The alarm suddenly rang as Lumberling opened his eyes. He looked at his white ceiling, turned off the alarm, and went back to sleep—there was no office work for him today.
Hours later, he stirred from his slumber, sluggishly rising to prepare for the day. Something tugged at his memory—he had plans today. Lumberling, a 42-year-old civil engineer, lived a comfortable yet unsatisfying life. With no wife or children, a decent career, and a family he supported, he was what many would consider successful. But deep down, he felt hollow.
To fill the void, he buried himself in fantasy novels about reincarnation, powers, and magic. Games and fiction thrilled him in ways reality never could, but he knew they were just illusions. His life felt like a loop. Work, pay, responsibilities, temporary pleasure—then repeat. He followed society's script obediently, but never chose his own path.
Then he saw a video. It showed a man hiking alone through the wilderness, free and at peace. Inspired, Lumberling decided to follow that example.
On the third day of trekking through a dense jungle, he came upon a moss-covered pyramid hidden by thick foliage. His curiosity stirred, he stepped inside. The narrow passage reeked of age. Dust clung to every surface, and vines crept along the cracked stone. He pressed on until he hit a dead-end wall.
Disappointed, he turned to leave—but something pulsed behind him.
A red light flared from the wall.
He turned too slowly. The light surged forward, striking his back. Heat and pain consumed him. He gasped, trying to scream, but his lungs barely worked. His flesh writhed, his body cracked as if devoured from within. In his head, a voice echoed:
'Devour. Devour. Devour.'
Memories of his life flashed in bursts. Then—nothing.
He floated.
His soul, now detached from his broken body, was rejected by the world. The light fused with him, warping his essence. In the void, he drifted through darkness, losing sense of time, space, and self.
But a crack appeared. A sliver of light. His instincts reached for it.
"What the—?! Where am I?!"
"Soldiers! Raise your weapons!"
Pain exploded in his head.
Lumberling's eyes snapped open. His head throbbed with unbearable pressure as foreign memories flooded in. He writhed on the dirt, groaning, his body twitching uncontrollably.
All around him, chaos reigned. Clashing steel. Screams. Arrows whistled through the air. He rolled just in time to avoid one—only to watch another embed itself in a nearby soldier's skull.
Blood sprayed.
'Fuck. This is real.'
He ducked behind a corpse, lifting the battered shield on his arm. He peeked over and surveyed the battlefield.
From the memories now becoming his own, he understood: the body he now occupied belonged to a 17-year-old orphan, drafted and thrown into war with little training. The boy had died when a mace shattered his skull.
'Not again,' Lumberling thought. 'I won't die again.'
He crawled toward a large rock, using it as cover. The smell of blood, steel, and sweat filled his lungs. All around him, men screamed, cried, and bled.
He stayed hidden until the clash of battle finally faded. Hours passed. When the surviving soldiers regrouped, he followed.
They marched toward their base, tired, wounded, and silent.
'So this is my new world,' he thought.
From what he gleaned from the boy's memories, he was now part of the Pentaline Empire's border forces. Their enemy? The Sengolio Empire. A human war spanning generations.
As he settled into camp, he tried calling out for some sort of cheat system. No luck.
'No powers? No skills? What kind of isekai is this?'
Exhausted, he stared into a mirror. A stranger's face looked back—young, with black hair and blue eyes. Handsome, but frail.
He slept.
The next morning, the bark of a commander's voice roused the soldiers.
"Get up, mongrels! Training starts now!"
Their day began with ten kilometers of running.
How did this body even survive the last battle? he wondered, legs burning.
After their morning punishment, they were handed spears.
"Thrust!" the trainer barked.
Again and again, they practiced.
By noon, they had a short break. Lumberling scanned the camp.
'Arrogant. Bully. Looks shady… Ah. That one might work.'
He approached a grizzled man in his forties, broad-shouldered with a short beard and a body full of scars.
"Hello, sir. Mind if I join you?"
The man looked up. "Sit down, kid."
"Thank you. My name's…" He paused. Lumberling was his name. In this body, it still felt right.
"You can call me Uncle," the man said. "Name's Drake. You're new?"
Lumberling nodded. "Trying to figure out how to survive."
Drake chuckled. "Then listen close."
New recruits slowly gathered. Drake spoke of the world—of borders, kingdoms, monsters beyond the forest, and war that never ended. Lumberling listened, absorbing everything.
'No cheats. No system. Just me and this weak body.'
But he had something others didn't: a mind sharpened by decades of experience, knowledge of construction, structure, and problem-solving. And a burning will to live.
The world had thrown him into hell. Now, he'd learn its rules—and make them work for him.
Even if he had to devour them one by one.