Glenn dragged his exhausted frame through the forest edge, not far from where he'd fallen unconscious—he'd glimpsed this direction during the woodland struggle, fortunately avoiding complete disorientation.
Vision alternated between blurred and clear as limbs felt boneless. Every muscle shrieked for rest, yet memories inherited from this body's original owner Dylan warned him: closing eyes on this cursed land might mean eternal slumber.
Night completely devoured the horizon, only a solitary full moon hanging overhead, casting cold radiance that barely illuminated the path ahead. Moonlight brought no comfort—instead making shadows appear deeper and more writhing. A rotting wooden sign tilted roadside, carved with continental common script: Byak.
This was the "blessed land" Dylan thought he'd acquired cheaply. He'd once secretly rejoiced over this "bargain deal" until the moment he followed the former owner into town, finally sensing something amiss.
Glenn passed the signpost with pale complexion. A chill wind swept by as the decaying wood groaned like dying gasps.
Hopefully no monsters will target me tonight. He prayed silently while desperately squeezing remaining willpower to continue forward.
Memory fragments surged upward: since Dylan moved here, every night was haunted by bone-chilling sounds. Sometimes sharp objects scraping window frames, sometimes rustling whispers... these disturbances had robbed the original owner of consecutive nights' sleep.
Byak town ahead lay suffocatingly silent. Glenn held his breath while treading softly on cobblestones. Wild grass growing madly through stone gaps brushed his trouser legs, desolate atmosphere washing over him.
Under dual torment of agony and hyper-alertness, his spirit neared collapse.
Finally, that house came into view—squeezed between two spacious mansions, outer walls covered in withered vines, appearing especially shabby. Dylan's purchased two-story residence included a small garden plus a decrepit warehouse barely larger than a doghouse.
Finally here... Glenn's heart eased as he quickened his pace.
Woof! Woof! Woof!
Frantic barking suddenly shattered silence, startling Glenn's entire body.
Turning, he saw a muscle-corded bulldog baring fangs as it charged. That strange old man's vicious cur next door, accustomed to bullying Dylan with human backing—not only had it torn several of his outfits but constantly chased him for bites.
Glenn halted abruptly, icy gaze locking onto the vicious dog while his right hand quietly reached for the waist dagger.
The beast sniffed air several times, dog eyes suddenly bursting with greedy light—it smelled blood.
Accompanied by threatening growls, it licked its fangs while approaching step by step.
Glenn steadied his stance, knuckles tightening on the hilt. This beast wants human flesh tonight... then don't blame me for showing no mercy.
The bulldog suddenly pounced! Glenn sidestepped while his dagger carved a silver arc, precisely entering the cur's throat hollow.
Man and dog passed each other as Glenn staggered several steps before barely stabilizing. Behind him came the dog's dying convulsions.
To his surprise, despite mental exhaustion, his physical strength had recovered considerably. He had no time to investigate the cause, ignoring the ground's wailing beast while directly entering the courtyard, fishing keys from beneath stones to unlock the door.
A faint musty smell hit his face. Glenn had no leisure to examine furnishings, locking the door behind him before staggering up wooden stairs and shoving open the bedroom door to collapse onto the bed.
Taut nerves finally relaxed as consciousness rapidly sank into darkness...
After unknown time, he was seized by intense hunger pangs while half-asleep. The sensation proved so vicious it nearly tore his stomach apart, yet still insufficient to completely drag him from exhaustion's abyss.
Just as consciousness prepared to sink again, subtle scraping sounds came from outside the window—like some creature gnawing something with claws.
Moonlight entered through windows, reflecting a thin, strange shadow swaying outside. A slender appendage slowly scraped the outer wall, producing teeth-grinding friction sounds...
Next day, Glenn was awakened by violent hunger pangs.
His eyes were bloodshot yet he sprang from bed instantly. After rest, his spirit had improved, only man-eating hunger still tormenting him.
This hunger exceeded imagination, nearly destroying rationality, making him want to devour everything in sight. He rushed into the kitchen frantically searching, wolfing down Dylan's leftover scraps—even somewhat moldy food—cramming it into his stomach.
Terrible hunger slightly abated as he slumped on the debris-strewn floor, deeply frowning.
Merely hungry for one day and night—why to this extent?
He struggled upright, suddenly stunned—the strength felt while rising far exceeded expectations. He squeezed his arm—muscles were obviously more solid.
Could this be transmigration's transformation? Physical enhancement as a golden finger? Glenn temporarily suppressed questions as the urgent matter was finding more food.
After searching the entire house fruitlessly, he slumped onto the living room sofa in defeat.
This remote town had no shops whatsoever—residents had to trade elsewhere. Even the nearest journey required departing at dawn and returning at dusk, while his remaining money was nearly exhausted...
Just as Glenn agonized, familiar shouting came from outside:
"Torre! Torre! Where did you go, precious?"
That old man's voice, calling for his beloved dog.
Glenn listened to the gradually approaching calls, mouth corners slowly lifting in an icy smile.