John's eyes snapped open.
The ceiling above him was wood. Rough, unfinished wood with visible knots and what looked like water damage in one corner. Not the pristine white ceiling of his bedroom in Saitama. Not the interior of an ambulance. Not the inside of a coffin.
Wood.
Fantasy wood.
He sat up so fast his head spun, and what he saw made his heart stop.
The room was massive, lined with dozens of beds that looked like they'd been assembled by someone who'd seen a bed once in a dream and tried to recreate it from memory. Each bed had a thin, lumpy mattress and a blanket that might have been gray once but was now the color of give up. Between the beds, people moved around in what could only be described as peasant clothing. Rough tunics, worn trousers, the kind of clothes you'd see in a medieval fantasy setting.
And they were all real. Actually real. Moving, breathing, existing real.
"YES!" John screamed, throwing his arms up in the air. "YES YES YES! I ACTUALLY DID IT! TRUCK KUN CAME THROUGH!"
He was mid victory pose, fists raised to the heavens, when a boot hit him in the side.
"Shut yer feckin' gob, ye daft bastard!"
The voice was thick, aggressively Scottish, and very, very angry. John turned to see a man about his age, maybe twenty, with a scraggly beard and the kind of face that suggested life had been kicking him repeatedly since birth. (thats rough bud)
"Some of us are tryin' to get five more bloody minutes before the bell, ye absolute weapon!"
"Did you hear that?" John gasped, looking around at the other annoyed faces glaring at him. "The accent! The vernacular! Oh my god, the worldbuilding is incredible. A full linguistic system with regional dialects? The author really went all out. This is like Tolkien level attention to detail."
Another voice, equally Scottish, equally pissed off: "Is he touched in the head or what?"
"Might've hit his noggin on somethin'. Oi, new boy, ye alright?"
John spun in a circle, taking it all in. The wooden beams, the small windows letting in weak morning light, the chamberpot in the corner that he really hoped was just for decoration. "This is amazing. The attention to detail is just, it's phenomenal. Though I have to say," he frowned, stroking his chin in what he imagined was a thoughtful manner, "I'm not seeing any demi humans. No cat girls, no elves, not even a dwarf. That's a little disappointing for a fantasy isekai. Usually by now I should have seen at least one cute monster girl or maybe a busty elf receptionist at an adventurer's guild. I mean, I get that we're starting in what appears to be a lower class dormitory, probably servants or laborers based on the clothing and accommodations, which suggests a rigid class system, very Game of Thrones, very gritty, but still, you'd think there'd be at least one non human character for visual interest and to establish that this world has multiple sentient species. Unless this is one of those settings where humans are the dominant species and others are rare or segregated, which could be interesting from a political standpoint, maybe there's a whole subplot about human supremacy that I'll help dismantle with my modern Earth sensibilities and..."
"Bloody hell, he doesnae stop talkin', does he?"
John was so caught up in his analysis he didn't notice the Scottish man approaching until a calloused hand cracked across his face.
The slap echoed through the dormitory.
John stood there, stunned, his cheek stinging. He touched his face slowly, feeling the heat, the actual physical sensation of pain. Not dream pain. Not imagination pain. Real, genuine, this actually hurts pain.
"Whoa," he breathed, eyes wide. "The haptic feedback in this world is insane. I actually felt that. Like really felt it. The pain receptors, the heat, the slight ringing in my ear. This level of realism is incredible. Most isekai just gloss over the actual physical sensation of being in a new body but this is, this is genuinely impressive. Ten out of ten, would get slapped again for immersion."
"Right, he's definitely touched." (ayo)
Before anyone could slap him again or possibly smother him with a lumpy pillow, a bell rang outside. Not a cute little dinner bell, but a massive, sonorous thing that sounded like it was announcing either breakfast or an execution.
The effect was immediate. Every person in the dormitory moved with practiced efficiency, pulling on boots, straightening tunics, forming a line at the door. John scrambled to follow, nearly tripping over his own feet because apparently his new isekai body had the same lack of coordination as his old one.
They filed outside into a courtyard that looked exactly like every medieval castle courtyard John had ever seen in anime and period dramas. Cobblestones, stone walls, a well in the center. Standing in front of the assembled servants was a man in slightly better clothing, probably a supervisor or head servant of some kind.
"Right then," the man barked. "Need three of ye to accompany the young lords on their hunt today. You, you, and... anyone else?"
John's hand shot up so fast he almost dislocated his shoulder. "Me! I volunteer! I volunteer as tribute!" (fuck you yes I did that on purpose)
The supervisor looked at him like he'd just volunteered to eat a live rat, but shrugged. "Fine. You, the lad there, and you." He pointed at a kid who looked about sixteen and another guy close to John's age.
As they broke from the line and started walking, John practically vibrated with excitement. This was it. This was the actual beginning of his adventure. Meeting the young lords probably meant meeting important characters, maybe even the protagonist if this world had one besides him.
He sidled up to the younger kid, who had the kind of face that suggested he was deeply regretting his life choices.
"So," John said, grinning. "Are you from Earth too?"
The kid stared at him. "What?"
"Earth. You know, the planet? Modern world? Japan, America, any of that ring a bell? Did you also get hit by Truck kun or was it a different method? Summoning circle? Cursed object? Died saving someone?"
"What the bloody hell is he on about?" the kid asked the other volunteer.
"Dunno. Think he's an Ingersoll."
John stopped walking, his eyes going wide with delight. "Ingersoll? Is that a slur? Oh my god, this world has custom insults! That's such good worldbuilding! That means there's actual history and culture behind the language, probably centuries of linguistic evolution, maybe Ingersoll is a historical figure who did something stupid or a region known for idiots, or maybe it's a, a completely original term that evolved naturally in this world's equivalent of Middle English!"
He actually clapped his hands together, bouncing slightly as he walked. The two other volunteers exchanged glances that clearly communicated a desire to abandon him in a ditch.
They walked for what felt like forever. John's enthusiasm started to wane around the fifteen minute mark when he remembered that his body, whether from Earth or this new world, was decidedly not built for extended physical activity. His thighs burned. His feet hurt. He was pretty sure he was developing a blister.
"How much farther?" he wheezed.
"Quit yer whinin'," the older volunteer growled.
Two minutes later, just as John was considering whether dying from embarrassment counted as a second death in an isekai, they reached a large stable. The smell hit him first, the unmistakable aroma of horse manure and hay. Standing in front of the stable was a man with the most magnificent mustache John had ever seen. Seriously, it was waxed, curled at the ends, the kind of mustache that belonged on a villain in a silent film.
"Right," Mustache Man said, looking them over with the air of someone inspecting three particularly disappointing potatoes. "Which of you lot knows how to handle a horse?"
The older volunteer raised his hand. "I can, sir."
John, meanwhile, was staring at the horses visible in the stable behind Mustache Man. They were just... horses. Regular horses. Brown horses, black horses, one white one that looked kind of majestic but was still definitely just a horse.
"Are you serious?" John said, his voice rising in indignation. "They're just normal horses? Not dragon horses or shadow steeds or horses with like, magic auras or glowing eyes or anything? Come on! What kind of lazy worldbuilding is this? The author couldn't even design a new species? Just copy pasted regular Earth horses into a fantasy setting? That's so..."
He trailed off, his expression shifting from annoyance to thoughtful consideration.
"Wait. Unless. Unless the horses have magic. Like, they look normal but maybe they can run super fast or they're actually familiars or they have some kind of special bond with riders or maybe there's a whole hidden magic system that isn't visually obvious because this world operates on subtle magic rather than flashy effects which would actually be really interesting and would explain why I haven't seen any obvious magic yet, it's all internal or systemic rather than external which means the power scaling might be completely different from standard isekai and..."
The slap came out of nowhere.
Mustache Man's hand connected with John's face with enough force to snap his head to the side and make his vision blur.