Lucas woke with a brutal headache, one so sharp and splitting it felt as if someone were trying to wedge his skull apart from the inside. Unfortunately, the headache wasn't even the strangest part of his morning.
All around him rose tall, vibrant green foliage. Lush leaves glittered under the sunlight. Strange calls of wildlife echoed from every direction, majestic, lively, unfamiliar. It would have been a beautiful sight to soak in… if he wasn't too busy wondering how he ended up here in the first place.
The last thing he remembered was drinking. A little... well, maybe more than a little, but definitely not enough to justify blacking out in his dorm room and waking up in the middle of some fantasy nature documentary.
Where exactly is here?!
Before he could gather a coherent thought, a glowing blue screen flickered into existence before him.
[Main Quest Updated]
Stop the Massacre of Kalinga Tribesmen
Reward: Random
Failure: True Death
"…?"
Lucas stared at the floating words in mute confusion.
The transparent panel shimmered with a bluish tint, the stereotypical UI you'd expect from a video game interface. If he didn't know any better, he would absolutely think he was inside some RPG tutorial zone.
"It's official," he muttered. "I need to cut back on my drinking gauge."
He had been halfway through his fourth bottle and reaching for his fifth when he decided to lie down and take a nap. Thank God he stopped when he did. Because if this was the dream he got after four bottles, he didn't want to imagine the nightmare that would've come from five.
Still, dream or not, something about this place felt wrong.
The sun was bright overhead, yet his skin prickled with cold.
His legs ached, deep, sharp pain like he'd been walking barefoot through rough terrain for hours.
"Hold on…"
Cold? Aches?
What kind of dream delivered sensations this sharply? What dream included the minor, annoying details like the burning sting in his soles or the goosebumps crawling up his arms?
It didn't make sense. Unless?...
He scoffed, shaking his head. No way. He wasn't going to entertain that line of thought. His imagination was running wild enough already.
Regardless of what this was, standing around in the middle of unfamiliar woods wasn't exactly comforting. He needed to move, anywhere was better than here.
He had barely gone a few steps when something shifted in the bushes.
A wolf emerged.
Normal-sized. Brown fur. Lean, hungry… and very, very interested in him.
A lone wolf. Wonderful.
Lucas almost laughed. A wolf encounter? Really? His subconscious must've been watching wildlife documentaries behind his back.
The wolf snarled, but he didn't flinch. Some part of him still stubbornly clung to the belief that this was just some bizarre dream.
That belief shattered the moment the wolf lunged.
Its speed was unreal, far beyond anything he could react to. One blink and it was already on him, jaws snapping at his arm. The impact slammed him to the ground, a bark of pain tearing from his throat.
Teeth clashed inches from his face, saliva dripping onto his cheek as the beast tried to tear into him.
Staring into those wild, predatory eyes, Lucas felt a cold, nauseating truth crash down on him:
He was going to die.
This wasn't a dream.
This wasn't fake.
This was real, and he was about to be torn apart by a wolf.
He fought back, grabbing fur, kicking wildly, pushing with every scrap of strength he had. But compared to the creature's raw power, he was nothing. Completely overpowered.
Just when the wolf clamped harder, Lucas heard something, a sharp whoosh, cutting through the tension like a blade.
The wolf's body jerked. Its strength suddenly vanished. With a weak whimper, the beast collapsed on top of him, limp and heavy.
Muffled voices sounded nearby, urgent, commanding, completely foreign. Lucas barely processed them as he choked for breath and struggled to shove the wolf off.
Hands grabbed the carcass and hauled it away. Two figures, large, strong, helped lift the weight off him. Lucas gasped, coughing as air rushed back into his lungs.
"Are you okay?" a voice asked.
He wasn't sure how to answer. Maybe after he processed the fact that he had nearly been mauled to death by a wolf in what might not be a dream at all.
"If you can stand, then stand," the woman said sternly. "We must return before dusk."
Excuse you.
Lucas glared up at the speaker, the irritation rising before he could stop it.
She was tall, taller than most men he knew. Every inch of her was carved muscle and strength, wrapped in ancient warrior-style clothing. Her long braids swayed over a fierce, striking face marked with a slanted I tattoo along her shoulders.
A greatsword hung across her back. A quiver filled with arrows rested by her hip. She held a bow like someone who'd been using one since childhood.
She looked like a walking fusion of a barbarian berserker and Kratos' female counterpart.
And the two men flanking her? Even taller. Bulkier. Dressed like ancient gladiators ready for the arena.
Lucas swallowed.
"Uhm… who are you all?" he managed.
But even as he asked, a sinking, heavy truth churned in his gut.
This wasn't a dream, and it certainly was far from being a fake. Despairingly, he realised... This was probably his reality now.
---
Given the circumstances, Lucas couldn't help but feel completely screwed. One moment he passed out in his dorm room, and the next he woke up in a forest straight out of a fantasy movie. Now his wrists were bound tightly with rough rope as his captors marched him through the woods toward some unknown destination.
He had tried, more than once, to make small talk, questions, comments, anything to pry even a hint of information out of them. But the hulking warriors wouldn't respond. Wouldn't even glance at him. They just yanked the rope whenever he slowed down, forcing him to keep pace.
One thing stood out though: they were moving quickly. Far too quickly.
And while Lucas knew nothing about combat, even he could sense something off in their behaviour, especially the men. A subtle edge of nervousness clung to them. These three looked battle-hardened, experienced, and frighteningly strong. So why did they seem like they were the ones being hunted?
A distant howl cut through the air.
All three warriors froze instantly.
Both men reached for their weapons in a flash, and the woman drew an arrow so fast Lucas barely registered the movement. Eyes sharp, bodies tense, they scanned the trees with fierce concentration.
"What's happening?" Lucas whispered urgently. "Are we in danger or something?"
He didn't appreciate being kept in the dark. And the terrifying silence wasn't helping.
"We must hurry," the woman muttered, tilting her gaze toward the sky.
The sun was sinking. Shadows stretched across the forest floor.
Night was coming.
And that, apparently, was very bad.
Before Lucas could process the warning, one of the male warriors grabbed him, literally scooped him off the ground and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
Then they ran.
Not jogged. Not sprinted.
Ran.
Blinding speed tore through the woods as the three warriors dashed with an urgency Lucas had never seen in his life. They made Olympic sprinters look like toddlers learning to walk. Branches whipped past. Wind howled in his ears. Lucas bounced helplessly on the man's shoulder as the world blurred by.
Eventually, they skidded to a halt at the edge of a village built into a clearing in the woods.
Lucas stared, dazed.
It looked like he had been thrown straight into medieval times. Wooden walls. Mud-brick houses. Simple structures built for survival, not comfort. Guards patrolled the gate above in crude armour, armed with spears and bows, the kind of tools you'd see before gunpowder was even invented.
Inside, the village wasn't any better. More mud walls. More primitive architecture. Everything around him screamed ancient. Had he somehow stepped into a place untouched by modern civilisation?
But that shouldn't be possible. Sure, there were still remote villages in the world, but this level of technology, this era. It was far too primitive for Earth's standard.
Right?
The alternative explanation, the one looming in the corner of his mind was far harder to accept.
His captors dragged him underground into a stone cell with iron bars. A dungeon. Literally a dungeon. Two guards stood watch, clearly taking no chances, not that they needed to considering the overwhelming difference in stature.
Alone at last, Lucas sank to the cold floor and finally allowed himself to think.
Where on earth was he?
How did he even get here?
How did this connect to the strange floating interface—
The interface.
The same one blinking right now in front of him:
[Main Quest Updated]
Stop the Massacre of Kalinga Tribesmen
Reward: Random
Failure: True Death
True Death.
Just seeing those words sent a cold tremor down his spine. Whatever "True Death" meant, it couldn't be good. Definitely not something he wanted to experience.
This wasn't a dream. He knew that now. Every ache, every chill, every moment of fear, too vivid, too real.
Which meant he was truly in danger.
Which also meant he needed to figure out how to survive.
Preferably without getting murdered by a wolf, warrior, or whatever else haunted these woods.
At some point, he didn't know how long the warriors returned. They pulled him out of the cell and escorted him through the village. Dozens of villagers stared at him, whispering to each other, their expressions a mixture of fascination and suspicion. Like he was some rare animal they'd never seen before.
Lucas swallowed his complaints and kept his eyes forward.
They brought him to a larger building, the largest he'd seen so far. Some kind of chief's house or council hall.
Inside, sitting as if waiting for him, was a man adorned with bones, necklaces, bracelets, anklets, even a staff topped with an animal skull. His entire appearance screamed shaman or village elder. Or possibly someone with extremely questionable fashion sense.
The man raised his chin slowly.
"Welcome, Foreigner," he said, voice deep and steady. "To my home, Kalinga village."