The earth rumbles right beneath his half-bare foot. So huge that it feels like the world is going to be torn apart in half if Minglan does not run fast enough.
Minglan was never one to cherish his life much, but when the earth is shaking violently, when the group of poisonous insects he managed to avoid is now running along with him, or trying to get him, his body betrays him this time.
Minglan runs.
He doesn't know what exploded.
He doesn't care.
Not enough to slow down.
In this setting, curiosity sounds like an elegant path to die.
Mud splatters all over his clothes with every step he takes. Not being a sporty person, his breath grows heavier each minute. His lungs have never worked this hard before; it feels like they don't even get enough time to process every breath he takes.
The second explosion does not come, though. What comes is another sound.
A heavy splash of water.
He stops running as he realizes two things: one, he might be safe now; second, another danger might be lurking around him, and he needs to be careful of that too. Thankfully, those groups of insects have long lost track of him after he ran like an insane marathon athlete just now.
In front of him lies a dense scrub. The heavy splash comes from behind it. It sounds too slow for the flapping wings of an insect, yet too fast for the flapping wings of a bird.
Minglan hides beside a huge trunk, this time without touching the sap. His legs feel wobbly as he crouches down to take a better peek at what's behind the scrub.
The system panel flickers in front of him.
[Hunger: 72%]
[Hydration: 46%]
[Debuff: Fatigue (Temporary)]
"Great," he breathes out an annoyed huff. "The numbers consistently get worse each time you show them to me."
He hasn't even figured out what's behind the scrub when his stomach tightens. This time, it's quite violent.
This type of hunger is different from the one he felt in the real world. It's not a soft warning or an embarrassing grumble. It's a sharp pain that can't be excused with an "I won't feel it after a few minutes" shrug.
It bites.
The pain runs straight to his head. Minglan presses his forehead to his knee, waiting for the world to stop spinning for a moment.
Wait.
Something smells different.
It's not a rotten scent, nor a swamp scent.
It's a burnt scent.
He lifts his head slowly.
A few meters from his place, something sprawls, half buried in the mud. Its shape is elongated. Its greenish scales reflect the dim light from the sky, which always looks like it's about to rain.
It's a viper.
A dead viper.
Its body is intact, except for the neck, which looks charred, as if something had snatched it out of thin air and exploded it from the inside.
The system panel flickers again.
[Ingredient Detected: Swamp Viper]
[Status: Extremely Toxic (Raw)]
[Note: Heat alters compound structure.]
Minglan stares at the text for a long time.
"Are you trying to pull a joke on me right now?" he asks.
In this game, this is a classic move.
Take animal meat. Cook it. Die.
He remembers the steps clearly. All the bright pixels, the small bonfire, the fake sizzling sounds.
And then the black screen.
DIED FROM POISONOUS GAS.
DIED FROM POISONOUS MEAT.
His hands clench unconsciously.
"But this isn't a game," he says to himself. To the world. To a system that obviously doesn't care. "If I die, there's no restart button."
He swallows.
No knife. No tools. No spices. Not even a fire.
Just wet twigs, mud, and the carcass of a poisonous snake.
"Fine," he mutters, struggling to his feet. "Let's repeat the same old mistakes and die if I have to."
At least that's better than dying of starvation.
He breaks off dry twigs from inside the tree roots. Removes the wet ones. Discards the ones that are too soft. His left hand still stings from the sap, but the pain is overpowered by other urgencies.
The fire burns slowly after the third attempt.
The smell of smoke mixed with swamp immediately hits his nose.
Minglan drags the snake's body closer. It's heavy. Slime clings to his palms. He resists the urge to drop it again.
He doesn't clean it properly. He doesn't know how. Minglan simply cuts the middle of its body with a sharp stone, his movements rough and far from neat.
The flesh is pale, almost transparent.
"Disgusting," he says flatly.
He places the piece over the fire without much thought.
There are no cozy sizzling sounds. Only a bitter scent and greenish smoke that hurts his eyes.
The system panel flickers again.
[Warning: Incomplete Processing]
"I know," he replies. "What care do you have over my life anyway?"
He flips the meat over with a twig. The outside burns way too quickly, yet the inside is still wet with the viper's natural slimy liquid.
In the game, this is where he ends.
But in this world, his body seems to be stronger than the pixelated character. He has yet to die.
His hands shake. Cold sweat breaks on his temples. His stomach throbs as if to remind him that time is not on his side.
Finally, he pulls the meat from the fire.
It's black. It's charred. It smells like burning metal.
He stares at it for a long moment.
"If this is poisoned," he says quietly, "at least I'll die after eating it."
He bites down.
The taste hits him immediately. Bitter. Sour. Hot. His tongue feels like it's coated with something that shouldn't be in a human body.
He almost spits it out.
Almost.
He forces himself to swallow it.
His chest burns. His throat aches. His heart beats too fast.
Then the system panel blinks before him.
[Dish Created: Improvised Swamp Roast]
[Quality: Poor]
[Effect: Hunger -20%, Poison Resistance +5% (Temporary)]
[Debuff: Nausea (Minor)]
[Remark: Outcome differs from simulation.]
Minglan falls silent.
Not because of pain.
Not because of relief.
Because of that last sentence.
He chuckles, his hoarse voice barely audible over the sounds of the swamp.
"So that's how it is," he mutters. "So it turns out the difference isn't in the recipe."
His stomach still churns. The world still stinks. He's still hungry, tired, and alone in the poisonous swamp.
But he's alive.
And for the first time since arriving in this world, the game isn't laughing at him with a black screen.