He glanced down at his phone, the blue light reflecting in his eyes. An unfamiliar logo was displayed—yet the language was one he understood.
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"The weird part…" he muttered. "It knows my language."
Since the first day, nothing here had made sense. No readable text. No familiar symbols.
This shouldn't be possible. He'd read enough stories to recognize the pattern.
People get thrown into another world, and somehow everything just… adjusts. Language, systems, rules—like the world bends to fit them. Convenient.
He glanced around the ship.
"That's not happening here."
Nothing translated.
Which meant, this wasn't the world adapting.
It was the phone.
The first time it changed wasn't on its own. A broken cube had hijacked it.
Now, it was something complete… hidden inside a battleship.
He frowned.
"This isn't a small matter anymore."
But there was nothing else that could be done.
He liked this feeling—the sense that he might be someone special, the expectation of what was coming, the journey he was about to experience.
It sounded exciting.
Everyone dreams of becoming something they're not—someone chosen by destiny.
Well not him.
He didn't want the role. He just wanted the experience. He just wanted to see how far this would go.
He crawled back through the vent he had used to enter, moving through the darkness, guided only by the faint blue light of his phone.
Outside, nothing had changed, so he returned to the city.
Finally, the forest came into view again as he entered once more, surrounded by overgrown trees and fragments of buildings and machinery.
As he got closer to the wall, he noticed a way ahead.
The ground sloped downward, forming a smoother path than the surrounding terrain.
A patrol route, he knew it from experience.
He moved and hid behind a tree.
Soon, he heard footsteps.
Step. Step.
A squad of ten came into his view, spread out on both sides, blocking the path, with three more from the HMG team following behind.
Mud-covered uniforms—old military style, similar to World War-era gear. Wearing gas masks. Rifles on their backs and grenades on their belts. Everything was sealed tight, with no exposed skin.
Their formation wasn't stable, and some were out of sync. Inexperienced.
Except for the one in front.
That one was different.
He wore heavier armor. His helmet and chest plate looked reinforced. There was an insignia on it.
A machine gun rested in his hands. A pistol at his side.
His gear was worn, like it had seen real combat.
As the group moved past, the acidic smell returned. This time, he could smell two at once.
It wasn't a coincidence. He wasn't stupid enough not to notice. Every time he noticed that smell, something followed.
This time, it was stronger.
He pulled out his assault rifle, keeping the muzzle low.
Not rats. Something worse.
And one was already close to him.
....
At the same moment, the veteran stopped.
He took out a device. It looked like an old pocket watch.
It clicked open.
Then—
A loud crash echoed through the trees.
The veteran shouted something. The squad quickly spread out.
The device in the veteran's hand lit up. The air distorted.
The ground beneath them dropped, forming a zigzag trench as walls of dirt rose on both sides, but no one seemed surprised.
The squad's HMG gunner clumsily set up the weapon, aiming ahead as a creature approached from the front, not far away.
"Wait for my order!" the veteran shouted.
Second by second, its shape became clearer. The air grew heavy.
The recruits' hands trembled as the ground shook with each step it took. Trees cracked and fell in the distance.
"HMG— explosive rounds! Conscript, prepare grenades!"
The explosive rounds were filled with anti-magic dust, like the grenades.
They were created to deal with something of this size.
Rifles rested along the dirt wall. Trembling hands reached for grenades. Behind them, another recruit fed ammo into the HMG.
"HMG—aim for the legs!"
The moment the creature came into view, the veteran gave the order.
Clank! Clank! Clank!
"Sir… my gun's jammed!"
The veteran didn't hesitate.
"Prepare grenades!"
The recruits at the front didn't even know what they were facing.
Their breath fogged their visors. Still, none of them moved without orders.
It was ingrained in them—
Only move when commanded.
They took their stance—one foot forward, one back. Grenades raised to head level.
Too high, and the fuse would trigger.
Heat seeped through their uniforms.
"Throw—five meters forward!"
The device in the veteran's hand warped again. The ground ahead collapsed into a pit in the creature's path. A trap.
Whoosh—whoosh—
Grenades dropped in then detonated.
The explosion tore apart the beast's flesh and skin as shrapnel pushed deep. The grenades were filled with anti-magic dust fragments, slowing its regeneration. But only for a moment.
The veteran moved to the edge, breath hissing through his mask as he pulled two more grenades.
"HMG—ready or not!"
He threw them.
Another pair of explosions followed, and the machine gun roared.
"Conscript—clear your masks. Prepare to fire! You must not stop till it falls."
The recruits wiped their visors.
The creature climbed out of the pit. It wasn't dead.
"Fire!"
The conscript froze.
The beast dragged itself upward—body torn apart, one leg gone, intestines spilling, full of small bloody holes. Its head had already disappeared, the wound trying to heal, but something prevented it as smoke rose from the wound.
It was already too late.
A distorted red aura gathered at its missing head.
Then it released.
A red beam shot out like artillery fire, creating a shockwave as it passed. When it hit the dirt wall, an explosion erupted, shattering it into pieces.
"Ahhh—!"
One side of the trench wall vanished—along with the man behind it. Shrapnel tore through the line. The zigzag helped reduce the impact, but some unlucky men were still hit.
Some were hit in the body, uniforms tearing apart, others took shrapnel to the face, their masks cracking open.
The conscript fell to the ground, convulsing as he tried to breathe. Smoke rose from inside. A muffled scream echoed within the mask.
The veteran rushed forward without hesitation, forcing him down and slamming the conscript's face into the dirt with a stomp.
Better to suffocate—than to breathe.
The conscript, face buried in the dirt, struggled violently. He grabbed at the veteran's boot, but it only drove him deeper, the dirt muffling each breath as he fought to breathe.
Then nothing moved.
Not a single conscript reacted. Of course they didn't. They all knew what breathing meant. Most wouldn't bother. This one did.
If he made it to the end, he might have a chance.
"Fire!" the veteran shouted again.
This time, they obeyed. No one wanted to be next.
The veteran's grip tightened. The conscripts would answer for this—if they survived.
Rifles snapped up, all aiming for open wounds.
Bullets tore through the air, making small explosive sounds where they hit.
Some conscripts had exposed skin where their uniforms had torn. Burns threw off their aim.
Stray bullets struck an invisible force, where no wound had been moments before, and bounced away.
Ratatatatata!
The HMG roared.
"HMG ready, sir!"
This time, the impact was different.
This time, the HMG rounds punched through the invisible barrier, tearing into flesh beneath.
The hail of fire tore into the beast, ripping chunks from its body. More and more smoke kept rising as its body grew smaller.
All its legs were gone. It could only crawl slowly along the ground.
The veteran turned toward the HMG position when he saw something. Urgency radiated from him, breath vapor streaming from his mask.
Through the gunfire, the veteran signaled,
Behind.
A swarm of canine-like creatures rushed in from the rear with speed, tearing through the wood, drawn by the sound of battle.
The HMG squad couldn't stop firing, or it would recover. So the reloader turned instead, raising his rifle.
The rest of the conscripts couldn't turn—the distance wasn't enough.
The rifles had the range, but the conscripts didn't have the aim to match it, and the veteran had to stay near.
The veteran made a decision. He drew his pistol and threw it.
He cautiously observed his surroundings again, more alert this time. The swarm always had an alpha, but he couldn't see it among them. Why hadn't it struck yet?
If it attacked now, the line might already be broken.
The reloader caught it mid-air and kept firing into the swarm, one rifle in hand and a pistol in the other.
The swarm was closing in fast.
Every shot hit, tearing it into an unrecognizable mess. Some were deflected by the invisible barrier, others exploded on impact, and some detonated midair against it.
Two meters. Close enough to see their jaws open.
The reload window opened.
—the swarm surged forward.
The line was about to break.
Ratadtadtadtad!
An echo of assault rifle fire cut down most of the swarm in a single burst.
Every shot did its job, not just killing, but deterring those behind. It bought the reloader time, just enough to reload and keep the gun firing.
An unknown shot broke the rhythm. The conscripts ignored it. The veteran didn't.
Every bullet that hit it passed straight through, no explosions, no tearing it apart. It simply dropped dead, not a hint of resistance.
Not one of ours, the veteran thought. He knew what the Empire was capable of, but this wasn't it. It didn't match anything in our armory.
From above the slope, a figure stood, clad in unfamiliar gear—at least to the veteran.
Most importantly. No breathing apparatus.
Impossible.
...
"I really didn't want to get involved in this kind of thing, but…"
He didn't usually get involved without a reason.
…well, this time, he didn't have a choice.
That reason was right behind him.
Roar!
He slid down the slope as a massive claw swept overhead, shattering trees in its path.
"Hey, brother—I already helped with those mutts. Think you can handle the one behind me?"
His tone was casual, too casual. Not that they could understand him anyway.
He blocked another strike, angling his knife to reduce the impact, then twisted away using the force to dodge the follow-up.
They seemed to have the situation under control. They could handle one more, right?
The slender beast appeared from above the slope as it rushed out. Its size couldn't compare to the one in front, but it was still as large as a human.
Its body was covered in knife wounds, clean strikes to vital areas, yet it still stood.
He'd already traded several rounds with it. No matter how clean the strike, the wounds sealed too fast.
It wasn't that he couldn't keep going. His knife was already dull, its edge eaten away by acidic blood and worn down from repeated impacts.
Honestly, he was a little surprised it had held up this long.
Firing a gun would only draw more attention. But now he had a better option.
He glanced at the veteran, although he didn't understand the words, but just recognized the body language.
He was definitely cursing me. Yeah… no doubt about that.