Category: The Seventh Knight

Roselia stood silently, her expression as cold as before. Jiwoon felt a twinge of disappointment.

Was it too childish? But it’s the most beautiful among Poe’s poems…

Jiwoon sighed inwardly. Annabel Lee was a masterpiece among poems of love and loss, written by Poe in remembrance of his late wife Virginia, who had died of tuberculosis. Its beauty was deeply rooted in its rhythmic language, a fact hard to capture in translation. When recited in its original form by someone with a good grasp of rhythm, even those unfamiliar with English could appreciate its musicality.

Jiwoon had first realized this when a Canadian friend, a literature major, recited the poem in a bar in Hongdae. The poem’s bright and ethereal beginning, contrasted by the somber depth of the final word “Tomb,” felt like the lowest note on a piano, encapsulating the sorrow of a man grieving at his wife’s grave.

Despite Jiwoon’s earnest effort to capture that essence, Roselia’s reaction was lackluster.

“…”

“I apologize. My poetry must be lacking,” Jiwoon said, forcing a smile as the silence stretched. Had Poe heard this, he might have risen from his grave in outrage at such self-deprecation.

“This poem…” Roselia’s lips parted slowly.

“Yes?”

“Did you write this poem, Sir Jiwoon?”

“Yes, I did,” Jiwoon confirmed, preparing himself for critique.

“Amazing…”

“Ah, sorry… Pardon?”

“I said it’s amazing. It’s the most perfect poem I’ve ever heard. So sad and beautiful. Sir Jiwoon, you are a genius. I can’t believe such a perfectly rhythmic and beautiful poem exists. Truly remarkable.”

Jiwoon could only respond with a sheepish laugh, feeling a mix of embarrassment and surprise at her praise. Though her face remained impassive, her words were filled with admiration. Much of what she said included specialized terms from literary studies, which Jiwoon didn’t fully grasp, but one thing was clear.

It worked!

Indeed, it had. Modern poetry resonating with a medieval young lady was unexpected, but the universal theme of true love transcended time. Moreover, Poe was a genius, and his heartfelt expression of grief found its way to a sensitive noblewoman’s heart.

Thank you, Mr. Poe. You’re truly a genius!

---

Roselia was in a daze. When she heard the title Annabel Lee, she had initially dismissed it as another love poem, the kind written by noble poets dedicated to their ladies. She had expected it to be no different.

But her thoughts shifted as Jiwoon’s deep, resonant voice unfolded the poem, erasing her earlier assumptions entirely. She was captivated by the perfect rhythm and the mysterious, profound vocabulary.

Though the poem’s structure differed from what she was used to, and she couldn’t fully understand it, it was worlds apart from the usual insipid love songs filled with exaggerated metaphors.

Her heart trembled. How much must this man have loved Annabel Lee to create such a poem? The deceased lady became a figure of envy, stirring jealousy within Roselia.

The modesty with which Jiwoon downplayed his own poem, apologizing for its supposed inadequacy, nearly brought her to tears. Suppressing the urge to cry, she found herself praising the poem’s greatness endlessly.

Jiwoon’s brief, indifferent responses, a simple “yes” or “no,” only seemed to confirm her belief that he was suppressing his own sorrow, reliving the anguish of a lost love. This painted him as a genuine, sincere man in Roselia’s eyes.

For someone who believed that poetry and language reflected a person’s character and nobility, Jiwoon seemed to embody the essence of true life and love—a sage, perhaps.

This image was a result of Jiwoon’s deliberate deceit mixed with a series of unintentional actions that had created a perfect storm of serendipity.

“Sir Jiwoon,” Roselia called.

“Yes, Lady Frederick.”

“My name is Roselia, and I am younger than you. Would you call me by my name from now on?”

“Ah, yes. I will, Lady Roselia.”

---

With her face still expressionless but her eyes filled with warmth, Roselia left the room, leaving Jiwoon smirking to himself. Her expression radiated the intellectual satisfaction of discovering a new world. Though he felt a pang of guilt for deceiving the young lady, the success of implanting a favourable impression outweighed the sting of conscience. In a world where he had to navigate without any connections or support, securing allies who could aid him was paramount, not the moral discomfort of minor fabrications. Moreover, his lies did not harm anyone directly.

“Nobody’s getting hurt, right?” Jiwoon rationalized, though he knew deep down that someone might object—Edgar Allan Poe. In an instant, Poe’s creation had been rebranded as the work of a 21st-century fantasy novelist. It was an outright theft, transcending mere intellectual property infringement. But what could be done? The dead do not speak. Jiwoon consoled himself, believing that a genius like Poe would understand the necessity of his actions.

Jiwoon began tidying the items strewn across the table. Just as he finished, there was a knock at the door. Could it be the young lady again? Jiwoon wondered, indulging in a pleasant thought before adopting a serious tone. “Who is it?”

To his surprise, the voice on the other side belonged to someone else entirely. “Sir Jiwoon, I am Christian Lawrence, a knight in the service of Lord Frederick. May I have a word with you?”

Lawrence? That stern knight? Jiwoon quickly deduced the purpose of this visit. He had expected Lord Frederick to approach him after speaking with Roselia, perhaps by tomorrow. But having a knight, likely influential, visit instead was unexpected. Realizing the importance of seizing this opportunity, Jiwoon took a deep breath and responded. “Come in, Sir Lawrence.”

The door creaked open, revealing Lawrence’s sharp features. Meeting his piercing gaze, Jiwoon felt a wave of tension. This knight was undoubtedly a formidable figure, not easily swayed. “May I sit?” Lawrence asked.

“Please do, Sir Lawrence.” Jiwoon gestured to a chair, then took a seat opposite. He watched Lawrence carefully as the knight’s gaze wandered over the scattered books and items on the table.

Feeling uneasy under Lawrence’s scrutinizing stare, Jiwoon chuckled nervously. “Pardon the mess. Let me clear it up.” He quickly began gathering the items into his bag. As he did, his elbow accidentally nudged a book, sending it tumbling to the floor near Lawrence’s feet. The knight bent down, picked it up, and examined the cover.

“What is this book titled, Sir Jiwoon?” Lawrence inquired, his curiosity piqued. Jiwoon, feigning embarrassment, replied, “It’s called The Art of Politics and the Justifications of War.”

A lie. The book’s actual title was The Political and War History of Medieval Europe. Lawrence’s eyes sharpened, glancing between Jiwoon and the book. “An impressive title,” he remarked. “The Art of Politics and the Justifications of War. Quite a grandiose title. And the book’s craftsmanship is remarkable. Are such books common in your homeland?”

Detecting Lawrence’s probing intent, Jiwoon calmly answered, “Not particularly. That’s because I authored it myself. It was published in limited quantities.”

Lawrence’s brow twitched slightly at Jiwoon’s response. “I see. The craftsmanship is indeed exceptional. I’m curious about its content. Could you share some insights?”

“I’d like to, but my language skills aren’t yet refined enough to explain it properly. It’s rather complex. I apologize, Sir Lawrence,” Jiwoon said, feigning linguistic struggle.

Lawrence smiled faintly at Jiwoon’s awkward speech. After a contemplative pause, he furrowed his brow slightly, as if reaching a decision.

“Understood. May I ask you a few simple questions instead?”

Here we go. Jiwoon straightened his posture, bracing for what was to come.

(To be continued)

“Are you suggesting that we talk after I’ve learned more of the language?” “Yes, my speech is still clumsy. I might make mistakes. Bishop Swendik has offered to teach me, so I intend to learn from him.” Indeed, his speech was still a bit awkward. Baron Frederick smiled and gave his approval. “Very well. I shall honor Sir Jiwoon’s request.” “Thank you, Baron Frederick.” Jiwoon bowed deeply. His courteous gesture pleased the baron, who nodded in response with a satisfied smile.

After leaving Baron Frederick’s room, Jiwoon returned to his own quarters, located deep within the castle. “Phew…” Baron Frederick had shown special consideration by granting Jiwoon a room where he wouldn’t encounter soldiers, their families, or servants. The room had previously belonged to the late Baron Roman Frederick, who spent his final years in quiet seclusion after passing on the lordship to his son.

The modest room, reflecting the character of its former noble occupant, exuded a tranquil and simple charm. Most of the furniture, like the table and bookshelves, was practical and unpretentious. In stark contrast, the bed was extravagant, fit for royalty—large and ornate.

This bed had an interesting backstory. Made from high-quality maple, it had been a gift from the former Marquis Forlan Donassien de Wakefield, head of the Wakefield family, who ruled over the entire Mentaria region. He had bestowed it upon the previous lord, Roman Frederick, for his distinguished service during the Lily Conflict.

Initially, the marquis had intended to recommend Roman Frederick for a viscountcy and expand the small, impoverished Frederick estate. However, the neighboring territories posed challenges. To the east lay the dominion of the influential Apsilian Marquis, and to the south was the estate of Viscount Engelmann, the marquis’s wife’s nephew. The impenetrable Cromwell Forest further complicated matters. Unable to encroach upon these lands, the marquis decided to elevate Roman Frederick’s title to viscount, without additional land.

Roman Frederick, having resolved to retire, declined the viscountcy, citing his family motto: “He who does not fight shall not eat.” His refusal deeply moved the marquis, who then insisted on giving a gift that Frederick could not refuse, seeing any further modesty as an insult to the marquisate. Thus, Roman Frederick graciously accepted the grand bed, adorned with the Wakefield family’s lily emblem in intricate goldwork and embedded with precious yellow gems—a testament to the marquis’s esteem for him.

Now, however, that grand bed was occupied by an unexpected guest, Jiwoon, who laid on it with a wide grin. “So comfortable.”

Suddenly, a knock on the door interrupted his revelry. “Sir Jiwoon, this is Roselia Frederick. May I come in?” ‘What brings her here?’ Jiwoon wondered but quickly tidied his appearance and responded. “Please, come in, Miss Frederick.”

“Excuse me.”

As Roselia entered, the room seemed to brighten. Jiwoon hadn’t seen her since the day he proved himself to the baron. Even then, bound and under intense pressure from the three knights and the baron, he had thought of her as a beauty. Now, seeing her in a more relaxed state, his initial impression was reaffirmed, perhaps even elevated.

‘She’s truly adorable. She’d be popular anywhere.’ Indeed, Roselia Frederick was charming. small and delicate, her prominent nose, and full, red lips were almost irresistible. Her slightly cool gaze lent her a chilly demeanor, adding a elegant appeal. Her cool green eyes brought out her unique charm, making her seem even more endearing.

Despite her appeal, Jiwoon reminded himself that she was a young girl whose cuteness surpassed her beauty. His heart fluttered briefly, but he quickly regained his composure.

What am I even thinking? This girl is already eighteen.

In this world, being eighteen was equivalent to being nineteen or twenty in Korea. Given the nearly ten-year age difference, Jiwoon felt a twinge of moral guilt.

“Is there something you need from me, Lady Frederick?”

Roselia frowned slightly. As expected of a foreigner, his manner of speech was extremely formal.

Still, it wasn’t intentional—likely a result of his unfamiliarity with the language. Suppressing an inexplicable irritation that began to surface, Roselia replied calmly.

“Yes, I came to return your belongings, Sir Jiwoon. And I also have a question for you. I’m curious about one of your possessions.”

With that, Roselia handed over Jiwoon’s bag.

Jiwoon, for his part, felt a twinge of disappointment at her words.

Just as Roselia found Jiwoon’s stiff manner of speaking awkward, Jiwoon also found her way of talking strange. It wasn’t just the flat voice she used with everyone; Jiwoon, having recently lived in a non-English-speaking country, found it odd to sense any “emotional expression” in someone else’s words.

Unbeknownst to him, another reason for his disappointment was the way her question extinguished a peculiar sense of anticipation he had about her.

“This is my bag. Thank you, Lady Frederick.”

“It’s nothing. I should have returned it sooner. My apologies for the delay.”

“It’s all right, Lady Frederick.”

The exchange felt a bit stiff. Jiwoon wanted to speak more softly and elegantly to this young lady, but for now, he had to settle for basic communication with his limited English.

“What item are you curious about? Please feel free to ask anything.”

As Jiwoon placed the bag on the table and emptied its contents, Roselia unexpectedly pointed to two books.

“What are the contents of these books? I cannot understand the language. Could you explain what they are about?”

“Ah, these…”

Jiwoon almost answered truthfully with a smile, but plans he had devised for the success of a con during his time in the underground prison suddenly resurfaced in his mind.

Phew, that was close…

“These are books I wrote in my homeland. The larger one is on politics, and the smaller one is a collection of my poetry.”

If the medieval historian Dr. Robert Palmer or the poets featured in Edgar Allan Poe’s anthologies had heard this lie, they might have risen from their graves to shake him by the collar. Yet Jiwoon delivered it with an impeccably straight face.

If I dared deceive the God, what harm could a few poets and historians do?

Roselia’s expression changed at his claim.

“Is that true? You wrote these books yourself? That’s incredible. I’ve never met someone who authored a book before. Politics and poetry… Sir Jiwoon, you must be highly educated.”

Though her tone remained reserved, Roselia was genuinely surprised.

Even in the six years she had spent at the Royal Academy, few instructors had written their own books. The Kingdom of Prim was culturally underdeveloped, and most academic texts came from powerful nations like the Keren Union or the southern empire of Benencia.

And poetry?

Prim had many poets, but literate poets were rare. poets were primarily storytellers who conveyed tales of local heroes or news through songs. While nobles occasionally recited poetry, most of it was overly sentimental verses dedicated to their beloved ladies.

Even then, it was rare for such poetry to be compiled into books.

Roselia admired Jiwoon’s claim but couldn’t help suspecting that his poetry might be one of those shallow love songs.

Moreover, she wasn’t entirely convinced Jiwoon was a noble.

But if he truly knew how to read and write?

Roselia decided to test him.

“Would you read a poem from your collection for me? I cannot read this language, so I must ask you to recite it.”

If he complied, she could determine whether he was truly a nobleman who could read and write.

“Of course, Lady Frederick.”

Jiwoon nodded as if he had been expecting the request.

What truly relieved and amused Jiwoon was that while their spoken language resembled English, their written script used a different alphabet entirely. This meant they couldn’t read his poetry collection, which was written in a mix of English and Korean.

This will work perfectly.

“Ahem!”

Clearing his throat, Jiwoon began to recite in a clear voice:

---

**“It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee.
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.

[…]

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.
And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In the sepulcher there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.”**

---

Will this work…?

As Jiwoon finished reciting in a low, steady voice, he nervously glanced at Roselia out of the corner of his eye.

---

(To be continued…)

Jiwoon, confined in the castle’s dungeon, surveyed his surroundings with uneasy eyes. The three-unit space, constructed of yellowish stone walls, was damp and filthy. One corner was piled with waste, and mold had taken hold in many places due to the humidity. For Jiwoon, who had tried his best to maintain hygiene even while wandering in the forest, this was utterly revolting.

What’s worse, Jiwoon was…

“…Cold.”

…barely clothed.

Stripped down to nothing but his underwear, he had been unceremoniously thrown into the cell. Though they had tossed him a tattered blanket, it was infested with fleas and lice, making it worse than useless.

Slumping into the cleanest-looking spot he could find, Jiwoon anxiously mulled over his situation. Judging by the fact that they’d confiscated all his belongings and clothes, it seemed clear that they wouldn’t kill him immediately. Moreover, thanks to his halting English, he’d managed to establish some basic communication.

If I’d known this would happen, I would’ve studied English more thoroughly…

He chewed on his fingernails, regretting his earlier lack of effort. But in truth, Jiwoon’s English was better than average for a typical Korean. As a writer with little reason to go abroad apart from the occasional trip, he’d had no real need to master the language fluently.

Even so, his relatively good grasp of English had been bolstered by several overseas vacations and friendships with foreign students in his neighborhood near Hongdae. While his nerves had gotten the better of him earlier, he was confident he could mount a defense in calmer circumstances.

Growl!

Even in such dire circumstances, his body’s cries for food persisted. Facing the possibility of death tomorrow didn’t make the cold or hunger any easier to endure.

Jiwoon’s thoughts drifted to his widowed mother, now living with his two married younger sisters in Australia. Surely, she would be deeply worried.

“Mother…”

A sigh escaped him. Though they only saw each other once or twice a year due to the distance, he could imagine how devastating his disappearance would be for her.

Still, Jiwoon was an adult. Cold, hungry, and pitiful as his situation was, he wasn’t about to scream for food, cry over his family, or beg for his life like some thoughtless fool.

After all, he’d been living independently for nearly a decade since his family had moved overseas.

“I can do this. Han Jiwoon, you can handle this.”

Clenching his teeth, he steeled himself. Making a scene wouldn’t change his situation—it might even provoke them into killing him on the spot. The best course of action was to remain calm and avoid drawing attention.

Instead of recklessly causing trouble, he needed to analyze the situation and think of suitable countermeasures for what might come next.

They’ve taken all my belongings… Someone will likely come to investigate, either a noble or one of the knights.

In a setting that was clearly medieval, Jiwoon’s possessions would be utterly alien to them. Wandering suspiciously and carrying unknown artifacts would naturally lead to his detainment.

They would undoubtedly examine his belongings. It was only logical that their curiosity would drive them to seek him out again.

If this were medieval Europe, they might have deemed his belongings demonic and burned him at the stake without a second thought. But here? At least they’d left him alive, even providing him with underwear.

And…

“You must prove your words.”

The nobleman—presumably the highest-ranking figure in this castle—had displayed a degree of rationality in his speech.

So, what’s my move? Should I tell the truth?

Telling the truth:

• “I was returning home after a reservist training session in Korea when I had an accident. When I came to, I found myself in that forest. I think I might’ve ended up in another world.”

The idea was laughable.

And then what?

Even if they believed him, what would that achieve? Being from another world held no value here.

In the 21st century, he might’ve been studied or become a media sensation, but in this place?

Even if they believe me, I’d still be useless.

That was the crux of the issue. Jiwoon had no utility in this world. At most, they might keep him alive to learn the uses of his belongings, but after that?

An expendable mouth to feed…

The thought was bleak. Jiwoon wasn’t particularly athletic, skilled, or knowledgeable. He was just an average citizen of 21st-century Korea.

There must be something…

He did have a few unique traits: the ability to go without water for extended periods (though not quite like a camel) and remarkable endurance for walking (though not as much as a Jeju pony).

…

The more he thought about it, the more depressing it became. But he had to find a way. Even dung could be medicinal; surely, he was worth more than that.

---

“Get up!”

A sudden shout jolted Jiwoon awake. It seemed he’d dozed off at dawn after racking his brain for an escape plan all night.

Scrambling to his feet, he looked at the source of the voice. It was the knight from yesterday—Einse—with two soldiers in tow.

Thud!

Einse tossed something onto the ground. Jiwoon’s confiscated uniform and combat boots.

“Hurry up and get dressed. My lord, Baron Frederick, wishes to see you.”

My lord? Baron?

Jiwoon was a fantasy novelist. If he didn’t know that “Baron” referred to the lowest rank of the five-tier noble hierarchy (Duke, Marquis, Count, Viscount, Baron), he’d have no business calling himself a writer.

A knight addressed as “Sir” in a castle that mimicked medieval Europe, referring to his lord as “Baron”?

This confirmed everything.

This world closely mirrored medieval Europe in culture and society, following the same noble hierarchy.

In that case…

One of the plans Jiwoon had painstakingly devised through the night might just work. Slowly, he wore his uniform.

In the heart of the inner fortress where Jiwoon was once again dragged, dozens of soldiers and the individuals he had seen yesterday were gathered.

“We shall begin the trial of the fiefdom! You, foreigner! Can you prove your identity?”

The baron’s voice, more authoritative than yesterday, caused Jiwoon’s lips to go dry without him realizing it. He moistened them slightly before slowly opening his mouth.

“Yes, Baron.”

Jiwoon’s reply made Baron Frederick’s expression shift subtly.

“Oh? Do you know what the title ‘Baron’ signifies?”

“Yes, there is a similar rank in my country, Baron.”

“A job (sag-il)?”

The baron smirked at Jiwoon’s awkward phrasing, though even that slight smile was enough to make cold sweat trickle down Jiwoon’s back.

“Ah, I misspoke. It is a similar ‘rank (class).’”

“I see. So your country has a rank akin to a baron?”

“Yes, Baron.”

“Good. Let’s leave that for now. Where is your proof of identity?”

The atmosphere had grown noticeably more relaxed. Jiwoon took a deep breath before speaking.

“I am a foreigner, hailing from a land very far from here. My country is called ‘Korea.’ However, it is so far away that you’ve likely never heard of it.”

Speaking in a clear voice, Jiwoon continued slowly.

“I… I got lost in a mysterious forest. My companions, exhausted from a long voyage, either succumbed to illness or were killed by the monsters in the forest. Yes, they were all killed. And I wandered the forest for a long time, eventually encountering orcs. I fled from the orcs and then met the knights and soldiers who brought me here.”

When Jiwoon finished, the baron nodded. His manner of speaking was slightly lacking and awkward, but given that he was a foreigner, it wasn’t terrible.

“Hm! I understand your story. Cromwell Forest is vast enough that even I, as the lord of this land, cannot know its farthest reaches.

Moreover, there are many creatures like orcs, monsters beyond the domain of ‘A Holy One, Reyes.’ So, you claim to have come from beyond it?”

A Holy One? Reyes? Jiwoon felt he’d stumbled upon an important clue but betrayed no hint of it as he replied.

“Yes. My companions and I spent three months at sea before arriving here, and then two months walking to reach the forest.”

Of course, this was a lie. Jiwoon had hastily made it up based on a distant view of a mountain range he had glimpsed just before being captured. Considering the baron’s own words, it was likely no one here had ventured close to that area.

“Indeed. At the edge of Cromwell Forest lies the Dragon’s Range, which is said to lead to a great sea. But no one among us has traversed the forest or reached the range to confirm it.”

As the baron mentioned Cromwell Forest and the Dragon’s Range, his expression momentarily hardened. However, he soon gestured to his daughter, who stood beside him.

Roselia nodded and retrieved something, holding it out. The sight made Jiwoon flinch.

“A Swiss Army knife!”

“We found this among your belongings. What is it?”

Suppressing the pounding in his chest, Jiwoon replied with the explanation he had prepared the night before.

“It is a gift from my country. Such items are not given to just anyone. All of my belongings are unique and special, Baron.”

“Is that so? It does appear extraordinary. But what does this symbol mean? Is it also ‘the mark of a Holy One’ in your land?”

As the baron finished speaking, Jiwoon’s heart raced, and his mind whirred into action.

A Holy One again? And his mark? The cross on the Swiss Army knife was both the emblem of Switzerland and a symbol of a major religion back on Earth. But here, it was being referred to as the mark of a Holy One?

Was this an opportunity or a trap? Jiwoon’s mind worked like a puzzle, quickly piecing things together.

“That’s correct. It is the sacred mark of our god.”

Would it work? It was a gamble, but Jiwoon believed in his hand. From everything he had observed, this world mirrored medieval Europe, where divine authority held immense power. Lying about such matters in this era would be tantamount to self-destruction.

“We do not lightly speak the name of the Holy One. Thus, we call him ‘Hananim.’ The sacred one we revere is our Hananim.”

Forgive me, God. I might start believing in you after this.

{ Hananim is the Korean word for the Holy One }

“Ho…”

The change in the crowd’s expressions suggested that Jiwoon’s words were having the desired effect. On the far left, a man who appeared to be a priest even smiled warmly at him. The priest whispered something to the baron, who nodded repeatedly.

Thank goodness. What a relief!

Jiwoon’s tense face began to relax, but he quickly tensed again when the baron spoke in his stern voice.

“I see. Based on what you’ve said, I acknowledge that you are a foreigner blessed by the Holy One. None in this estate may deny this truth.”

Victory! Absolute victory!

But the baron wasn’t finished.

“However!”

The word froze Jiwoon’s relief in its tracks.

“There remain two crucial questions. What is your occupation and rank to possess such a valuable item? And why did you leave your homeland?”

The decisive moment had arrived. The question that would determine whether Jiwoon’s fate here was heaven or hell.

Gathering his thoughts, Jiwoon responded to the second question first.

“I left my country to learn about the culture of other lands and to spread the teachings of Hananim.”

“Hm…”

Both the baron and the priest nodded, signaling for him to continue. Jiwoon felt the sharp tension in his body as he placed deliberate emphasis on two key words.

“And my occupation is that of a politician. In my country, only those ranked as a ‘Baronet’ or higher may engage in politics.”

“A politician? A Baronet? Then you are…”

The peak of tension had arrived. Jiwoon knew this was his moment to seal his claim. With a voice firm but not servile, he declared:

“Yes, Baron. I am a nobleman.”

“……!”

Every gaze locked on Jiwoon, their eyes wide with astonishment. Thus ended the first act of the elaborate play he had staged for his survival.

In one stroke, the young, reclusive fantasy novelist—whose life was little different from that of a shut-in—had transformed into a devout noble politician embarking on a journey to spread the word of God.

(To be continued…)

“Just look at him. He’s clearly an evil sorcerer. There’s no need for further discussion—execution it is. I’ll personally take his head.”

“As Sir Helford says, merely wandering around Cromwell Forest is a crime worthy of execution. When he was first found, a horde of orcs from the forest was following him. Only an evil sorcerer could provoke such a thing. As a knight, I cannot tolerate someone who defies the Lord’s providence with foul magic. Execution is the only option.”

As soon as the impulsive Sir Helford finished speaking, Sir Einse, a knight devoted to chivalry, promptly chimed in agreement.

“Hmm…”

Baron Wayne Frederick nodded, scanning the room.

Beheading, as Helford suggested, felt a bit too crude. As was customary, execution would be by hanging or burning at the stake.

Though the stranger’s appearance was distinct from theirs, the difference leaned more toward the ominous than the intriguing. His jet-black hair and eyes were unlike anything they’d ever seen. Black, to them, was not a color associated with blessings.

“Let’s hold a trial tomorrow and proceed with hanging. He can’t even speak properly to defend himself, stammering as he does. Moreover, he has no way to prove his identity. There’s no need to escalate this to a diocesan trial.”

{ TL : diocesan trial are trials conducted by the Christian church }

The calm Sir Lawrence, one of the domain’s knights, offered his opinion. His words prompted Baron Frederick to nod in final agreement.

At that moment, a clear and slightly high-pitched voice interjected.

“What if he’s not an evil sorcerer but a foreigner of noble lineage?”

All eyes turned toward the voice’s origin. Standing there, composed, was Roselia Frederick, the baron’s daughter.

“Yes, his black hair and eyes are certainly ominous. But do you recall the bard, Lata Leopold, who briefly stayed in our domain a few years ago?”

“I remember. But he was a true Casbalian, wasn’t he? A strong and cheerful young man with red hair and blue eyes.”

“Haha! And what about his backside? His face might have been horse-like, but his backside was rather unforgettable.”

Helford’s bawdy remark about the bard elicited chuckles from the baron and the two knights. Roselia and one other person, however, did not laugh and waited patiently for the laughter to subside.

“He shared news with us, didn’t he? About merchants and nobles from the East who frequented Planik Harbor. He said they wrapped their heads in cloth and adorned themselves with dazzling jewels. Although they worshiped a different god and spoke a different language, they were known to be quiet and polite.”

As her father met her gaze, a spark of recollection seemed to cross Baron Frederick’s face. He tapped his temple lightly with a finger.

“Ah, yes, I do recall that. Are you suggesting this man is from the same place as those Eastern merchants?”

Roselia shook her head.

“No, he’s different from the Easterners Lata Leopold described. Leopold said that all Eastern men wrap their heads in white cloth, but this man does not.”

“Then he has no connection to them, does he?”

Sir Ainse interjected, and Sir Lawrence nodded in agreement.

“Sir Ainse is correct. Planik Harbor, where those Eastern merchants operate, is more than 150 miles (about 240 kilometers) from our domain. Moreover, there’s nothing here that would interest them. There’s no reason for them to come here, and if they did travel that far, we’d have heard rumors first. Their distinctive attire would surely have caused a stir. Furthermore, those Eastern merchants are pagans. Our domain is not Planik, which tolerates such people.”

“Sir Lawrence is right! Pagans in our domain are sentenced to death without question! I’ll personally take his head.”

Helford remained as extreme as ever.

Roselia stayed silent, waiting for them to finish before speaking again.

“Precisely because he may be different from the Eastern merchants, we need to consider this carefully. And… perhaps it would be best to see this first.”

The knights’ eyes focused on the object she produced.

“What is that?”

“One of his belongings. It’s truly remarkable.”

Roselia revealed a Swiss Army knife. The knights leaned in, their curiosity piqued.

“Look at this.”

She demonstrated several functions she had discovered through trial and error. Each time a small blade or tool snapped out, the knights let out gasps of amazement.

“Ho! This is a treasure! My lord, my loyalty to you and this domain is unwavering, but its value pales compared to this artifact. Please, grant it to me! Sir Helford’s devotion will only grow with such a gift!”

The ever-impulsive Helford eagerly requested the artifact, prompting Roselia to frown.

“Sir Helford, I haven’t finished speaking yet.”

Helford scratched his head sheepishly and pushed his chair back slightly, retreating.

“While these functions are impressive, look at this.”

“What? That symbol…?”

“How does a foreigner with black hair possess such an emblem?”

“Indeed. This is astonishing.”

The knights’ amazement shifted to the silver emblem engraved on the Swiss Army knife.

“A holy emblem of the Lord… This is extraordinary. Could it be stolen?”

“I don’t think so. Bishop Swendik will provide clarity.”

At that, a middle-aged man in white, seated silently until now, rose to speak.

“Indeed, that emblem is unique to sacred relics permitted by our one true Lord, Reyes. The red signifies holy blood in devotion to the Lord, while the white circle and cross at its center mark it as a sacred symbol granted by the Archangel Ferriam himself.”

“Hmm…”

The baron and knights grew solemn. Bishop Swendik continued calmly.

“I’ve never seen such a relic before. None of the priests in this land possess anything like it. Even the archbishop of our kingdom likely does not have such an artifact.”

“Then…?”

“Perhaps he is…”

Roselia was about to provide an answer when a low voice interrupted her.

“Are you suggesting he may be a foreigner who shares our faith?”

Sir Lawrence, the domain’s most learned knight, posed the question. The expressions of the other two knights shifted to surprise.

“Precisely.”

Roselia’s confirmation brought a hush to the room as everyone fell into thought.

Yet not everyone was willing to think deeply.

“What does it matter? He’s a nuisance. Let’s just execute him. Foreigners won’t feed us.”

Only one person could say such a thing: Helford.

Normally, someone would have rebuked him, but for some reason, silence persisted.

“Sir Helford isn’t entirely wrong. Even if the young lady is correct and he follows Lord Reyes, he’s still a foreigner unrelated to us.”

Einse’s agreement made Helford grin and nod vigorously.

However, Helford’s grin didn’t last long.

“With the limited authority granted to a humble bishop by the holy will of our Lord, I cannot agree to this. He might be a foreigner, but he carries a sacred artifact and appears to be a priest. Though his attire and appearance differ from ours, if he is indeed a faithful servant of the Lord, we would be making a grave mistake.”

It was Bishop Swendik, the religious leader of the domain.

Although he always listened to the knights with a kind expression, he was a stubborn man who never compromised when it came to proclaiming and practicing the will of God.

“Ahem! I wasn’t saying he absolutely needs to be executed…”

Helford backed down.

Though he was a knight, he couldn’t openly oppose the bishop’s words. Even if he wanted to argue, his lack of education meant he wouldn’t stand a chance in a debate with the bishop.

“If the baron insists on executing him, I will request a dual trial between the territorial and diocesan courts. Also… would you take a look at this?”

Bishop Swendik presented the foreigner’s hat and clothing.

The bizarre outfit, dyed in mottled colours, was unmistakably foreign in design.

“What an odd piece of clothing. With so many better options, why would anyone make clothes in such a dirty-looking color? The sacred artifact is impressive, but the clothes are just awful.”

“Sir Helford, perhaps you should take a closer look at this part.”

The bishop directed Helford’s attention to a specific area of the clothing where emblems of a reserve force and a reconnaissance unit were displayed.

“This is…”

Just as Lawrence was about to comment, Helford’s loud voice interrupted.

“Oh! This is incredibly detailed. The colors are splendid! And what is this animal? It looks remarkably fierce and valiant! Haha! It’s a perfect match for someone like me!”

Though his sudden change of tone was annoying, it was true that the animal embroidered on the foreigner’s clothing shared similarities with Helford’s personality.

The creature depicted had piercing eyes, a gaping mouth with sharp teeth, and a ferocious aura—it was a tiger.

“This is called a tiger, a creature native to the East.

It’s similar to the lions of the South but prefers solitude over forming groups. Its courage is unparalleled, and it is regarded as the king of beasts in the East,” Lawrence explained, drawing from his extensive travels.

Helford’s jaw dropped further.

“Haha! That’s perfect for a knight of knights like me! Baron, could you grant me the emblem with this animal on it…?”

“Silence! The bishop isn’t finished speaking, Sir Helford.”

“Ack!”

Rebuked by the baron, Helford fell silent.

Though brave and loyal, this knight was far too impulsive.

Clicking his tongue, Baron Frederick spoke in a measured tone.

“In my opinion, such elaborate and intricate emblems can only belong to royalty or high-ranking noble families.

Moreover, I’m familiar with tigers; I’ve heard that in the East, some even revere this animal. Bishop, is this what you’re implying?”

The bishop nodded.

“Indeed. Not only might he be a priest of our faith, but he could also be a noble of distinguished lineage.”

Silence descended once more.

A foreigner who might share their faith and possibly hail from nobility.

Though nothing was certain, the evidence suggested a strong possibility.

“Given these findings, I believe his identity is unlikely to be ordinary.

If the baron insists on his execution, I, as the bishop responsible for this juridction, formally request a diocesan trial.

I will personally send a letter to the central diocese by tomorrow if needed.”

Bishop Swendik’s expression was resolute, making it clear he was prepared to escalate the matter.

The atmosphere among the baron and the knights grew serious.

In the domain, the bishop’s authority was not beneath that of the baron.

While Baron Frederick held practical control over the domain and its people, matters of religion carried a different weight.

A domain granted by the king was also acknowledged by the Church, and the divine influence surrounding the continent was strong enough to overshadow the king’s power.

Thus, in religious affairs, Baron Frederick had to carefully consider the bishop’s opinions.

If Frederick was a lord recognized by the king and his liege marquis, Swendik was a bishop, a representative of God and the Pope.

“I haven’t even declared that I’ll execute him, yet it seems the bishop is getting too worked up. Haha! Please calm yourself.”

Baron Frederick smiled, soothing the bishop.

“Ahem, my apologies.”

Somewhat embarrassed, Bishop Swendik coughed lightly and sat down.

Usually a gentle and devout priest, he became easily agitated when it came to matters of faith and religion.

Though this behaviour reflected his deep devotion, it could sometimes be overwhelming.

“I believe it would be wise to hear his side of the story tomorrow. Of course, I don’t dispute the bishop’s words.

However, Sir Helford’s concerns are not entirely baseless. He could be a foreign spy or even a slave who stole sacred artifacts and clothing from his master.

Since nothing is certain, we should meet him tomorrow and make a judgment then.”

The insightful and composed Lawrence, the most learned knight in the domain, proposed a fair solution, and Roselia quickly voiced her agreement.

“I support Sir Lawrence’s suggestion.”

“It seems reasonable. It aligns with the principles of chivalry as well.”

Even Einse, a loyal believer in chivalry, voiced his approval, narrowing the decision to one option.

“Then we shall hear from him tomorrow morning and decide on the appropriate course of action.”

“As you wish, my lord.”

At Baron Frederick’s declaration, the knights bowed deeply, showing their respect. Regardless of the discussions, Frederick was the ultimate decision-maker in the domain.

But one person silently grumbled in frustration.

Why not just cut his head off and be done with it?

Helford’s hands itched for action.

(To be continued in the next Chapter.)

Haa… this is driving me insane.

For modern people, smells they find “unbearable” might include rotting garbage or the stench of someone who hasn’t bathed in weeks.

As an ordinary modern man, Jiwoon felt like he was losing his mind from the disgusting odor surrounding him now—a nauseating symphony of smells.

If he were to describe it, it was like “walking along a decaying riverbank, used by homeless people who hadn’t washed in over a year, while carrying a month-old, rotting trash bag.” That was the odor engulfing him.

Yet Jiwoon couldn’t dare gag, let alone grimace. The “homeless men” walking alongside him were armed.

Bound by rough, bloodstained ropes, Jiwoon was dragged along by soldiers with rough grips.

The road, if it could even be called that, was so muddy his feet sank ankle-deep with each step.

Whenever he glanced around or accidentally made eye contact with the soldiers, their response was a string of curses and swift kicks.

So, Jiwoon kept his head low, discreetly surveying his surroundings.

A slum, maybe?

Haphazard shacks clustered along the dirt path, with people pouring out to gawk at the scene of Jiwoon being dragged away.

Everyone wore rags and had soot-covered faces. Curious children stared at him wide-eyed, while adults looked on with fear and distrust.

Some mothers even slapped their children on the back and covered their eyes when they pointed and whispered about Jiwoon.

What the hell? They’re looking at me like I’m some kind of demon…

As they passed the shacks, a long wooden palisade came into view. It stretched roughly two or three hundred meters and was fortified with jagged logs and boulders embedded in the ground, suggesting considerable effort in its construction.

Watchtowers loomed above, and a crude castle sat atop a hill beyond the palisade.

“Open the gate!”

At least, that’s what Jiwoon assumed the soldier’s shout meant. The language they spoke was nearly identical to English, though the pronunciation was slightly off.

When the gate opened, houses that were slightly more habitable than the slum’s shacks came into view. People with relatively lively expressions lingered outside their homes, watching curiously.

The soldiers escorting Jiwoon laughed and chatted with some of the townsfolk, embracing them or engaging in friendly banter. These people seemed to be the soldiers’ family or friends.

Several lightly armored soldiers disappeared into houses, leaving only those clad in chainmail behind. Among them, a man who seemed to be their leader barked orders, causing the remaining soldiers to cheer before dispersing.

Only two soldiers and the leader stayed behind with Jiwoon.

“Take him to the castle,” the leader commanded.

The soldiers shoved Jiwoon roughly forward. He had no choice but to comply and follow their lead.

Although he glanced around, the soldiers didn’t kick or curse at him like before.

Feeling slightly more at ease, Jiwoon observed his surroundings more closely.

This is definitely the Middle Ages. A really impoverished domain.

Traces of farming were evident but scarce, and a handful of pigs rooted around a hill. The scene resembled a medieval movie, except the soldiers’ equipment and discipline seemed somewhat better.

The lightly armed men who had rushed home earlier were likely a local militia.

Then these must be proper soldiers. But wow, they’re tiny.

Indeed, they were small.

Although their builds were decent, their stature was surprising. At 178 centimeters tall, Jiwoon felt like a giant here. Most people seemed to be around 160 centimeters, and even the leader, the tallest person Jiwoon had seen so far, barely surpassed 170 centimeters.

However, they all looked sturdy.

Despite their chainmail armor, which seemed heavy, they carried it with ease—a testament to their strength.

Thud!

“Ugh!”

Distracted by his thoughts, Jiwoon slowed his pace and received a kick to his rear from a soldier.

Stumbling but catching himself, Jiwoon hastily resumed walking under the soldier’s menacing glare.

The castle, which had seemed modest from afar, loomed larger as they approached.

It couldn’t compare to the grand, ornate castles Jiwoon had seen during his backpacking trip in Europe during college. Yet, despite its age and wear, it was unmistakably a “castle.”

The natural hill serving as its motte was well-suited for defense, and the walls stood six or seven meters high, with wooden palisades encircling the base.

A moat, roughly five meters wide and three meters deep, surrounded the walls. However, most of the water had dried up.

Although the castle’s inner layout remained unseen, its outer defenses adhered to the basics of a medieval fortress. It was a typical rhombus-shaped design for a small castle.

Even the watchtower above the gate looks decent…

As the knight (Jiwoon decided to call the leader a knight) shouted toward the watchtower, a drawbridge began to lower.

Creak, creak—

Jiwoon couldn’t help but chuckle inwardly at the sight.

Thick iron chains suspended the drawbridge, connected to massive logs on the inner walls. Soldiers strained to lower the chains, their sweat glistening.

The chains slid over grooves carved into the logs, functioning as a crude pulley system.

What a primitive design. Absolutely absurd. Human pulleys?

Inside the castle, rows of soldiers stood at attention.

These soldiers, unlike those outside, had more uniform gear and larger builds. Their demeanor also differed—they exuded discipline.

Being marched through their midst wasn’t a pleasant experience.

To Jiwoon, these soldiers felt like seasoned veterans compared to the ragtag group outside.

The tense, focused stares of the soldiers as he passed began to unnerve him.

He had momentarily forgotten the danger he was in, preoccupied with his curiosity about this unfamiliar, medieval world.

But the stark reality of his predicament hit him once again.

This was a perilous time and place, likely medieval Europe.

A time when famine was rampant, and a misstep could get you killed with no one to complain to.

And Jiwoon was an outsider—a suspicious, foreign stranger.

Such people rarely received kindness.

A chill ran down his spine.

The amusement he felt earlier watching the drawbridge descend and the curiosity sparked by the castle’s architecture vanished.

Now, only one thought consumed Jiwoon’s mind:

I might actually die here…

---

The Soldiers Dragged Jiwoon to a Grand Hall Deep Inside the Inner Castle.

“Ugh!”

Jiwoon was roughly thrown to the ground.

Kneeling, he waited for a moment before noticing several figures approaching from within the hall.

Nobles?

There were three men and one woman.

The man in the center stood at about 165 centimeters, with light blond hair and a well-trimmed beard. His attire was immaculate, and his knee-length leather boots were clearly of high quality. Around his neck hung a necklace adorned with a red gemstone, complementing the colors of his clothing. Everything about his appearance screamed that he held an important position in this place.

To his left stood a much larger man, taller and broader than the knight who had brought Jiwoon here. Though his attire was similar to the man in the center, his presence was far more intimidating, emphasized by the sword at his left hip and the steel armor protecting his forearms and knees. His sharp eyes, blunt nose, and thick, chapped lips gave the impression of a dangerous and brutal knight—a figure straight out of medieval nightmares.

Beside this imposing knight was another man dressed similarly but of a different demeanor. He was lean, standing around 170 centimeters tall, with narrow eyes, a sharp nose, and a firm, tightly set mouth. His carefully groomed beard added to his intellectual, almost scholarly appearance. If not for the sword at his side, one might have mistaken him for a philosopher or a strategist.

Finally, the figure on the far right was a surprising contrast—a young girl.

With short blond hair cascading over her shoulders, she had a delicate face with clear and defined features. Her striking green eyes seemed to glimmer faintly, even in the dimly lit hall. She wore loose-fitting clothes paired with pants and boots, and though she was barely 160 centimeters tall, her appearance was strikingly cute and elegant.

Yet, what stood out the most was that she, too, carried a sword.

Thud!

“Ugh!”

A hard shove to his back made Jiwoon stumble forward, his body bending awkwardly.

“Show respect! ×××××× ×××× ××××××××! I’ll kill you!”

“××××××× ××××××××××××. Sir Einse.”

Among the harsh words, Jiwoon could discern only fragments: “Show respect,” “kill,” and “Sir.”

He frowned as he slowly raised his head.

“Who are you?”

The man in the center

asked Jiwoon in a firm voice.

“Uh…”

Jiwoon stammered, unsure of what to say.

Before he could gather his thoughts, a soldier’s boot struck him sharply.

“I told you to show respect!”

“Wait.”

The man in the center raised a hand, halting the soldier. The knight immediately bowed respectfully and stepped back, glaring daggers at Jiwoon before retreating.

“I heard my men found you in the Cromwell Forest. Who are you, and why were you wandering there?”

Jiwoon, his face tense with anxiety, struggled to respond.

“I… I’m not suspicious. I’m not a bad person. I just got lost in the forest.”

His voice wavered, and his English was slightly slurred—unfamiliarity with the language adding to his nervousness.

The one small relief was that the man’s English, while accented and slightly archaic, was slow and deliberate, making it easier to understand than the rapid-fire, slang-filled modern English Jiun was used to.

“Hmm. You speak strangely, but you can talk,” the man remarked, his tone neutral. “The Cromwell Forest is uninhabitable. You will need to prove your story.”

Jiwoon’s throat felt dry as tension gripped him.

Where do I even start? How can I explain this?

No words came to him as his mind raced. Even if he did speak, would they believe him?

Looking at their stern expressions and the atmosphere in the hall, Jiwoon doubted they would react like characters in novels or movies, exclaiming, “Wow! You’re from another world? Welcome!”

This was a crisis.

Survival was far from guaranteed.

---

(To be continued…)

“Querk!”

“Chyeeeek! Kyarrk!”

Frozen in shock, Jiwoon stood motionless in the river, unable to think or move.

Jiwoon was a fantasy novelist, someone who prided himself on knowing more about medieval and fantastical worlds than anyone else. He had even been fascinated by the monsters and demons of various European myths, dedicating time to studying them.

But orcs?

In the hierarchy of fantasy world monsters, orcs ranked at the very bottom. He had always dismissed them as insignificant.

At least, until he saw them with his own eyes.

“Kyekk!”
“Ugh…!”

Watching the horde of orcs approaching menacingly, Jiwoon was overwhelmed by confusion and primal fear. His mind blanked, and only a small flicker of instinct screamed at him to run.

But his body refused to move. It was as if he were paralyzed, stuck in place like a nightmare come to life.

Whoosh!

A spear thrown by an orc grazed Jiwoon’s arm before plunging into the water beside him.

The sudden, sharp pain snapped Jiwoon out of his daze.

“Agh…! Aaaah! Aaagh!”

Desperately flailing through the river, his survival instincts took over. The thought of escape consumed him completely. Even as he stumbled, half-submerged in the water, he kept moving. Water filled his mouth, but he didn’t care.

There was no time to look back. He couldn’t bear to.

If he turned around, a spear might pierce his back, or a wooden club might crack his skull.

“Kyahhhk!”
“Chyeeeek!”

The orcs’ monstrous cries drew closer, fueling Jiwoon’s frantic struggle to move faster. The far side of the river was within reach.

Behind him, the splashing sounds of orcs entering the water grew louder.

Instinctively, Jiwoon glanced back. He saw the orcs wading into the river, which was deep enough to submerge them up to their heads.

But the depth—or the swift current—didn’t seem to faze them. They pressed on with relentless determination. Their squat, sturdy bodies made them less affected by the water’s drag, and their speed didn’t diminish.

Jiwoon pushed himself harder, fighting against the current.

“Huff… Huff!”

Reaching the other side, he scrambled out of the water and bolted into the forest. Unlike the dense woods on the far bank, this side was more open, allowing him to run at full speed.

Branches scratched his face, drawing blood, but he didn’t feel the pain. He nearly tripped over exposed roots but managed to keep his balance and keep running.

“Kyahhhk!”

Even after what felt like an eternity of running, the orcs’ howls echoed behind him.

“Chyek! Chyek!”

Whoever claimed orcs were dumb, lazy, or poor runners was dead wrong.

The orcs were relentless and cunning. While Jiwoon was faster, the orcs had the advantage of familiarity. Jiwoon had no knowledge of the forest’s layout, but the orcs moved as if it were their backyard.

Moreover, the small bushes that blocked Jiwoon’s view and scratched his skin posed no such threat to the shorter orcs.

Ultimately, the hunted tires out before the hunter. The orcs, seasoned predators, knew this instinctively.

They believed Jiwoon would tire soon, just like other foolish humans who had ventured into their territory. Soon, they would catch him, just as they always did.

“Chyekk!”

One of the orcs let out a gleeful cry, saliva dripping from its sharp fangs at the thought of human flesh.

But no matter how long they chased, the distance between them and Jiun refused to close.

Something was different this time. The human should have collapsed from exhaustion by now. Normally, by this point, they would have already claimed their prize, stabbing their spears into his back and tearing him apart.

But this human kept running.

The orc leader tilted his head, puzzled.

---

Jiwoon wasn’t especially good at fighting or particularly athletic.

But he had one unique strength: endurance.

He wasn’t fast or agile, but when it came to long-distance running, Jiwoon had an unparalleled knack for it.

In school, he had always ranked in the top during long-distance events. During his military service, he never fell behind on grueling marches.

Now, with his life on the line, Jiwoon wasn’t going to fall behind so easily.

Desperation fueled him, squeezing out every ounce of strength.

But even Jiwoon was human. He was growing tired. His legs burned, and his lungs felt ready to burst, but the primal will to survive pushed him onward.

Panting heavily, his arms hung limply at his sides, but he clung tightly to the spear in his hand. Without it, he would be utterly defenseless.

---

Just when he thought he couldn’t go on, light suddenly flooded his vision.

“Ahh!”

The ground disappeared beneath him, and Jiwoon tumbled down a hill.

Rolling to a stop, he scrambled to his feet, dazed.

The forest had ended.

Before him stretched a vast, dazzlingly green plain.

Jiwoon wasn’t particularly skilled at fighting or blessed with extraordinary athletic abilities.

However, there was one thing in which he excelled beyond others—his stamina.

He wasn’t the fastest, nor the most agile, but when it came to long-distance running, Jiwoon displayed a talent so exceptional that it bordered on uncanny.

Jiwoon could walk for hours and run for even longer.

During his school days, he consistently placed first or second in endurance races.

In the military, no matter how grueling the march, he never fell behind.

So, it was unthinkable for Jiwoon to collapse as easily as the orcs might wish.

Especially now, when his life was on the line, he had to muster strength he didn’t even know he had.

But even Jiwoon was only human. Fatigue was inevitable.

At this point, he was running purely on sheer willpower, driven by a primal desire to survive.

“Huff, huff!”

His breaths were ragged, his lungs felt like they might burst, and his legs threatened to give out at any moment.

Yet, Jiwoon didn’t stop.

His arms hung limply by his sides, too tired to swing them, but he clung to his spear with unrelenting determination.

Without the spear, he would be utterly defenseless.

Though crudely made, the weapon was his last line of defense.

“Guh… gah!”

The pain was unbearable. He wanted to collapse and just lie there, orcs be damned.

But if he stopped now?

I’ll die! I’ll really die!

“Haaah!”
Summoning every ounce of strength, Jiwoon forced his trembling legs to move.

He didn’t want to die in this unfamiliar world.

He hadn’t lived his life to become an orc’s dinner.

The mere thought of being reduced to an orc’s meal in the middle of a desolate forest fueled his resolve.

Gritting his teeth, Jiwoon pushed forward.

“Hyaaaah!”
With an involuntary shout, he hurled himself through a cluster of branches blocking his path.

As he broke through, blinding light poured over him, forcing him to squeeze his eyes shut.

“Argh!”

The ground disappeared beneath his feet, and he lost his balance.

Jiwoon tumbled down the hill, rolling uncontrollably until he finally came to a stop.

Dazed, he struggled to his feet, the rushing wind sending chills down his spine.

For the first time since encountering the river, Jiwoon could see sunlight—but the surroundings seemed unnaturally bright.

Opening his eyes wide, he gasped.

“It’s… gone?”

The dense forest was nowhere to be seen.

In front of him stretched an endless, vividly green plain, as if the forest had simply ended.

Hoooooonk!

A distant sound caught Jiwoon’s attention.

Startled, he realized the urgency of his situation and sprinted toward the source of the noise.

Glancing back over his shoulder, he paled.

“Huff, huff!”

The orcs were still there, chasing him even after the forest had ended.

Hooooooonk!

The sound of a horn echoed again—a noise Jiwoon had only ever heard in movies.

“Help! Somebody, help me!”

Jiwoon shouted desperately, running toward the sound.

Stumbling down a slope, he fell several times but barely felt the pain.

Forcing his exhausted body to rise, he screamed with all his might.

“Help me! Is anyone there? You bastards, save me! Aaaaah!”

At that moment, something emerged from the edge of the forest below.

It was exactly what Jiwoon had longed to see—humans.

Following the first figure, about ten more people appeared, their faces and outfits still a blur to Jiwoon.

All that mattered to him was that they were human, like him.

He sprinted toward them with reckless abandon.

“Hey! Over here!”

His voice was hoarse, a mix of terror and relief making him delirious.

He didn’t notice their faces or attire—all he cared about was that they were human.

However, clarity quickly returned.

Clang!

“Huh?!”
The sharp glint of a blade snapped Jiwoon out of his haze.

In front of him, a man had drawn a sword—a weapon Jiwoon recognized all too well.

About a meter long, with sharp edges on both sides and a pointed tip—it was a classic killing tool.

“W-what the hell?”

Jiwoon instinctively stepped back as the man advanced, flanked by others who pointed their spears at him.

“Do…ve! Who…?”

“W-what? What are you saying?”

The unfamiliar language left Jiwoon flustered.

“Don’t move! I said again, who are you?”

“Wait… What? Oh?”

It was English. He hadn’t realized it earlier in his panic, but the man was speaking English.

“Krrreeeeh!”

“Orcs!”
The men’s expressions hardened at the guttural roars of the orcs.

The sword-wielding man shouted an order, and the others sprang into action, moving with precision.

Jiwoon stood frozen, watching in disbelief.

The men charged past him, weapons drawn, toward the approaching orcs.

Despite their rage-filled cries, the orcs retreated in the face of armed resistance.

In open plains, the orcs stood no chance against the disciplined soldiers.

Outnumbered and outgunned, the orcs begrudgingly fled back into the forest.

The soldiers confirmed that the orcs had fully retreated before regrouping.

Jiwoon stood dumbfounded, watching them.

Spears, swords, chainmail, shields… The soldiers were dressed like something out of the Middle Ages.

The man who had drawn his sword earlier broke Jiwoon’s thoughts with a shout.

Although the orcs were gone, the soldiers’ expressions remained hostile as they surrounded Jiwoon.

With a swift motion, the man struck Jiwoon’s shoulder with the flat of his blade.

“Ugh!”

Two soldiers grabbed Jiwoon’s arms, twisting them behind his back.

Pain shot through his shoulders, forcing him to kneel.

Jiwoon’s arms were securely bound as the man barked another command.

“Back to…!”

“Oooooh!”

The soldiers cheered and began moving.

Jiwoon had no choice but to be dragged along.

From the word “back,” it seemed they were returning to their base.

Orcs, soldiers in medieval armor… Where am I? Could I really have fallen into a fantasy world?

Fear and unease welled up inside him.

Yet, frantically, a faint sense of curiosity began to stir.

The threat of inhuman monsters like orcs was terrifying, but the hostility of other humans felt more manageable.

Despite the danger and fear, Jiwoon’s mind couldn’t help but wander.

This is a fantasy world—a place I’ve only ever imagined.

The reality of being in such a world filled him with a strange mix of dread and fascination.

(Continued in the next chapter.)

The wind, which had rarely blown before, grazed his bearded face roughly and passed by. The occasional cries of an unidentified bird grated on his nerves even more.

The massive trunks filling his view and the tough shrubs with gnarled branches intertwined between them continued to exude a gloomy atmosphere. Still, it was some comfort that they looked a bit more like “living trees” compared to a few days ago.

Jiwoon settled in a suitable spot and did some calculations.

“Another day is gone…”

Three days had passed already.

But Jiwoon still hadn’t escaped the forest.

For an adult male, walking 3–4 kilometers per hour was typical on flat terrain. In the mountains, one could manage 3 kilometers per hour with a quick pace. But that was assuming there was a trail.

This forest, however, had no trails.

Occasionally, there were faint traces of animals passing through, but those were far from paths humans could use.

Pushing through this pathless forest while avoiding muddy swamps, Jiwoon estimated his pace to be about 2 kilometers per hour. Assuming he walked eight hours a day with breaks, he figured he’d covered no more than 40 kilometers over three days.

Three and a half days for just 40 kilometers. It wasn’t much, but in another sense, it was “quite an achievement.”

In other words, the forest was so vast that even after walking “a whole 40 kilometers,” its end remained unfathomable. Without a compass, he might have assumed he was going in circles.

Click!

“Whew…”

The thick cigarette smoke scattered as chaotically as his thoughts. It momentarily caught the sunlight filtering through the narrow gaps between the leaves, then disappeared into the darkness.

“How much further do I have to go? Damn it!”

Despite conserving as much as he could, Jiwoon was down to his last bit of animal meat. After today, he’d have nothing left. For drinkable liquids, he had a single can of ionized water and a pack of soju, which he had refrained from touching until now.

Surviving three days on just two cans of coffee was practically a miracle.

Jiwoon wasn’t a heavy drinker of water. Since childhood, he’d been peculiar in that even during hot summers, he didn’t drink much water. It wasn’t a health issue—just his unique constitution.

Well, at least I have one thing that sets me apart.

Jiwoon, who considered himself mediocre in most things, could at least claim to possess the rare skill of “surviving on minimal water.” Not exactly a point of pride, but still.

Thanks to his constitution, he hadn’t felt excessive thirst despite subsisting on so little. He figured he could stretch his remaining liquids for a week if he rationed carefully.

“Drinks are the least of my worries; it’s the food that’s the problem.”

Thinking about food brought a fresh wave of despair. Smoking on an empty stomach left his belly aching. The hunger gnawed at him, but there was nothing to eat.

He stared at the little meat left and pondered briefly.

Should I just eat it?

The decision didn’t take long. The meat would spoil by tomorrow anyway. Better to eat it now than let it go to waste.

And Jiwoon still had one last cup noodle left, saved for the direst of times.

“Whew…”

Tending the campfire, Jiwoon sighed deeply. It felt like navigating an endless maze.

The one comfort was that the forest environment had begun to change.

The soil was firmer and softer compared to where he’d first regained consciousness. By midday, he no longer encountered the shallow swamps that had sucked at his knees every hour before.

Though the air still felt heavy and gloomy, the green of the forest seemed to grow a bit more vibrant. The breeze, once rare, now blew refreshingly cool.

These are good signs.

The lack of visible animals remained troubling, but with such noticeable changes, Jiwoon felt he might see some soon.

He clung to this optimistic thought. While undue optimism should be avoided in dire situations, hope was essential to keep going.

“Yaaawn…”

As these thoughts crossed his mind, fatigue hit him. Jiwoon stoked the fire, then layed down for a while before heading where he was guided to.

---

“Haha… Ahahaha! I’m alive! I’m alive!”

Laughing like a madman, Jiwoon jumped for joy.

After three and a half days of wandering the forest—over 50 kilometers—he’d finally found something.

It was a river.

Before his eyes, a river about 20 meters wide flowed steadily. Overwhelmed by relief, Jiwoon let out a whoop of joy as though he’d discovered treasure.

His discovery was nothing short of miraculous, aided by his sharpened senses of smell and hearing, honed over the past three days in the wild.

Through the suffocating scents of the forest, Jiwoon had caught a whiff of salty water. Pursuing it relentlessly, he pressed forward.

Soon after, his ears picked up an unfamiliar sound piercing the quiet forest.

Whooooosh!

As soon as he heard it, Jiwoon ran like a madman.

His combat uniform tore on vines, and he tripped over roots, but he didn’t care.

After what felt like forever, Jiwoon finally saw it—a river.

“Ahahaha! A river! Water! Ahahaha!”

Wading into the river, Jiwoon reveled in the cool sensation of the flowing water. Hunger didn’t matter anymore. He drank the clear river water greedily.

“Oh! Fish! Haha!”

In the transparent water, fairly large fish swam freely. Jiwoon tried to catch one with his bare hands, but they slipped away easily.

“Damn it! Right, a spear!”

Rushing back to the riverbank, Jiwoon grabbed a wooden spear and carefully waded back in. He spotted a few palm-sized fish swimming along the current and thrust the spear.

Thud!

Though the sound was satisfying, it missed its mark.

“Damn it…”

Thud! Thud!

He tried predicting the fish’s movements, aiming slightly off, but the result was the same.

Of course, no fish was foolish enough to get caught by an amateur.

“Damn it… This isn’t as easy as it looks.”

Abandoning the spear, Jiwoon lit a cigarette and thought of another plan. A less effort-intensive way to catch fish…

“That’s it!”

Heading back into the forest, Jiwoon gathered tough vines. He planned to make a net.

With an abundance of tangled vines, he quickly collected enough to get started. Using his Swiss Army knife, Jiwoon worked diligently—twisting, tying, cutting, and weaving.

In about 20 minutes, he’d fashioned a small net big enough to catch a single fish.

Inside the net, he placed an empty coffee can that still had a few scraps of meat clinging to it, using it as bait. He also added two fist-sized stones for weight.

“Done. Let’s see how this works.”

Removing his combat boots and rolling up his pants, Jiwoon cautiously waded into the water. He spotted a few fish swimming nearby and gently lowered the vine net into the river.

---

“Burp!”

Jiwoon let out a long belch as fish bones piled up around him. The vine net he had crafted worked absurdly well, catching fish in no time. Snaring around ten fish took only moments.

After gorging himself on roasted fish until his belly felt ready to burst, Jiwoon lit a cigarette. Sleepiness crept over him—it was natural, considering he’d fasted for an entire day before feasting.

But Jiwoon shook his head vigorously, dispelling the drowsiness. Though he’d quenched his thirst and filled his stomach, he still had a long way to go.

“Guess I’ll wash up first.”

His appearance was a mess. Stripping off his combat uniform, Jiwoon pulled out soap and shampoo from his wash kit.

“This grime’s no joke.”

As he scrubbed his body with soap, dark streaks of filth spread in the once-clear river. Jiwoon didn’t mind, washing his hair and brushing his teeth with satisfaction.

“Phew… now that’s refreshing!”

Finally, after washing his undergarments, Jiwoon felt content. Once his combat boots were mostly dry, he prepared to set out again. He carefully tied his still-damp underwear to his bag and began walking along the riverbank.

Life originates from water. Ancient human civilizations were often born along rivers. Jiwoon figured this place wouldn’t be any different, so he followed the river downstream.

Pebble-covered stretches alternated with dense vegetation, and just as he’d get through the thick bushes, another narrow pebbled bank would appear. As the river gradually widened, Jiwoon held onto hope that he’d soon come across a small village.

“Huh?”

Pushing through a patch of tall grass, he emerged onto a spacious pebble field. The river narrowed here, making it possible to cross to the other side.

Quickly, Jiwoon moved toward the pebble field. The narrowing current was rough, but crossing seemed feasible.

“Alright.”

Putting his bag above his head, Jiwoon stepped into the water without hesitation. The current was far stronger than it looked from the outside, making it difficult to keep his balance. The shifting water threatened to topple him with every step, but Jiwoon pressed forward, cautiously regaining his center each time.

Then it happened.

Fwoosh!

“Huh?”

A sudden sound came from just two meters ahead of him, as something zipped into the water at high speed. Jiwoon couldn’t tell what it was, but one thing was clear—it had come from behind him.

His head whipped around.

“What…?”

In the forest beyond the pebble field, a small figure moved. It was too dark and distant for Jiwoon to see clearly, but one fact stood out: the figure walked on two legs.

“A person?”

Startled, Jiwoon forgot he was still in the river. Hastily, he tried to move, nearly losing his footing and falling into the water before regaining his balance.

With renewed hope glimmering in his eyes, Jiwoon turned back toward the figure and called out.

“Hey! Over here! It’s a person! Hello! Can you hear me?”

There was no response.

Jiwoon waded back toward the shore, shouting repeatedly.

“Is anyone there? Hello? Please, look this way!”

From deep within the forest, something emerged. Whatever it was, it walked on two legs as well.

A person—it’s a person!

Jiwoon’s emotions surged, tears of relief welling up in his eyes. He pushed through the water, yelling.

“Here! I’m here! Hey! Please, say something!”

But the “person” stood still, unmoving.

Then, more figures emerged from the forest—several of them.

Seeing the group, Jiwoon cried out in mixed relief, excitement, and desperation.

“Wait there! I’m coming! Please, talk to me! Say something!”

There was no way they hadn’t heard his shouts. Yet, they remained silent.

Soon, the group grew to about ten figures, all walking closer. Jiwoon, likewise, hurried toward them, splashing through the river—until he stopped dead in his tracks.

“What…?”

Jiwoon’s half-squinted eyes widened in shock, growing impossibly large in an instant.

What approached him had the shape of “people,” but they were anything but human.

Ragged clothing, crudely crafted clubs, and a few even carried what resembled makeshift spears. At first glance, they might have been mistaken for primitive tribesmen from remote African or Pacific islands around the early 20th century.

But what filled Jiwoon with dread was something else entirely.

Their grotesque proportions—short, stocky bodies no more than four feet tall. Sickly green skin that looked dirty and unnerving. Bald heads, short, thick limbs, and oversized faces twice as large as a human’s.

As a fantasy novelist, Jiwoon recognized these creatures better than anyone.

They were…

“Orcs?”

Orcs.

A staple of fantasy fiction since Tolkien’s The Lord of the Rings, where they first appeared. Ever since, they’ve been an indispensable part of fantasy literature.

Their origins are debated—some say their name comes from the “Oak” trees they were said to inhabit; others trace it to the barbarian hordes that ravaged medieval Europe. But nothing is certain.

Typically, orcs are depicted as less intelligent than humans and fearful of sunlight. Yet in some stories and games, they are portrayed as powerful creatures of darkness.

Most often, though, orcs are described as weaker and dumber than humans, cowardly and deceitful, moving in packs.

But no matter their intelligence, skin color, or societal structure, one truth about orcs remains constant:

Orcs are hostile towards humans.

(To be continued…)

Even without recalling the survival training he underwent during his military service, Jiwoon knew that the most crucial thing in his current situation was food. Yet, all he had to eat was two cups of instant noodles, one bottle of sports drink, and three cans of coffee.

“This is nowhere near enough,” he muttered. The scant provisions barely qualified as sustenance, leaving him uneasy. Perhaps that was why he desperately convinced himself he was still on Korean soil. Hunger was a terrifying thing—something he had learned all too well during his time in the military.

But this…

This is a different world.

Once that premise was set in his mind, Jiwoon’s judgment and actions became unexpectedly precise and coldly efficient. After all, he was an adult.

“Ugh, I’m starving…”

Since waking up, all Jiwoon had consumed was a single can of coffee. Unable to endure his hunger any longer, he gnawed on dry instant noodles. As he crunched on the noodles, he wondered, What about plants? Are they dangerous?

Jiwoon chuckled to himself. There was no point in pondering whether something was dangerous or not. Towering trees radiating ominous energy bore fruit too high to reach, and the few fallen fruits he found on the ground were either rotten or crawling with bugs—he had no courage to eat them.

The bushes, standing about three or four meters tall? Out of the question. Their tiny fruits, no bigger than fingernails and tinged red and black, didn’t look remotely edible. Even if they were, eating dozens of them wouldn’t fill him up. Most of the trees were half-rotted and swarming with insects anyway.

That left hunting. But that wasn’t easy either. The strange bird cries he occasionally heard while walking made him wonder whether he would eat them—or they would eat him. And he hadn’t even seen the birds making the sounds.

What about smaller animals, like rabbits or rats? Unfortunately, he hadn’t encountered a single one.

No, I must have been too focused on finding my way to notice any animal tracks or signs. This forest might be inhabitable to humans, but there’s no way it’s devoid of animals.

A forest this untouched by human hands would almost certainly have an ecosystem starting with small herbivores.
Wait… ecosystem?

Jiwoon’s thoughts froze. The presence of an ecosystem didn’t just mean small animals. It also meant predators—ones that could hunt him as easily as he might hunt a rabbit.

“Hm…”

Unnerved, Jiwoon instinctively glanced around. Fortunately, he sensed no immediate threat. Still, he couldn’t just sit idle. He rummaged through the pile of branches he’d collected for firewood to find something useful. Predictably, everything was too small or flimsy to serve as a weapon.

Though he couldn’t secure food right away, ensuring his safety for the night was top most priority. Jiwoon grabbed his flashlight. The dense forest was oppressive; even during the day, it had been dim, and now it was completely dark. Lost in thought by the campfire, he hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten.

Shaking the flashlight vigorously for about 30 seconds activated its LEDs, casting bright light several meters ahead. “Not bad. Definitely not a cheap knockoff.”

He searched the area until he found a branch about the thickness of his wrist and a meter long. Picking it up, Jiwoon muttered, “Firewood’s running low. I should gather more.”

With his flashlight clenched between his teeth, he scoured the ground for more branches and vines. Once his arms were full, he returned to the fire, grumbling, “This feels like Robinson Crusoe, except I’m older. Or maybe a modern-day 15 Boys on a Dead Man’s Chest scenario…”

He dropped the firewood and selected the sturdiest branch to crat a weapon. Drawing his Swiss Army knife, he began carving. Thanks to his military days, when he often made walking sticks during mountain excursions, he found it easy to shape the branch into a spear.

It wasn’t perfect—his small knife was hardly ideal for the task—but it beat using stones. Jiwoon silently thanked Changhwan, the friend who had gifted him the knife, as he worked.

Eventually, he finished. The result was a long, sturdy wooden spear with a sharp, rock-honed tip—suitable for both striking and stabbing in an emergency. Though far from the polished walking sticks he once made, it seemed reliable enough to fend off wild dogs.

With his weapon ready, Jiwoon found himself with nothing left to do. He had enough firewood, and while he was still hungry, there wasn’t much he could do about it.

He briefly considered reading a book but shook his head. What kind of situation am I in to think about reading?

“Let’s just smoke and get some sleep,” he muttered, tucking his flashlight and knife within easy reach. Stretching, he lit a cigarette and glanced at his watch. Past 9 PM. The alignment of the sunset and the time suggested he wouldn’t need to adjust the watch.

As fatigue from wandering the forest all day caught up with him, Jiwoon felt sleepy. Feeding more wood into the fire, he lay down near the flames and curled up to sleep.

---

Jiwoon was a light sleeper. Though he could fall asleep quickly and wake up refreshed even after a short rest, the faintest noise—like the vibration of his phone on a desk—could rouse him.

In the dead silence of the forest, the growl of a predator was impossible to miss.

Grrrrr!

“What… what was that?”

Startled, Jiwoon grabbed his spear in one hand and his flashlight in the other, leaping to his feet. The sound had come from the dark shadows ahead, where the firelight didn’t reach. The campfire was barely flickering, its flames dying out.

Jiwoon hastily turned on his flashlight, its beam slicing through the darkness. In its light, he caught a fleeting glimpse of something terrifying—a pair of glowing red eyes, glinting ominously before vanishing.

Swallowing hard, Jiwoon fought to steady his trembling hands. His body screamed at him to run, but he forced himself to stay put. The eyes had disappeared into the shadows, but he could feel it—the thing was still out there, watching him.

Gripping his spear tighter, Jiwoon stirred the fire with its blunt end, kicking dry grass and twigs into the embers. Flames sputtered and grew. If it was an animal, it would fear fire. Or so he hoped.

Sweat dripped down his back, and his legs shook, but he managed to keep the fire alive. The glowing eyes reappeared, fixed and unblinking in the distance.

“Stay calm, Han Jiwoon. Stay calm,” he muttered, adjusting his grip on the spear. His body instinctively settled into a stance that allowed for both stabbing and swinging—an instinct born of survival, not training.

Then, without warning, the creature charged.

Whoosh!

Jiwoon swung his spear with all his strength. For a moment, there was a dull thud, followed by a rough cry. The creature staggered back, and Jiwoon’s eyes widened as he finally saw it clearly—a hulking beast with dark, matted fur, sharp fangs, and an unsettling resemblance to both a wolf and a kangaroo.

Its crimson eyes narrowed as it snarled, saliva dripping from its maw. Jiwoon tightened his grip, bracing for another attack.

There had never been any record of a beast like this existing on Earth. If it did, someone would have to rewrite the entire animal encyclopedia.

Grrrr… Graaah!

The beast swiped its forelimbs through the air in a menacing display, letting out an intimidating roar directed at Jiwoon.

In that instant, Jiwoon aimed his flashlight directly at the creature’s head.

Graah!

Startled by the intense beam of light, the beast leaped back on its powerful hind legs. At a range of four or five meters, the concentrated beam from the flashlight was enough to make any creature instinctively close its eyes, especially one that had spent its entire life in the dim shadows of a dense forest. Encountering such artificial brightness for the first time was bound to be overwhelming.

This reaction gave Jiwoon a chance to collect himself. His heart was still pounding violently, but compared to when the beast first lunged at him, he felt a measure of composure returning.

“Come on, you bastard!” Jiwoon shouted, forcing his voice to sound as loud and sharp as possible.

He remembered hearing that even in battles between animals, victory could sometimes be decided by the ferocity of their cries. Imitating the beast’s growl, Jiwoon let out guttural cries of his own, Krrk! Krrk! Meanwhile, he continuously flicked the flashlight beam across the creature.

Grrr!

However, his attempts didn’t seem to intimidate the beast much. It kept growling and began circling him, cautiously narrowing the distance.

The standoff, brief in reality but feeling as long as the agonizing wait for an ex-girlfriend’s reply to a heartfelt confession, was suddenly broken.

The beast lunged, covering a staggering three-meter gap in a single leap, hurtling toward Jiwoon.

Graaaah!

“Damn it!”

This time, Jiwoon kept his eyes wide open. He had steadied himself since the first attack and knew that shutting his eyes could mean his end. With a reflexive motion, he thrust the spear he gripped tightly, aiming horizontally.

Swish!

The spear cut through the air but missed its mark, tracing a futile arc. As his strike failed, Jiwoon instinctively swung his left arm toward his face in a defensive move.

Thud!

The impact sent Jiwoon and the beast tumbling to the ground together. By some stroke of luck, the beast’s head, which had been aiming for his face, collided with Jiwoon’s wildly swinging arm. The collision caused the beast to lose its balance mid-air and fall right into Jiwoon’s chest, while Jiwoon, unable to counter the force, toppled over with the creature in his arms.

Graaah!

“Urgh!”

Man and beast hit the ground together, but the beast’s agility far outclassed Jiwoon’s. Even as they fell, its claws raked violently across his chest.

“Argh!”

But being so close made the attack less effective. Jiwoon clung to the beast’s neck with one hand and grabbed its thick mane with the other, yanking with all his might to throw it off.

Graaah!

The beast let out a furious roar, leaping free from Jiwoon’s grasp as he yanked out a fistful of its fur. Scrambling to his feet, Jiwoon grabbed the spear that had fallen nearby and took a defensive stance.

Grrr…

The beast, now enraged, bared its teeth, inching closer with murderous intent.

“Haah… haah…”

Breathing heavily, Jiwoon locked his gaze on the creature, fully aware of its speed. A single lapse in concentration, and he’d be finished.

Suddenly, without warning, the beast charged again, this time without any delay. Its attack was swift and relentless, unlike the earlier lunges that had given Jiwoon a brief moment to react.

Whoosh!

Jiwoon thrust the spear with all his might, slicing through the air just as the beast pounced.

Kyaaang!

A bloodcurdling scream echoed through the silent forest. The spear pierced through the beast’s abdomen, leaving it writhing in agony as it crashed past Jiwoon, grazing his shoulder in the process.

“Ugh!”

Pain flared across Jiwoon’s left shoulder where the beast’s claws had raked him.

Huff! Huff!

The beast lay on the ground, wheezing and thrashing weakly. It was clear that its end was near, though it hadn’t succumbed yet.

Ignoring the searing pain, Jiwoon approached, pulling the spear free. The creatures attack were weak, its claws barely grazing the air.

Thud!

Jiwoon stomped on its head with his combat boot, silencing its resistance.

“Die, you bastard! Just die!”

Jiwoon’s composure snapped. Overcome with adrenaline and rage, he repeatedly drove the spear into the beast.

Kreek! Kreek!

Its agonized cries faded, replaced by the sickening sound of flesh being torn. Blood sprayed, staining Jiwoon’s face and clothes, but he didn’t care.

“You worthless piece of crap! Die! Die!”

Thud! Thud!

At some point, the beast’s cries stopped. The only sounds left were Jiwoon’s breathless shouts and the rhythmic pounding of the spear against its lifeless body.

Then, suddenly, Jiwoon froze, his hands trembling. He threw the spear aside and let out a shuddering breath.

“Hah… hah… Damn it… What the hell…”

Tears rolled down his bloodstained cheeks.

He looked at the unrecognizable lump of flesh and fur before wiping his face with trembling hands. Slowly, his lips curled into a weak, bitter smile.

“I’m… I’m still alive…”

Jiwoon roughly wiped his face, smeared with blood and tears, with a towel and pulled out a pack of soju.

“Ugh!”

As he took off the top of his combat suit, a wave of pain he’d momentarily forgotten surged through him.

Stripping down to his T-shirt, Jiwoon glanced at his left shoulder. The last time he’d felt this kind of pain was when he was a kid and fell off the edge while riding a bicycle, cracking the back of his head. Back then, he had cried out of fear rather than pain. But this time, the pain itself brought tears to his eyes.

Opening the soju pack, Jiwoon cautiously poured some onto the wound.

“Argh!”

The cold alcohol stung like fire, amplifying the pain twofold. He nearly dropped the pack but clenched his teeth and retrieved a clean undergarment.

He wasn’t a survival expert, but he knew how infested wild animals could be with parasites. Thorough disinfection was essential.

After pouring about half the soju, Jiwoon wiped the wounded area clean with the undergarment.

“Damn it! You filthy beast!”

The curse slipped out involuntarily. Normally, Jiwoon refrained from swearing, believing that language reflects one’s character. But in moments like this, even a saint would curse.

Fortunately, the wound wasn’t too deep. Though a bit of flesh had been torn, leaving a scar inevitable, he was lucky it wasn’t worse.

“Ow, ow… phew.”

Once his first-aid was done, Jiwoon leaned back against a rock. It was around 5 a.m. according to his watch.

In any other place, the darkness would have started to lift around this time, but the forest showed no signs of dawn breaking. Muttering curses under his breath, Jiwoon lit a cigarette. The movement sparked pain in his shoulder again.

As he stared at the fire for a while, his gaze naturally shifted to the lifeless body of the beast, now reduced to a hunk of meat.

He remembered once beating a fearsome dog with a stick as a child and, during his military service, hunting snakes, rabbits, and pheasants for food. But this was different.

The fight earlier had been a battle for survival. If his wooden spear had been less forceful or missed, he might have been the beast’s meal instead of the other way around.

The thought sent chills down his spine. The idea of becoming food for a mere animal made him shudder anew.

Exhaling a long plume of smoke, Jiwoon spat in the direction of the beast.

“Trying to eat a human? Serves you right, you filthy mutt.”

After venting his frustration one last time, he stubbed out his cigarette and grabbed a suitable stick from the fire. With a flashlight in hand, he approached the beast’s carcass.

Squatting in front of it, Jiwoon ignored the foul stench of blood and flipped the body over.

Under the moonlight, the creature had seemed enormous in his terror. Now, limp and lifeless, it resembled nothing more than an oversized dog. Despite the matted blood and flesh, its mane appeared surprisingly soft.

“Damn it…”

Rummaging through the mane, Jiwoon scowled. Crawling insects teemed everywhere. Skinning the beast was a must, but the revulsion was unavoidable.

“Still, it has to be done. Damn it!”

When hunting and eating wild animals, caution was paramount. Simply skinning and roasting it wasn’t enough. Even domesticated dogs could harbor bacteria, so it was no surprise that a wild creature would be teeming with far more.

“Ugh…”

Jiwoon grimaced further but steeled himself. He dragged the beast closer to the fire, threw in every remaining branch and blade of grass, and watched the flames rise higher. Without hesitation, he shoved the beast into the fire.

As the fur burned, a bitter smell filled the air. Once most of the fur was singed off, Jiwoon retrieved the corpse with his wooden spear.

Most of the fur and the parasites clinging to it had been incinerated. Jiwoon pulled out his Swiss Army knife and slit the beast’s belly, extracting its organs.

After a long while, he managed to remove the contents of the beast’s stomach and chest. If there had been a stream nearby, he could have cleaned it more thoroughly, but this was the best he could do for now.

Switching between a razor blade from his shaving kit and his knife, Jiwoon carefully prepared the carcass. Surprisingly, the work wasn’t as difficult as he’d anticipated.

He flipped the gutted beast and pushed it back into the fire. The nameless animal’s meat began to roast, emitting a greasy aroma.

---

Though still dim, the forest was brighter compared to the pitch-black night when even a flashlight couldn’t reveal a foot ahead. Now, Jiwoon could make out his immediate surroundings.

After drinking a can of coffee, Jiwoon retrieved the empty can he had used the day before. Using his Swiss Army knife, he cut the tops off both cans.

Although the beast had plenty of meat, he couldn’t carry it all. In the damp forest, it would spoil quickly. Jiwoon ate as much as he could and cut the best-cooked portions to save.

He packed the meat tightly into the opened coffee cans, sealing them with the removed lids. There was no better way to preserve the meat in these conditions.

Still unsatisfied, Jiwoon fashioned sticks from small twigs, stripping the bark with his knife, and stored them in his travel bag. The meat inside would last him about a day and a half.

“Oh, almost forgot.”

Jiwoon grabbed the half-empty soju pack he had left near the rock the night before. Taking a sip, he gargled and spat it out before drinking another small mouthful. Then he sealed the pack’s opening tightly with a leaf.

He doubted it would spill much while walking, and two more rounds of disinfection would suffice. By then, the soju’s purpose would be fulfilled.

“Phew…”

After packing up, Jiwoon double-checked his gear and pulled out a compass to confirm the southwest direction. Using the wooden spear as a walking stick, he was finally ready.

Glancing back at the spot where he had fought for his life, Jiwoon saw the traces of the battle still evident.

He stared for a moment before resolutely turning away.

If he had seen his reflection, he might have been startled by his own steely and determined expression.

As he walked, Jiwoon thought to himself: The real struggle for survival might just be beginning.

The forest remained endlessly deep and dark.

(To be continued.)

“Dammit! Hell!”

Jiwoon cursed under his breath as he trudged forward. He could tolerate the stinking, muddy ground that swallowed his boots with every step. After all, he wasn’t wearing sneakers or dress shoes. His reserve army uniform included decent combat boots—though a bit stiff from lack of wear, they were still reliable.

The constant buzzing of flies or mosquitoes near his ears, sticking to his sweat-soaked neck and face, was also manageable. It was spring, after all—a season of life. In a forest like this, the absence of such creatures would be stranger.

“Damn this forest! Is this even part of Gyeonggi Province, South Korea?”

It was the forest itself that irritated Jiwoon the most. He had never seen such a flat, featureless expanse of trees. After walking for an hour, there was no sign of valleys or ridges—terrain he’d expect, even from his time serving in the rugged DMZ of Gangwon Province.

“This is weird. Really weird.”

Sweat dripping and swatting at insects, Jiwoon’s mind drifted to a memory of his school days, backpacking in Europe. He once saw forests like this while traveling by train: vast, dark green expanses stretching to the horizon. A local passenger sitting nearby had warned him that once you ventured inside such a forest, you could lose your way and never emerge.

He remembered hearing about the ancient forests of England and southern Europe, which, before World War II, spanned dozens of kilometers. Even viewed from an airplane, their depths were impenetrable. Inside, the trees blocked most sunlight, leaving the forest dim even at midday. Swamps scattered throughout added to the danger, while the climate made the air humid and windless.

Such forests, with their tall, dense trees, seemed picturesque at first glance. But once inside, those who ventured in would quickly find fear and unease replacing admiration.

“This is just too strange…” Jiwoon muttered.

It was a ridiculous thought, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that this forest was one of those primeval places.

“Damn it. Can’t I find a place to rest? Ah, that looks decent.”

Spotting a tree root resembling a massive tunnel, Jiwoon heaved a sigh and plopped down.

“Phew. Let’s see…”

He pulled off his bag and checked its contents. Inside were two clean sets of underwear, a black shirt, and three pairs of socks, along with toiletries from a convenience store and two clean towels. He was glad he’d taken the time to wash and dry his clothes earlier—something he wouldn’t normally bother with but had felt compelled to do while stuck in this unfamiliar place.

There were also two books: one about medieval European political economy and history for his next novel, and a collection of poems by modern English and American poets, including his favorite, Edgar Allan Poe. Jiwoon chuckled at the thought of what kind of poem Poe might write about this situation.

Continuing his inventory, he found a can of sports drink, four cans of coffee, and two small bottles of soju he’d picked up on a whim but hadn’t opened. He also had plenty of cigarettes—four cartons and four packs, plus three lighters he’d found in his pockets. Finally, there were two cup noodles left from rations he’d accidentally kept after a night exercise.

“Should’ve grabbed some from the other platoon,” he muttered, though the thought was pointless. Jiwoon prided himself on not stooping to take leftovers home, even in tough times. The cup noodles he did have were there only because he’d thrown them into his bag without thinking.

“Ha! Gotta thank Changhwan for this,” Jiwoon said with a smirk, pulling out two critical items from the bag: a portable flashlight and a Swiss Army knife.

The flashlight, gifted by his freeloading friend Changhwan, could run on batteries or be hand-cranked. In this forest, if nightfall caught him off guard, it could become his most valuable tool. The Swiss Army knife, which Jiwoon usually carried as a keychain, was bound to prove indispensable.

“Thanks, buddy,” Jiwoon muttered, deciding to treat Changhwan to some grilled pork belly when he got back.

He popped open a can of coffee and lit a cigarette. Even in this unsettling forest, the combination gave him a moment of solace. After exhaling a deep puff of smoke, Jiwoon pulled out his phone, only to see the same frustrating “No Signal” message. Clicking his tongue, he powered it off to conserve the battery.

Taking out the Swiss Army knife, he checked the small compass attached to it. It seemed functional. He decided to head southwest, reasoning that the reserve base was in that direction—and so was Seoul.

“Alright. Let’s keep moving…” Jiwoon muttered with a hint of unease. Though he refused to acknowledge the thought fully, part of him feared that this might not be South Korea at all.

---

Hours later, at 5:30 PM, Jiwoon’s eyes widened in disbelief and despair. After four hours of trudging southwest, he had finally reached a break in the forest. Bright sunlight spilled through, signaling an end to the endless trees.

Overcome with relief, Jiwoon ran toward the clearing. But as he neared it, an inexplicable sense of dread began to creep over him. The sunlight grew brighter, but it contrasted with an unnatural darkness welling up inside his mind.

Pushing down his unease, Jiwoon pressed on—until he saw it.

Beyond a steep slope lay another expanse of dense, dark forest stretching as far as the eye could see. The vibrant blue sky above only made the sea of dark green treetops below seem more ominous.

Jiwoon sank to the ground, his legs giving out beneath him.

“Where… where the hell am I?”

The forest offered no answers, only an eerie, unfamiliar birdcall that echoed through the oppressive silence.

It seemed almost impossible to find dry twigs and grass to start a fire in this perpetually damp environment. However, by sheer luck, the steep slope of the cliffside allowed sunlight to reach farther down, enabling Jiwoon to gather some fairly flammable branches beneath it.

The ground, soaked enough that his combat boots sank in with each step, made it difficult to find an open space suitable for a fire or even for resting. After another ten minutes of searching, Jiwoon finally found a spot he could consider satisfactory.

It was a flat patch of land near a large boulder, roughly the size of a small car. Thanks to the boulder being deeply embedded in the earth, even the strange, twisted trees that dominated the forest couldn’t take root there.

“The soil’s good too. Alright, this will do,” he murmured.

The ground here wasn’t sticky with moisture but instead felt crumbly and dry, as if long-eroded particles from the boulder had settled around it. Jiwoon used the heel of his boot to clear an area and then dug a small pit with scattered rocks he found nearby.

He placed dry vines and grass at the bottom of the pit, layered branches over them, and struck his lighter. Contrary to his fears, the fire caught quite well.

“It’s burning! Ha, it’s burning!” Jiwoon laughed out loud, his face lighting up with relief.

It had been a struggle. As he dug the pit with rocks, he couldn’t help but yearn for the modern collapsible military shovel he had used during his reserve army training. With that, he could have fashioned a proper shelter.

He sighed wistfully, then shook his head. What kind of lunatic would smuggle a military shovel out of reserve training?

But he couldn’t help amending his thought almost immediately.

“If it were Changhwan, that guy definitely would’ve snuck one out,” he muttered, chuckling.

He pictured his roommate Changhwan, with whom he often clashed despite their closeness. The memory brought a faint smile to his lips, but it was short-lived. The thought that he might never see his best friend again sent a heavy pang through his chest.

“No, that won’t happen,” Jiwoon reassured himself. But another thought intruded. Where am I, really?

He tried to dismiss it, but deep down, he couldn’t believe he was still in a forest somewhere in Gyeonggi Province, Korea. This wasn’t a new suspicion; it had been forming since about 30 minutes into his walk. But now, after hours of exploration, it felt almost certain.

For one, there were no signs of forest thinning or tree clearing. In a forest of this size, managed thinning would be standard practice to preserve the ecosystem and promote healthy growth. Yet here, there was nothing—a true primeval forest untouched by human hands.

Moreover, Jiwoon hadn’t seen a single pine tree, not even one. Even in the smallest of Korean forests, pine trees were almost ubiquitous. Yet, after trekking through this forest for over five hours, he hadn’t encountered a single one.

The undeniable truth was that this massive, unbroken wilderness—free of pathways, pine trees, or any trace of humanity—didn’t resemble anything that could exist in Gyeonggi Province.

Still, Jiwoon couldn’t completely convince himself he was no longer in Korea. The reason was simple: If not Korea, then where? How does this make any sense?

None of it did.

These kinds of events only happened in the fantasy novels Jiwoon wrote. Such things were impossible in the real world, let alone in 21st-century Korea. Yet here he was, experiencing what felt like the plot of one of his own stories.

“Haah…” Jiwoon sighed as he lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

The smoke calmed him, allowing him to methodically retrace his thoughts.

One thing is clear: this isn’t anywhere near Gyeonggi Province. That has to be the starting point.

Theories about being in another dimension or in Earth’s distant past were less critical. What mattered was this: he should have drowned in a river, but instead, he had woken up in a forest—a forest so alien in its natural environment that it couldn’t possibly be in Korea.

Jiwoon decided it was time to face the uncomfortable truth head-on.

“This isn’t Gyeonggi Province… or even Korea. Not a chance.”

This forest didn’t match anything he’d ever seen or heard of in Korea. And he, who should have been either dead or gravely injured, was somehow alive and unharmed.

He had enough material to formulate his grand assumption. The pressing question now was, What next?

“Hmm…” Jiwoon hesitated. A growing unease weighed on him as he forced himself to confront the worst-case scenario.

Still, he knew he needed to stay calm. His next actions and decisions depended on clearly defining a guiding premise—and once that premise was set, he needed to stick to it unwaveringly.

Finally, Jiwoon exhaled deeply and voiced the thought aloud, as if speaking it would give him courage.

“Did I… end up in some unknown world?”

The weight of those words settled heavily on his chest, like a stone pressing down on his heart.

(To be continued)

The Beginning of Survival (1)

The sky stretched high above, and the gentle spring breeze carried flower petals swirling in a dance that momentarily blurred Jiwoon’s vision. As he stared blankly, a petal adhered to his cheek. He instinctively brushed it off and lowered his gaze. A wide, fan-shaped crimson flower—geranium.

“Man, every time I do reserve training, it feels like I’m breaking down even more. My whole body aches,” one of the reservists complained loudly, patting his shoulder exaggeratedly. Jiwoon dusted his hands off and chuckled at the fuss.

The speaker was one of the reservists Jiwoon had grown close to during training. The oldest among them, with a friendly demeanor, he had naturally become the spokesperson for the group.

“Well, you’d better take care of yourself, big brother. Your wife’s probably waiting for you anxiously at home,” Jiwoon joked, grinning.

The reservists burst into laughter. The man, surnamed Park, scratched the back of his head sheepishly and gave Jiwoon a playful nudge with his elbow.

The three-day reserve training concluded by noon, marking the end of all activities. The reservists picked up their bags, exchanging farewells with fellow trainees and active-duty soldiers they’d grown familiar with, and started passing through the camp’s main gate.

Some, finding old acquaintances, banded together to grab a taxi, planning to hit a barbecue restaurant in Seoul for drinks.

“Hey, Han Jiwoon! Wanna join us? Yongcheol’s running a barbecue spot in Sinchon.”

“No, I’m good. You guys have fun!”

“Aw, come on. Well, if you change your mind, give us a call!”

“Sure thing.” Jiwoon nodded lightly to the reservist waving his phone at him, seemingly reluctant to part ways after sharing a bunk for three days.

“Where the heck is that guy?” Jiwoon muttered, glancing back toward the parade as the trickle of people leaving the camp slowed.

At that moment, a soldier came dashing toward him from the distance.

“Senior! Han Jiwoon, senior!”

“Hey, Corporal Oh! Took you long enough!”

“Sorry, the team’s work ran late. Here, I’ve got it—your two cartons and an extra pack.”

“More than I expected. Thanks, Corporal Oh.”

“Ah, it’s no big deal. The guys who don’t smoke didn’t want theirs anyway. And at 1,500 won a pack, it’s a steal for us.”

Grinning broadly, Corporal Oh handed over a plastic bag filled with military-issued cigarettes. Jiwoon pulled out his wallet, handed him seven 10,000-won bills, and said, “Here’s for the smokes, and keep the rest. You’ve worked hard putting up with all the reservists’ grumbling these past few days.”

“Oh, no, sir! I can’t accept this. Let me give you your change,” Corporal Oh exclaimed, flustered, waving his hands as he fumbled for his back pocket.

Jiwoon stopped him with a warm smile. “Just take it. Our squad didn’t even have a proper meal together. I’ve already given a little to the other reservists to hand out to the guys they liked. Don’t worry about it.”

“But still—this is a bit much…”

Seeing Corporal Oh hesitate, Jiwoon patted his shoulder lightly. “I said it’s fine. Back when I was active-duty, I used to get pocket money from townsfolk during community support missions. Is it too little or something?”

“Oh, no, not at all! Thank you, sir. I’ll use it well,” Corporal Oh replied, finally relenting.

Jiwoon’s joke left Corporal Oh flustered as he waved his hands wildly, eventually slipping the cash into his pocket with an apologetic expression.

Jiwoon liked Corporal Oh, who, despite his rank and experience, often displayed an endearing naivety. Patting the younger man’s shoulder a few times, Jiwoon offered a warm farewell.

“Alright, no need to feel too grateful—it’s not much anyway. Take care of yourself in the military. I’m off now.”

“Yes, sir! Take care!”

“Ugh, you’re going to burst my eardrum. Fine, loyalty!” Jiwoon chuckled, responding playfully to the salute before walking out of the base’s main gate.

---

The sun was still high in the sky, but with the lively reservists gone, the surroundings grew noticeably quiet. Jiwoon placed the plastic bag of cigarettes in his backpack and strolled toward the bus stop.

“Ugh, playing the generous guy is tough when you’re broke. 8,000 won… I could’ve stretched that for two meals if I’d been frugal. Maybe I went overboard.”

8,000 won. It wasn’t a huge amount, but for Jiwoon, it was far from negligible. At 28 years old, his cautious thinking might seem stingy, but his circumstances made it necessary.

Jiwoon’s profession was that of a novelist—specifically, a fantasy novelist, a genre considered niche and borderline fringe literature. Making ends meet in such a career wasn’t easy, and the royalties he received were just enough to support himself. To make matters worse, his publisher had recently gone bankrupt, leaving unpaid manuscript fees and making him acutely sensitive to any loss, big or small.

“Well, 70,000 won for four cartons of cigarettes… guess I made 10,000 won off this deal. Let’s think of it as a win,” Jiwoon muttered with a faint grin, amused by how his financial worries now extended even to such small sums.

---

After waiting for a while, the bus to the train station arrived. By the time Jiwoon had waited for Corporal Oh, most of the reservists eager to leave had already departed, leaving him the sole passenger boarding the bus.

“Empty, huh?”

Given the remote military base location and the bright midday hour, the bus had no other passengers. Not one to mind solitude, Jiwoon felt a touch of relief and settled into the backmost seat.

As the bus began its journey, Jiwoon leaned against the window, gazing out as drowsiness began to creep over him. He shook his head, trying to stay awake.

Corporal Oh had said it would take six stops to reach the train station, but if he fell asleep, he could easily miss it. However, three days of exhausting training, combined with his sedentary writer’s lifestyle, quickly eroded his resistance to sleep.

Don’t fall asleep… you can’t fall asleep… Despite his best efforts, Jiwoon’s head began to nod as he drifted off.

---

Screeeech! Bang!

“Huh?”

A deafening noise jolted Jiwoon awake, followed by a jarring impact. His eyes flew open just as his body was flung from his seat, tumbling wildly across the bus. Everything blurred in the chaos, and the driver’s seat seemed ominously empty.

“Urgh!”

Another violent thud threw Jiwoon’s body across the cabin. Outside, the scenery spun erratically before his consciousness slipped away.

---

Swoosh…

Wind howled through a dark forest, rustling through decaying vines and twisted, gnarled trees. It swept over a motionless figure sprawled on the forest floor before vanishing into the distance.

The figure, face-down on the ground, slowly lifted their head.

“Ugh…”

Jiwoon groaned, clutching his forehead as he tried to rise, only to collapse back to his knees. The pain coursing through his body was overwhelming, but the pounding headache rendered him unable to stand.

Remaining on his knees, Jiwoon pressed his thumbs against his temples, lifting his gaze. His head felt heavy as a stone, and his limbs throbbed with discomfort.

“Damn it…”

Rotating his neck a few times, his vision finally steadied, revealing his surroundings.

“What the…?”

The ground beneath his hands was damp and unpleasantly squishy. Around him loomed grotesquely contorted trees, their species indiscernible, in a forest dimly lit by the feeble sunlight filtering through the canopy.

“This… what is this?”

A forest wasn’t inherently unusual, but the last thing Jiwoon remembered before blacking out was the narrow valley and dark blue river beneath the plunging bus.

Now, there was no valley, no river—just an eerily quiet forest.

“Where the hell am I?”

Panicked, Jiwoon scrambled to his feet and surveyed the area. No matter which direction he turned, all he saw was forest. The air was thick with the stench of decay and the musty aroma of dying plants, making him recoil.

“This can’t be real… Wait!”

Reaching into his pocket, Jiwoon hastily pulled out his phone. No signal. The screen displayed “Out of service area.”

“What’s going on here? Damn it! Then again, in a forest like this…” Jiwoon sighed. “Alright, first things first—”

Though his body ached terribly, Jiwoon forced himself to move, searching the area. Yet, no matter how thoroughly he scoured the vicinity, there was no sign of the bus or any wreckage.

“Okay, it’s a forest. But where’s the bus? Even if it was destroyed…” He stopped himself mid-sentence, shaking his head.

Defeated, Jiwoon slumped against a nearby tree stump.

“Alright… let’s think calmly. Slowly.”

Taking deep breaths, Jiwoon’s thoughts began to settle. Though he couldn’t fully grasp the situation, one thing was clear: he had survived and now found himself inexplicably in a forest. His body ached, and his head throbbed, but he had no visible injuries, and his belongings, including his backpack, were intact.

As unsettling as the mysterious forest was, Jiwoon reassured himself that he was likely still somewhere in South Korea. He figured he’d find his way out in a few hours or, with luck, regain a phone signal soon.

“Alright, let’s move. All I need is a signal,” Jiwoon said, forcing himself to think optimistically as he ventured deeper into the forest.

The ominous atmosphere unsettled him, but Jiwoon steeled his nerves, focusing on the fact that he was alive.

(To be continued…)