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It has been decades since I fell into a world I did not know. No, not decades. It may have been well over several centuries.
My once-black hair had lost its color and turned ash gray, and after fighting all this time, there was not a single part of my body without scars.
I had never even exercised, aside from taking taekwondo and kendo as a kid, so how did things end up like this?
I suppose when survival is on the line, you do what you have to.
Anyway, when I first arrived here, I was in some nameless cave. It disappeared long ago as time passed.
Was I lucky? No. Falling into this place itself could hardly be called lucky. Still, perhaps the bastard who sent me here had a conscience, because I was sent with basic equipment. Was this transmigration? Something like that?
Of course, I knew nothing about armor, so no matter how hard I racked my brain, I could not recall any useful information. I had been thrown into the wilderness with nothing but the clothes on my back. Well, they had given me a weapon, at least.
The armor seemed sturdy enough, but the weapon was not particularly good. It was a greatsword, but its edge was so dull that it was better suited for beating things than cutting them.
Still, what choice did I have? If I wanted to live, I had to wear it.
Strangely, the moment I equipped the gear, I understood how to use it.
Or rather, it felt familiar.
Was that also the work of whoever sent me here?
After I left the cave, time passed. I used the sword for a while before switching to another weapon and throwing it away. As I changed weapons, I realized that I adapted to other weapons quickly as well.
At first, I wondered if some talent I never knew I had was finally blooming. But no, I had no talent whatsoever. I had simply adapted through long use.
As time passed, this thing called adaptation began to seem strange, so I experimented with all sorts of things. A few years into those experiments, I earned the nickname Mad Dog.
Calling a person a dog was a little harsh, wasn't it? Sure, I looted the armor off the things I killed along the way, but they were dead anyway, so what did it matter? Besides, the ones I killed had attacked me first.
I tried all kinds of weapons, but nothing matched a longsword. Maybe it was because its owner was so ordinary. A weapon that suited the hand took after its owner.
Hmm. Maybe it was because I had used it the longest.
This was also the weapon I switched to first.
It was a wonder I had carried it this far.
Looking at it now, the blade was chipped all over too.
My idle thoughts were quickly interrupted. This body that neither aged nor died, no matter how much time passed, would sometimes let a month slip by whenever I became lost in thought. Perhaps I had adapted to this place, because even my sense of time had grown vague.
Come to think of it, according to recent rumors, they were called the Pale Ones? Or something?
I heard those people with bodies made of stone had formed a faction.
They were really trying hard to live in this insane world.
But no matter how well I adapted, my desire to return to the home I once had never went away. I wanted to go back to those days when I could play games and read novels at home without smelling blood everywhere.
Why am I rambling on like this, you ask?
Fuck, because those Pale One bitches captured me. What else am I supposed to do besides think?
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