Prologue: No Safety Nets in the Wild

The wild offers no safety nets whatsoever, making it incredibly dangerous. Even calling it "dangerous" falls short—it's brutally, mercilessly harsh. Beasts that could lunge out from anywhere, swarms of insects lurking everywhere, plants that can kill with a mere brush. For fragile humans to survive the wild, they have no choice but to band together tightly.

That's how they endure, gaining knowledge and wisdom along the way, and use it to erect mighty barriers called "civilization." Inside civilization, humans become relatively much safer. From then on, conflicts arise not with the wild, but among themselves. They denounce each other as barbarians over differences in culture and language, act rudely, and it inevitably escalates to fights.

Even amid such clashes, civilization remains civilization. It's undeniably far safer than the wild. But has that become a poison? Or is it because they abandoned their wild instincts for dialogue? Ironically, civilization is overrun with scum worse than beasts.

That realization hit me after clawing my way through the wild and returning to civilization. There were people committing atrocities so vile you had to wonder if humans were even capable of such things. Worse than beasts—some even worse than demons. What do you call them? Human trash? Waste? Sons of bitches? Whatever. This is what I'll call them.

"You. Worse than beasts."

To those worse than beasts. "I'll beat you."

Beatings are the cure. I know from experience. Normally, you'd face social backlash, but I'm fine. With no connections, background, or ties, I just shoulder the blame myself.

After all, I'm a "wild man" who lived in the wild before entering civilization's fold.

And one last thing.

"Wanna eat this? It's good."

"Yeah."

"Say thank you."

"Thanks."

People who share tasty food with someone like me? They're good people.

Whether possession, reincarnation, or regression, novels follow an unwritten rule: they start in civilization. Village or city, doesn't matter. You're born into human arms, interact with people, grow into a member of society.

Reincarnations usually take this route; possessions and regressions vary a bit. But most still begin in civilization.

Why bring this up? Because of the scenery right in front of me.

What the fuck.

Perfect summary of my current mood. I have no clue what the hell is going on. It was just an ordinary day. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Worked my part-time gig as usual, headed back to my studio apartment, chatted with my parents like always, played games, and crashed.

But when I opened my eyes, a sea of green greeted me warmly.

"What the fuck."

The hell is this? I scanned my surroundings amid the dense forest scenery. Trees here. Trees there. Vines on those trees. Moss-covered trees over yonder. This can't be right. Drop me in a city at least—why this goddamn forest?

Figured it might be a dream, so I pinched my cheek. Sharp pain said otherwise. This was real.

"What the hell?"

And it wasn't just the deep green landscape and packed trees. A translucent hologram floated before my eyes, like a game status window.

A pathetically simple status window. I stared at it blankly for a while. A hologram straight out of a game. Absolutely nothing there. Even a newbie could see the stats were pitifully bare. No idea what to do with this.

"...Where's my clothes?"

Too busy grasping the situation to notice my outfit. Big mistake. Not fully naked, but a ragged sackcloth barely covered the essentials. What kind of Tarzan bullshit is this? At least give me proper clothes. Lucky the forest ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠was warm; anywhere cold, and I'd be a goner.

Was my skin always this pale?

Checking my body, first thing: skin white as a ghost. I remembered a decent Asian tone, but now it's powdered snow. Felt off, but not the priority. I shifted focus back to the sackcloth.

...This feels familiar from somewhere.

Before bed, I'd played a game. Famous for insane freedom, especially in "character building." Stats and skills you honed determined your path—infinite possibilities.

It had "origins" too. Pick a starting class. Say, knight: build standard, or pump Faith for paladin. Endless variety; newbies picked solid knight stats.

Vets chose blank slates to build from scratch...

Never thought it'd be me. I'd messed around with tons of builds. Come to think of it, right before sleep, I'd made a character. Did I become that one?

Bigger issue: the game doesn't dump you in the wild like this. Even rags get you to the academy first. Standard route, no matter the class.

Not for me.

"Fuck."

The more I thought, the shittier it got. Feeling the forest's humid air on my skin, I started walking. First, figure out where I am, then get out. Academy or whatever, survival first. One wrong move, and a beast could end me.

"Grrrrr..."

"..."

Fuck. Already fucked.

Hadn't gone far when a feral growl hit my ears. I slowly turned. Neck creaked like unoiled hinges.

"Grrr..."

"...A squirrel?"

Why a squirrel? Growl was vicious, but it looked just like one. Kinda cute, even—like a kitten hissing. But that thought didn't last.

If this was that game world, and this high-level forest only vets entered, I'd have bolted at first sight.

"KYAAANG!"

The squirrel unleashed a roar unfit for its size and charged. BAM!

Its body slam—more like a shoulder check—nailed my solar plexus. Tiny squirrel's iron ram pulverized me.

"Guhk?!"

Explosion-like boom. Body flew back like truck-hit, tumbling far before stopping. But trees everywhere—secondary crash. Pain everywhere, vision blackening.

That's definitely...

As consciousness faded, I saw the squirrel approaching slowly and let out a hollow chuckle. Post-strike realization: its identity. And this place.

Entry level: basic monsters. Deeper in: exponential difficulty spike.

Fuck...

Too much. Near ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the academy, sure, but why here? Didn't matter—lights out. Prayed I'd wake in my apartment.

"Ugh..."

No such luck. Solar plexus hit dead-on, yet I woke. Pain flooded my body. And something worse.

"This fucking... squirrel... shithead..."

The damn squirrel shit on my face and bolted. Conquest mark. To players like me, just a teabag. Why it's infamous.

Small mercy: my attacker was that squirrel. It gives one chance—if you survive. I just knocked out, still alive. Wolf? Dead meat. Maybe preferable.

Fuck. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Thanks a ton. I chuckled dryly at the message. "Ow." Hurt too much to laugh.