Mathew takes another deep breath, steadying himself as his eyes lock on the distant silhouette of the Empire's capital. The way the dark spires jut out against the fading light feels like a constant reminder of what he's up against.
But I'm going to make it. His fingers twitch slightly, still buzzing with the sensation from the punches. There's a newfound confidence building inside him, but it's fragile, like it could crack at any moment if he lets the doubt creep back in. His chest tightens as he starts walking again, each step a deliberate push forward, every rustle and snap of a twig threatening to break his focus.
The forest feels endless, the towering pines crowding him, their thick trunks almost like prison bars. He can feel the dampness of the ground clinging to his shoes, making each step slightly heavier than the last. His clothes are already starting to cling to his skin, the humidity thick around him, mixing with the subtle scent of wet bark and moss.
'Keep moving,' he tells himself. I can't stay here. I have to make it before nightfall.
The thought of what comes out at night chills him more than the damp air ever could. Danger beasts… He glances nervously toward the treetops again, almost expecting to see glowing eyes peering back at him through the darkness.
A sudden gust of wind sends the branches swaying, and Mathew freezes mid-step. His heart races again, pounding against his ribs like it's trying to escape. He clenches his fists reflexively, his muscles tensing.
It's just the wind, he reassures himself, but the feeling of being watched hasn't gone away.
Mathew forces his legs to move, but his steps are quicker now, more urgent. His breathing comes faster, and he can hear his pulse in his ears. The forest seems to close in around him, the shadows deepening as the last traces of daylight fade through the canopy.
Suddenly, there's a loud snap behind him, the unmistakable sound of a branch breaking. He whirls around, heart leaping into his throat, fists raised instinctively.
But there's nothing.
The underbrush rustles slightly in the breeze, but the trees stand as silent sentinels, their dark forms blending into one another. His eyes dart from shadow to shadow, searching for movement, for any sign of life. His breath catches as he scans the dense foliage, but nothing emerges from the darkness. Just silence.
'Was it my imagination?' he wonders, his pulse still hammering in his chest. But the feeling of being watched hasn't left. It's stronger now, crawling up his spine like cold fingers.
Mathew slowly lowers his fists, though his body remains tense, ready to react. The empty forest stares back at him, unblinking, and yet…
I can't shake it.
His feet move before he even realizes it, carrying him away from the sound, deeper into the forest. His pace quickens, his breaths coming faster as he weaves through the trees, the thick underbrush tugging at his legs. He knows running isn't the smartest move—if something is out there, it'll hear him. But his instincts scream at him to keep moving, to put distance between himself and whatever might be lurking behind.
'I just need to get to the city,' he repeats to himself, his mind clinging to that one goal. I'll be safe there. The capital has walls. Guards. Weapons. I'll be fine once I get inside.
But for now, he's exposed. Vulnerable. Every shadow feels like it's hiding something dangerous, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
The forest grows denser the farther he goes, the branches above intertwining, blocking out the fading light until everything around him is bathed in twilight. His steps falter as he realizes how dark it's getting. His breath comes in shallow gasps now, his chest tight with panic.
And then, from somewhere far off, he hears it—a low, guttural growl. It's faint, almost like a whisper carried on the wind, but it's enough to send a shiver of fear down his spine.
I'm not ready for this.
Mathew stares out at the Empire's capital in the distance, its towering walls and imposing architecture casting long shadows over the landscape. The dark spires loom like the teeth of a predator waiting to strike. For a moment, his heart skips as the weight of the world he's in presses down on him. But then his jaw tightens, and a flicker of resolve hardens inside him.
I need to get to the Empire, he thinks. That's the only place I can figure out what's going on, where I can get stronger. His legs feel shaky, and his mind buzzes with anxiety, but he knows one thing for sure: if he stays here, in the forest, he's a sitting target. He's read enough about this world to know that danger beasts roam the wilderness, and out here, alone, without any real weapons or allies, he wouldn't stand a chance.
He glances nervously up at the sky and the dark shapes of the trees around him. The air feels oppressive, thick with the scent of damp earth and pine, a mix of nature that's both calming and unsettling. There's a freshness to it that's different from the city he left behind, but there's also an unfamiliar wildness, like the forest itself is alive, waiting, watching. Every slight rustle of leaves, every crack of a twig underfoot makes him jump, heart racing as if something could leap out at him at any moment.
The wind blows softly through the branches, the leaves whispering above him, but to Mathew, it sounds like murmured warnings. His breathing is shallow as he begins walking through the forest, every step a cautious, deliberate movement. The ground is uneven beneath his feet, the soil soft and damp, sinking slightly under his weight. The smell of moss and wet bark fills the air, the moisture clinging to his skin as he walks deeper into the thick shadows of the woods.
He keeps glancing upward, eyes darting from tree to tree, paranoid that something is watching him. Danger beasts... they could be anywhere. The thought sends a chill down his spine. He knows enough from the show to understand that they're deadly, far worse than anything he's faced in real life. I'm not ready to face them yet.
Mathew tightens his grip on nothing, his empty hands trembling slightly. He's not armed. He has no armor, no weapons. The empty inventory in his system taunts him, a reminder of how unprepared he is. He needs to get to the city, find supplies, figure out a way to survive in this brutal world.
His heart pounds louder as he moves faster, his footsteps crunching softly against the undergrowth. Every sound feels amplified in the quiet of the forest—the snap of a branch, the rustling of leaves, the occasional distant caw of a bird. The forest floor is soft beneath his shoes, almost muffled, yet somehow, each step still feels like it echoes.
Suddenly, he stops. His breath catches in his throat as he glances around, eyes wide, his paranoia spiking. Was that something moving? The trees loom tall, casting deep shadows, and the underbrush feels thick, almost suffocating. The smell of wet pine and damp earth fills his lungs, but all he can focus on is the prickling sensation of being watched.
Mathew takes a deep breath, trying to shake off the fear. He feels the tension in his body rising, the need to prove that he's not helpless, that he's not weak. Without thinking, he lifts his right fist and throws a punch into the air in front of him.
The movement feels… fluid. Natural. As if his body knows exactly how to execute the motion without any conscious thought. His muscles move with a strange efficiency, like they've been trained for this. His fist slices through the air, the force of the punch startling him as it lands with a solid thud against nothing.
He pulls his fist back, eyes wide, looking at his hand in disbelief. That… that felt too good. His arm doesn't ache like he expected it to. Instead, it feels strong, like he's been doing this for years. It's almost automatic, like the muscle memory is already there, waiting to be tapped into.
"Woah..." he mutters under his breath, glancing down at his hand, flexing his fingers. Is this part of the system? He doesn't have any fighting skills listed, but that punch didn't feel like a newbie swing. It felt… refined. Controlled.
Mathew throws another punch, and this time, he feels the motion even more clearly. His body shifts naturally, his feet pivoting on the forest floor, his weight transferring smoothly from one leg to the other. It's like he's trained for this, yet he knows he hasn't. He throws a third punch, testing it again, and the motion comes even quicker, more precise.
A grin creeps onto his face, a mixture of excitement and confusion. I've never trained like this before. So why does it feel so natural?
His heart is still racing, but the fear has subsided just a little, replaced by a growing curiosity about how far this new body, this new strength, can go. He may not have Gamer's Mind to suppress the fear, but maybe, just maybe, this world's system has given him more than he realizes.
Taking a deep breath, he lowers his fists and scans the forest around him one more time. The Empire's capital is still far off in the distance, barely visible through the canopy of trees, but it's his goal now. He has to reach it, find out how to survive here, and most importantly, get stronger.
The unease lingers in his gut, but Mathew steels himself. I'm not weak. I can do this.
Mathew's steps grow quicker as he moves through the forest, his paranoia thickening with each passing moment. His heart thuds in his chest, the air heavy with the damp scent of earth and pine, but there's something else too—a strange, faintly sweet smell mixed with the sharp stench of decay. It sticks in the back of his throat, making him pause.
Ahead, through a gap in the trees, he sees something. At first, it's just a dark shape lying on the forest floor, but as Mathew moves closer, dread begins to crawl up his spine.
A beast? No, it can't be.
A large creature—at least twice the size of a wolf—lies dead in the underbrush. Its fur is matted with blood, its eyes glassy and lifeless. But what catches Mathew's attention isn't the dead beast itself. It's what's hovering over it.
A massive mosquito, nearly the size of a dog, its abdomen bloated and pulsing, is attached to the dead creature's neck. The sickening sound of slurping fills the air as the mosquito drains the beast of its remaining blood. The once-mighty creature is being hollowed out, its body slowly deflating under the assault.
Mathew's stomach churns, bile rising in his throat. What the hell...? He stands frozen, his muscles locking up in sheer terror. He had known this world was dangerous, but seeing something like this—up close, real—was different from anything he imagined.
Without warning, the mosquito stops feeding. Its long, needle-like proboscis pulls away from the beast's body with a wet squelch, and its beady, insect-like eyes shift toward Mathew.
His blood runs cold. Oh no.
The mosquito hovers for a moment, its wings buzzing angrily. Then, in a blur of movement, it charges toward him, the needle-point of its proboscis aimed directly at his chest.
Mathew's body reacts before his mind can catch up. "Oh shit!" he screams, turning on his heel and sprinting through the trees, his breath ragged with panic. His legs feel like jelly, barely managing to carry him as he crashes through the underbrush, the sound of the mosquito's relentless buzzing close behind him.
It's right on me!
The ground seems to shift beneath his feet, the uneven forest floor tripping him up as he stumbles forward. Every time he looks back, the massive bloodsucker is gaining on him, its pointed needle-like mouth gleaming in the dim light as it inches closer, its wings creating a high-pitched hum that drills into his skull.
Mathew's heart feels like it's about to explode out of his chest. His legs burn from the effort of running, but no matter how fast he moves, the mosquito is faster. It's only a few feet away now, its proboscis aimed straight for his back.
I'm gonna die. I'm actually gonna die here.
The mosquito lunges, its proboscis nearly brushing the back of his shirt. In a blind panic, Mathew spins around, raising his fist in a desperate attempt to defend himself. He throws a punch with all the force he can muster, and to his utter disbelief, his fist connects with the mosquito's needle-like mouth.
There's a sickening crunch as the blow shatters the proboscis, snapping it off at the base. The mosquito reels backward, its buzzing now a frantic whine as it stumbles in the air, thrown off balance.
Mathew doesn't stop to think. Fueled by pure terror, he rushes forward and throws another punch, this time hitting the mosquito square in the head. His fist slams into its bulbous eyes with a wet squish, and before he can even register what's happening, he's pounding it again and again, fists flying wildly in panic.
"Get away! Get away!" he screams, his voice hoarse as he continues bashing the mosquito, his punches growing stronger with each hit. The mosquito's wings twitch weakly, its bloated body jerking in midair, but it can't escape his assault.
With one final, desperate punch, Mathew sends the mosquito crashing into the ground, its body twitching violently before going still. Blood from the dead beast pools beneath the insect's body, staining the forest floor.
Mathew stands there, panting heavily, his fists still clenched, blood pounding in his ears. His whole body trembles, the adrenaline coursing through his veins making him feel light-headed. What… what just happened?
He looks down at the dead mosquito, its broken proboscis lying next to it like a shattered weapon. For a moment, everything is silent, save for his own labored breathing.
Then, a familiar ping echoes in his ears, and a transparent window pops up in front of him.
You have defeated a Bloodsucker Mosquito!
EXP gained: 250
Level up!
Level up!
Mathew's breath catches as the notification sinks in. He stares at the glowing screen in disbelief. I... I leveled up? Twice?
He blinks rapidly, still trying to process the words in front of him. His body feels lighter now, like the weight of fear has been momentarily lifted. But underneath the slight rush of victory, there's something else—an overwhelming sense of relief. Relief that he's still alive. Relief that, somehow, he managed to fight back.
But as he looks down at his trembling hands, still slick with the mosquito's blood, he can't help but feel a wave of nausea rise again. I almost died.
Mathew backs away from the dead insect, wiping his hands on his pants in a futile attempt to get the blood off. His legs feel weak, his whole body still shaking from the adrenaline crash. The forest around him seems darker now, the trees closing in, and the silence feels oppressive.
He swipes the menu away, trying to focus. I have power—leveled up, after all. But the fear is still there, lingering, gnawing at me.
Mathew swallows hard, glancing back in the direction of the Empire's capital. He needs to keep moving. He needs to get stronger. But as he starts walking again, there's no denying the truth in the pit of his stomach.