Simon was dragged by a wolf into a forest on the outskirts of the Tundra, where the canopies of the coniferous trees shot up like sharp arrows into the sky. Pine and fir trees did not lavishly spread their leaves. Simon looked up, and through the sparse gaps in the forest, he could still see the beautiful scenery in the sky. The aurora was blue-green, like ribbons of paper, arranged in strips.
Hot, foul-smelling breath constantly blew from behind his head. That cunning wolf must have been extremely hungry, its saliva dripping uncontrollably, flowing down his leather armor onto Simon's back, sticky and quickly frozen by the low temperature. If not for the inherent frost resistance granted by the Nord blood flowing in his veins, Simon's skin might have been frostbitten.
The bitter cold continuously stimulated Simon's mind.
He didn't feel much fear in his heart; he wasn't afraid of death. He could even imagine the intense pain when the wolf's jaws tore open his delicate belly.
Simon uncontrollably passed meconium in his leather armor, which made his swaddling clothes even more terrifying.
He slightly raised his neck, trying to suck in cleaner air from higher up.
It was very quiet in the forest, with no insect chirps or bird calls. All miscellaneous sounds were blocked and absorbed by the trees. At this moment, Simon could clearly hear several sounds.
The sound of the wolf's throat rolling, just like those whimpering dogs.
The sound of the wolf's paws stepping on the snow in the forest.
The rustling sound of snowflakes falling.
Besides these, there was also a sound. Simon looked towards where the sound came from; it was a doe.
White and majestic, it was at least five feet tall. Including its antlers—these magnificent antlers, like branches of an old tree reaching towards the sky, were eight feet tall, which was taller than an adult Nord Man. Its fur glowed faintly. Simon stared intently at it. It stood on a low rocky cliff between two snow pines not far away. High above, it also looked at Simon, its eyes stark white, like two streetlights at the end of a street.
Simon wasn't sure if the vicious wolf that was about to make him its meal had noticed this deer, but it was indeed a magnificent prey. No hunter should miss it. Its head could be cut off and made into a specimen to hang on the wall, its fur could be peeled off to make a mattress, its muscles and fat could be used to fill one's stomach, and its bones could be used to make a flute or something else.
In short, Simon felt a sense of danger for this doe. It was a miraculous creation of nature, yet due to its beauty—aesthetically, or physiologically plump—it would eventually be slaughtered.
Strangely, the moment he saw it, the last trace of regret in Simon's heart dissipated. He could now face death peacefully—if his mother didn't manage to save him, then directly participating in the great process of death wasn't something difficult to accept. To witness such beauty was enough to comfort this life.
Simon looked at the doe, the serene and beautiful doe. He turned his head and looked at the sky, where boundless starlight poured down.
This light made him feel strange. Although the light was sparse, looking at it from the side, one could still see it in beams—just a momentary feeling—as if it were a chandelier. Of course, it couldn't be a chandelier, but like drops of water pouring from a funnel, these starlights also gave him an unnatural feeling.
Simon recalled the strange sights he had seen before his birth: human heads, rings, and a gray sphere.
Like a dream yet not a dream, both false and true.
He should be inside that gray sphere, and Simon remembered that the sphere was riddled with holes—enveloping the sphere was a world full of light. So, the stars he was seeing in the sky now were just translucent holes?
This peculiar worldview made Simon realize the world he was in.
It was the elder scrolls.
It was a familiar place, but only familiar from in front of a computer screen.
After Simon suspected he was in the world of the elder scrolls, regret arose in his heart again. He had dreamed of coming to this world, like countless other game fans, but he might be about to die.
Simon pouted. An avatar was like a fleeting dream, but life was life. Whether human or divine, one should be full of respect for life.
He decided that no matter what, he needed to make an effort to survive.
The wild wolf found a sheltered spot. Large rocks formed a small rocky hill, and a cluster of spruce trees created a natural wind-free area. The wild wolf put Simon down. It didn't start eating immediately; there was an unsettling scent in the wind. It stood for a while, circling Simon, its gaze scanning the darkness deep within the forest.
Heavy breathing mixed with heavy footsteps echoed through the forest.
The wild wolf's fur stood on end; it seemed terrified.
Simon turned his head and saw a tall, humanoid creature striding out from the depths of the woods.
A thick layer of long, snow-white fur covered its body, its heavy arms hung to the ground, and a faint light illuminated its ugly, rugged face. Three dark eyes gleamed with cold light. Short black bone spurs grew on its shoulders and the top of its head, breaking through the skin and reflecting a gray light, like evil eyeballs.
One of the top predators in the wild, a Frost Troll.
The wild wolf was unwilling to give up the food at its mouth and let out a threatening growl at the troll.
The circle of mane around the Frost Troll's head, like a full beard, was blown by the wind. It was also extremely hungry, its nostrils flaring, saliva dripping from its lips.
It wouldn't let go of the wolf, nor would it let go of Simon.
The wild wolf lost in the clash of dominance. It tried to circle around the troll to escape, but the Frost Troll suddenly pounced, its thick and brutal long arms flashing out with sharp claws, piercing into the wild wolf's fur and muscle. The troll tore with all its might, blood splattering everywhere, and the wolf's corpse was ripped in half, its spine and intestines still connected, looking like a split steamed bun.
The troll began to devour its prey.
Simon added an entry to his quest log.
"Quest One (Completed): Escape the Wolf's Jaws. Quest Two: Escape the Troll's Mouth."
He himself felt like laughing looking at his quest log. "You see, life always has surprises. All beginnings are hard, but now I can even complete quests. Looking at it this way, my journey of transmigration is quite steady..."
The Frost Troll patiently ate everything of the wild wolf, then sniffed with its upward-pointing nostrils, catching Simon's scent.
It walked towards him, little by little.
A figure flew out of the darkness, a long sword gleaming coldly in her hand.
It was Simon's birth mother.
Using the force of her descent, the woman plunged her sword into the troll's back. The troll let out a painful roar and began to flee wildly.
She couldn't let go. The woman was like a plank of wood in a storm, thrown into the air several times, but she never loosened her grip on the sword. The blade churned wildly within the troll's abdomen, and the beast went completely mad.
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