The fall ended abruptly with a bone-jarring impact that should have killed him twice over. Instead, Haruto found himself sprawled face-first in red sand that tasted of sulfur and iron.
The world spun, and his heart raced from the fall as he slowly lifted up his head. He blinked to protect his eyes from the glare of two suns that seemed like molten gold in a violet sky. The air was hot and smelled like ash and spice, nothing like the concrete and fumes of Tokyo.
"Where am I?" His torn suit stuck to his skin, and the coffee stains stood out against the strange terrain. Aeloria stretched out in front of him, with dunes of blood-red sand, uneven obsidian rocks, and mountains in the distance that looked like they were glowing. It was amazing and otherworldly, like being in the opening scene of an anime.
[SYSTEM ALERT: ARRIVAL SUCCESSFUL][LOCATION: FIRE REALM - TRADE ROUTE 7]
Haruto's hands trembled as he pushed himself up, grains of sand falling from his palms like tiny rubies. The desert went on and on in every direction. The only things that broke up the flat land were the occasional twisted spires of black rock that sprang out of the dunes like the bones of an old beast.
The two suns hung at different angles, one slightly larger than the other, generating overlapping shadows that swirled and altered with every breath of wind. The entire air seemed alive, sparking with an energy that made his skin prickle.
Lyssara's voice echoed in his mind: "Forge passionate bonds to save Aeloria." But this wasn't a game or an anime—he was here, alive, and utterly out of his depth. The reality hit him like a physical blow. No respawn button. No save file. No walkthrough guide. I'm just a guy who crunched numbers. What am I doing in a fantasy world?
His throat felt dry as sandpaper, and panic began to claw at his chest. The familiar weight of his smartphone was gone from his pocket. No GPS, no Google Maps, no way to call for help. The violet sky above seemed to mock him, beautiful and terrifying in equal measure. Stars were already visible despite the blazing suns, constellations he'd never seen forming patterns that hurt to look at directly.
A scream ripped through the air, followed by a crash of steel. Haruto's head snapped to the sound, his existential dilemma forgotten. A merchant caravan burned 50 meters away, with blue flames dancing on splintered wagons like ethereal dancers. The fire was not natural; it traveled with purpose, hungry for whatever it might consume.
Robed creatures wearing demon-carved masks slashed through guards, their blades trailing wisps of shadow that appeared to soak up the light around them. It was chaotic, vibrant, and terrible, like a Studio Ghibli fight brought to life in all its harrowing brilliance.
Bodies lay scattered across the sand, some still twitching, others eerily still. The metallic scent of blood mixed with the acrid smell of burning wood and fabric. Haruto's stomach lurched as he caught sight of a merchant's face, frozen in a scream of terror. This isn't fantasy adventure—this is slaughter.
In the center stood a lone warrior, a blaze of defiance against the encroaching darkness.
Her auburn hair flowed like a wildfire, catching the sun' light as she spun, each strand seeming to glow with its own inner flame. Her crimson armor shone like molten metal, showing toned arms scarred with old scars and a midriff that spoke of countless fights.
Her fighting style was amazing. Her blade appeared to sing as it slashed through the air, creating trails of flame that lasted for heartbeats before dissipating. When her opponent attempted to surround her, she transformed into a maelstrom of steel and fire, her moves so fluid they appeared scripted by the gods themselves. One cultist sprang for her back but was stopped by a backhand slash that sent him reeling into the burning wreckage of a wagon.
She's… unreal. Haruto's breath caught, his heart skipping in a way that wasn't just fear. Something stirred deep in his chest, a warmth that had nothing to do with the desert heat. The warrior's fierce beauty, her absolute command of the battlefield, and the way she stood defiant against impossible odds—it all combined into something that made his pulse quicken. Is this what she meant? His face heated, and he shook his head. Focus, idiot. People are dying!
[ANALYSIS: SERAPHINA PHOENIXBORN][STATUS: ALLY]
[COMBAT RATING: LEGENDARY]
[AFFINITY: FIRE/LIGHT]
The system's interface flickered in his peripheral vision, providing information he somehow understood instinctively. Seraphina Phoenixborn—even her name sounded like poetry written in flame. But beneath the awe and unexpected attraction, cold reality crept in. She was outnumbered at least six to one, and more cultists were emerging from behind the burning wagons. No matter how skilled she was, no matter how beautiful her deadly dance, she was going to lose.
Haruto's stomach churned as he looked down at his own hands—soft, unmarked by calluses or scars. He'd never thrown a punch, let alone fought shadow-wielding assassins. His biggest physical challenge was carrying groceries up three flights of stairs.
Just then, a masked cultist broke away from the skirmish, drawn to Haruto's movement.
Haruto couldn't help but notice the demon-carved mask closely as the figure approached; it was both a work of art and a horror, with twisted features that appeared to shift and wriggle in the light of the fire and eye sockets that blazed with malignant intelligence. Its sword shone with dark energy, making the air around it glitter with wrongness. It sprang at him with unnatural speed, spanning the distance in a single bound while hissing.
[IMMEDIATE THREAT DETECTED]
[BASIC COMBAT INSTINCTS: ACTIVATED][SURVIVAL MODE: ENGAGED]
Haruto froze, panic locking his legs like iron shackles. I'm dead! The blade descended toward his throat, trailing shadows that whispered of ending, of darkness eternal. But his body moved just in time with instincts he'd never possessed. He dove to the side, sand spraying like a crimson fountain, as the blade sliced through the air where he'd stood. The cultist's momentum carried him past him, and for a moment, they were both sprawled on the burning sand.
His eyes caught a glint—a merchant's spear, half-buried nearby, its iron tip stained with blood but still sharp. Without thinking, Haruto's hand closed around the wooden shaft. The weapon felt alien in his grip, heavier than he'd expected, but somehow right. As if it had been waiting for him.