Awakening of the Imprint
Shuuuwoooong— Kwaaang!
Kurururung!
In the pitch-black darkness, the first sensation was the earth-shattering roar of the ground being torn apart.
The vibration felt like hundreds of horses charging as one, pulverizing everything in their path.
The destructive power of the Yan Empire's mid-tier cavalry unit—500 strong—in their wedge formation ripped even my unconscious mind to shreds.
Trivial modern memories, the ones I'd dismissed as useless, scattered like ash from a burned film reel.
The cool convenience store AC breeze, the lukewarm smartphone screen from bingeing mobile games and Inbang streams—all mirages before this hellish northern gale.
"Kuhuk...! Heok, heuk!"
The stale air pooled in my lungs burst out like a scream.
Flash!
My eyes snapped open to a sticky red veil.
Was it wolf blood? My own from burst eyelids? Or blood from the slave soldier corpses? In that brief blackout, my frozen body couldn't tell.
Hot wolf blood poured over the frozen snow, instantly forming a red ice sheet that cracked loudly across my face.
I frantically scanned my surroundings.
An eerie silence blanketed everything.
The wolves' world-devouring howls and the soldiers' shouts from moments ago—gone.
Whiiiiiing—
Only the wind howled, mingled with faint, distant screams from the nomads and the occasional sounds of slave soldiers and wolf corpses being cleared away.
Echoes still rang from afar, proof that fighting continued in one sector.
'Am I... alive?'
I twitched my fingertips.
The pain from unfinished wooden spikes under my ass and the cold ground felt real enough.
Still alive, somehow.
I tried to rise, but agony from my left shoulder dropped me back down.
Throb, throb!
A wolf had shoved my left arm's shield—wrapped around me like a breastplate—and bitten deep, gnawing into the bone joints.
Then it happened.
A grotesque grinding like gears meshing echoed in my skull—not hallucination, but viscerally physical, a cool, sharp clarity amid the pain surging through my body.
Zzzt, chijijik— crackle!
No flashy status window effects, no prior alerts.
Instead, the short, desperate records of my survival struggles flashed like a panorama through my mind, slamming into every muscle and bone along my blood vessels.
'Aaaak! Kuaaaak!'
The pain was too intense for screams—short, brutal, honest.
The trajectory of the broken, useless short spear I'd hurled in terror at the charging wolf reversed up my elbow nerves.
The instant muscle contraction of grabbing and throwing it, the wrist's faint tremble, the emptiness of missing the target—all that data forcibly imprinting across my body.
Wooduk, uduk!
This panoramic influx of experience literally carved into my flesh—a brand, a reward.
> [First Battle Results Being Settled]
> [Results Settled: Survival]
> [Victory Conditions: Contribution too minimal to meet requirements]
> [Action Log: Short Spear Throw x5, Stone Throw x2, Shield Throw x3, Numerous threats and evasions]
The voice was a small, clear whisper circling my ears.
After the brain-melting pain, flames raced upward especially scorching my arms, soon felt as my right arm's ligaments subtly reassembling differently.
> [Imprint Manifested: Pathetic Throwing Skill (F)]
> [Imprint Manifested: Cowardly Survival Instinct (F)]
"Heh, heok... heh... heh, kekeke..."
A hollow laugh escaped me.
Aside from part-time gigs, I'd been a NEET, shuffling between my room PC, smartphone, and PC bangs, grinding countless games and characters.
Skills this pathetic? I'd fodder them for EXP without a second thought, ignoring the pay-to-win trash they pushed.
No auto-aim guarantee on Pathetic Throwing Skill? But in this hellhole as a slave soldier, it was my sole proof of survival—the faint hope in this jewel-like world.
Thud, thud, thud.
Rough military boots crunched toward me over the snow.
"Hey, look at this barbarian. Giggling even now. Is he nuts?"
Whack—!
A heavy leather boot slammed mercilessly into my side.
"Guk! Kuhk!"
I crumpled, rolling on the ground from the pain.
In my vision: a regular soldier with rat-like slit eyes, behind him the squad leader casually picking his ear with a blank face.
And approaching, the platoon leader wiping bloodied iron sword haphazardly on a rag.
Like other infantry, they checked how many 'usable meat shields' among the slave soldiers survived the cavalry sweep.
"Platoon leader, sir, this one's luck is insane. In that mess, only him and a few huddled in the corner kept all limbs intact."
The regular soldier fawned, eyes on the leader, who spat kack—ptui! on the ground with annoyance and glared down at me.
To him, I wasn't human—just expendable fodder for the next fight.
"Not luck. Cowardice. Hid under corpses. All barbarians are like that. Weak sticks, though."
The leader sneered, turning away disinterested.
Old me would've just bowed my head, waiting out the storm.
But now?
'I see it... his openings.'
Was it the strange experience etched on my retinas? The Cowardly Survival Instinct (F)? Or Pathetic Throwing Skill (F)?
Under the leader's helmet as he turned from kicking me: loose nape joint on his armor—sloppily maintained.
Arm and leg joint gaps.
And oddly, the position of his scabbard and sword hilt at his waist caught my eye.
Thump, thump, thump.
My heart raced.
Dive in and yank that iron sword to swing?
Or hurl the wolf's broken rib at my feet?
Chuck the short spears tucked at my lower back at those spots?
The imprinted 'throwing' sensation simulated endlessly in my head.
Not 27 years of modern reason—but beastly instincts and intuition force-fed on the battlefield.
"Squad leader, round up this one and the others, cram 'em back in the wagons! Gotta get inside the Great Wall before those nomad horse-rats swarm again!"
"Yes, sir."
The squad leader yanked my nape, hauling me up forcibly.
Squish!
Insane strength in his grip.
"Hey, barbarian. You don't get words, but listen: wanna live? Shape up. Next time, cavalry won't save your ass. Got it?"
His 'advice' was more gripe at the platoon leader using him before discharge.
I swallowed dryly instead of answering, silently shuffling to grip the iron bars of the transport wagon I'd come in, hands trembling.
Wolf blood and dirt squelched on my palms.
Clunk! Crash!
Thrown back inside, I curled into the corner.
The Central Plains slave next to me—from the row over, who'd seen my actions—glared in contempt.
Didn't care.
I quietly clenched and unclenched my right fist, weighing the pathetic, desperate 'experience' now etched in my nerves.
'Pathetic Throwing Skill or Cowardly Survival Instinct—doesn't matter.'
Grind.
I gritted my teeth.
If this was my only capital to avoid ending as meat shield and arrow fodder in this jewel-like world, I'd gladly etch more—cowardlier, more desperately.
Clunk, jolt—
About an hour later, post-battle cleanup done, the procession lurched forward again.
Through a small hole in the front wooden wall, beyond the snow-mantled road ahead, the faint outline of the massive Northern Great Wall emerged.
Not sanctuary—but a grander slaughterhouse, I knew from history and my barbarian slave soldier status here.
I slipped a hand inside my clothes.
A sharp wolf fang I'd unconsciously grabbed while crawling the battlefield snagged my fingers.
'Next time... definitely.'
My first real battle and settlement ended.
Hell’s second act screeched onto the stage in my ears.