Deep within a forest of colossal trees and a lake of deep blue, a small camp stood quietly. A steaming pot rested over a fire, and just a few meters away, a modest tent blended into the surroundings.
Inside that tent, a young man slept soundly. He couldn't have been older than twenty, with hair black as night and skin pale as the moon. His body twisted beneath the fabric, as if tormented by a nightmare he couldn't escape.
After several restless minutes, he suddenly opened his eyes, startled and disoriented.
"The Rift!" he shouted, bolting upright.
He looked around, trying to understand what was happening. He was inside a tent made of a strange brown material, resembling the tanned hide of a beast.
His clothes were no longer his usual pajamas. Now he wore black leather pants, tall boots with thick heels, and a helmet sewn from leather, decorated with dark patterns in shades of gray and black.
He stepped out of the tent, still confused, trying to understand where he was… or at least, what kind of dangers awaited him after crossing the Rift.
The last thing he remembered was standing before a terrifying giant… and then hearing a robotic voice echo in his mind:
[You have survived the... [error]]
"What!? What does 'survived' even mean!?"
Survived what, exactly? That thing had clearly crushed him... or had it?
And then… what else did it say?
He wasn't sure...
Suddenly, a wave of panic swept over him, like a thick fog clouding his memories.
The only thing he was sure of was that, somehow, everything was connected to the rift in the sky.
"My mind is fragmented," he murmured to himself.
He tried to calm down. He took a deep breath and prepared to leave the camp. But first, he picked up an old, sharp sword lying next to him when he awoke. He didn't know if it would be useful, but in a world ruled by weapons and firepower, a bit of protection couldn't hurt.
The first thing he did as he stepped outside, almost instinctively, was look up at the sky.
Just as he suspected, there was no sign of the Rift. Above him stretched a blue sky dotted with white clouds, and in the distance, a colossal shadow rose. It looked like a floating castle suspended in the air, resting on a massive platform of earth and debris.
He stared at the unreachable silhouette for a moment. Then he lowered his gaze and saw, not far away, a massive wolf—at least two meters long—lying in the grass. Blood gushed from its side, and beside it lay what appeared to be its internal organs.
He paled at the sight, bringing a hand to his mouth to hold back the nausea. His stomach, empty until then, twisted with a mix of disgust and despair.
He looked away, trying to avoid the scene. Then he noticed the pot over the fire.
"...Don't tell me..."
The idea of eating wolf stew wasn't exactly appealing, but at that moment, he couldn't think of anything else that might ease the hunger gnawing at him from the inside.
Without thinking too much, he sat down by the fire and began to eat.
...
A few minutes after eating the strange but delicious stew, he decided to take a closer look at his surroundings. The camp, the pot on the fire… even the wolf, which appeared to have a large but precise sword wound across its belly.
"I don't get it..." he muttered.
"Is there... someone else around here?"
It couldn't be. There were only a few footprints on the ground, and they all seemed to be his. So then what? A ghost? Those things didn't exist, although… well, neither were two-meter wolves or one-eyed giants supposed to exist. He shouldn't be surprised if he ended up face-to-face with some horrible specter.
And as if his thoughts had been read, he heard murmurs coming from the trees. He tensed instantly, and then clearly heard what they were saying:
"Hey, boss, just how strong is that swordsman everyone keeps talking about?"
"I don't know, Mark. Shut up. We're almost there."
"But… what was his name again? Mmm... Rusbel, Luzel, Rusel... Ah, right! Rusel. Of course. Desmond Rusel, the Swordsman of the Forest. Don't you think he's a bit overrated just because he survives outside the capital?"
"I said shut up. Look. We're here."
Two men stepped out from between the branches, clad in iron armor. They carried what looked like a spear and a shield on their backs.
The first had bright blond hair and fierce green eyes. The other was marked by a large scar running across his forehead, giving him a menacing appearance.
What were they talking about? And what was with those weapons? Was he in the Middle Ages?
When he saw a raven insignia engraved on their shoulders, something stirred inside him—as if a part of him felt deep hatred toward the origin of that symbol.
Instinctively, he looked at the sword hanging from his waist. His body moved almost by reflex, stepping forward, unsheathing the blade and pointing it straight at one of the men's neck.
With a cold, almost commanding voice, he said:
"Don't move."
The man behind him reacted quickly. He drew his spear and lunged with a swift, vicious thrust.
The young man sidestepped, dodging, and pulled his blade away from the first man's neck, prompting him to draw his spear as well. He swung it in a horizontal arc, cutting through the air toward the young man's torso.
He dodged again—barely this time.
He drove his left foot into the ground with force, the earth cracking beneath the pressure. In an instant, he appeared beside the man and swung his sword, cutting through the arm holding the spear. The scream of pain echoed through the forest.
He did the same with the second attacker. This time, the man charged straight for his chest.
He felt it—a sensation he had never experienced before. Not fear, but a brutal certainty.
He wanted to dodge, step aside, and slice the man's throat open. And that's exactly what he did.
He moved aside, letting the spear barely graze his shoulder, then poured all his strength into his legs and arms.
The scarred man reached for his shield, but it was in vain.
In the blink of an eye, he was already at his side, delivering a clean, horizontal slash across the neck.
His sword cut clean through skin, flesh, and bone. It felt… familiar.
Then, the robotic voice returned, and a yellow window appeared before him, startling him slightly.
[You have slain a soldier of Camelot]
[New skill unlocked!]