him space to think.

He started walking, letting his pace stay slow and easy, moving through the mist as it swirled around his feet.

The air felt fresh and sharp, filled with the earthy scents of dirt and pine. Even with the fog blurring his view, Luc found himself strangely at peace. The mist softened the edges of everything, making him tune into his other senses more—the soft crunch of leaves beneath his boots, the branches whispering in the wind, and somewhere in the distance, the faint murmur of a river.

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As he wandered, he stopped now and then to look at the plants and trees around him. Some were familiar, others strange, with bright, unusual colors or odd shapes that caught his eye. Once in a while, he spotted a fruit hanging from a low branch. He picked a few, tucking them into his belt. They weren’t rare here, but they weren’t common either.

The mist grew thicker as he moved deeper into the forest, and the trees seemed to grow larger and older, their trunks thick and gnarled. Then he saw it—a massive tree that towered over the others. The trunk was too wide for him to wrap his arms around, with thick vines hanging down like ropes and roots twisting out of the ground like the fingers of a giant, sleeping hand.

Curious, Luc walked around the tree, his hand brushing the rough bark. As he made his way to the other side, he noticed a small opening at the base of the trunk, just big enough for a person to squeeze through. He crouched down and peered inside.

In the dim light, he spotted something glinting in the dirt. Luc squinted, trying to make it out.

A sword, half-buried in the earth. The blade was plain, silver, with no decorations or engravings. It looked old, unused, like it hadn’t been touched in a long time. A well-worn longsword.

A sword in this place? Whose sword is this?

He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and gripped the hilt.

The metal was cool to the touch, solid and reassuring in his hand.

He gave it a pull.

Nothing.

The sword stayed firmly in place. Luc frowned, planting his feet and pulling harder. Still nothing.

Don't tell me this sword is like "only for the chosen one" thing, huh? Am I not the chosen one then? Luc let out a dry chuckle

He adjusted his grip and tried again, straining against the sword’s weight. After a moment of effort, and a few grunts, the blade came free with a loud scrape, sending him stumbling back a step or two. Dirt crumbled away, and he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

He stood up, holding the sword out, testing its weight. It was heavier than he’d expected, but it felt… good, somehow.

He gave it a few swings, the blade cutting through the air with a soft, satisfying whoosh.

He’d never used a sword before, but it felt better than the makeshift weapons he’d crafted in the cave. Maybe he’d practice with it, to fill his not-very-busy schedule.

Standing there, in the shadow of the great tree, Luc stared at the sword. It wasn’t much to look at—rusty, plain—but it was solid enough.

Still, he couldn’t help but wonder how it ended up here, buried at the base of this ancient tree. Who had left it? How long had it been here? Was there someone else in this forest?

Luc shook his head, dismissing the thoughts. It didn’t matter. It was just an old sword, and he had enough on his mind. He tightened his grip, looked around, the forest still quiet and cloaked in mist.

Now what?

…

Luc was back by the river, listening to the quiet rush of water. It helped calm his nerves, helped him focus. He glanced at the sword in his hand.

He took a few steps back from the water’s edge, giving himself some space. He had never held a sword before, much less swung one. All he knew about swordsmanship came from books, movies, and video games. None of which were particularly helpful right now.

Where do I even start with this thing?

He took a breath and tried a basic swing, moving the blade from side to side. It felt heavy and awkward, and his grip was unsure.

He tried to copy some moves he’d seen in an anime once. He imagined he was slicing through the air, trying to feel the weight and balance of the weapon.

This feels so awkward. Am I even holding it right?

As he continued to swing, he realized he didn’t have a clue what he was doing. Each movement felt awkward and clumsy. His footing was off; the weight of the blade kept pulling him off balance. He had no clue how to position his hands or even how to swing it without feeling like he was going to fall on his face. If he wasn’t careful, he might end up cutting himself.

"Well, this is embarrassing," Luc muttered to himself, taking a break to catch his breath. He looked down at the blade, turning it over in his hands.

There’s got to be a better way to do this.

He thought about the few action movies he’d seen, trying to remember how the heroes moved. They always seemed so fluid, so natural with a sword. Luc tried to emulate that, starting slow and focusing on his form. He adjusted his grip on the hilt, planting his feet a little wider apart.

He swung again, this time more controlled. It wasn’t perfect, but it felt a bit more stable. He tried a few more swings, careful not to put too much force behind them.

Slowly, he started to get a feel for the weapon, learning its weight and how it moved.

Luc kept practicing, trying different swings and stances. He felt a little ridiculous, waving the sword around with no real direction or technique. But at least it was something. it was better than doing nothing, better than just waiting. At least he was trying.

As he practiced, he thought about the benefits of having a sword. It wasn’t just a weapon; it was a tool, something that could help him survive. He could use it to cut wood, clear paths, maybe even hunt if he got desperate enough. It wasn’t much, but it was better than being completely defenseless.

The more he swung, the more comfortable he became with the sword. He wasn’t suddenly a swordsman, but he was starting to get the basics—balance, precision, control. It wasn’t about strength; it was about learning how to handle it, one step at a time.

After a while, Luc stopped, resting the sword on his shoulder. He was sweating, his muscles aching from the unfamiliar exercise. But he felt good. He felt like he was making progress, even if it was just a little.

"Alright," he said quietly, looking out at the river. "I think that’s enough for today."

He walked over to the water, dipping his hands in to cool off. He took a deep breath, enjoying the moment of peace.

The forest was quiet, the mist still hanging low around the trees. It was almost serene, like the world was giving him a chance to catch his breath.

He knew he had a long way to go, but at least he was moving forward.

One small step at a time