Chapter 1: Initial Assessment

Where was she?

Su Luo’s mind reeled.

One moment, she’d been standing in line at the noodle shop near school, eagerly awaiting her bowl of steaming rice noodles.

The next, she was here—wherever “here” was.

A strange, desolate place, alien and unsettling, as if the world had shifted beneath her feet in the blink of an eye.

Panic fluttered in her chest as she spun around, eyes darting for any sign of life.

But the world was empty, silent, save for the faint whistle of wind.

No one.

Nothing.

Was she kidnapped?

No, that didn’t add up.

Su Luo, an orphan with no wealth or connections, was hardly a prime target for abductors.

A prank, then?

Some kind of reality show stunt?

But even that seemed implausible—snatching someone without consent was illegal, wasn’t it?

Besides, she hadn’t blacked out.

There was no groggy haze of waking from unconsciousness.

It was instantaneous, like stepping through an unseen door.

Her mind raced, grasping at the only explanation that fit: this was something “otherworldly”.

“Is anyone there?” she called softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

In the eerie stillness, even a murmur should carry.

She didn’t dare shout louder, wary of what strange things her voice might summon.

Ten seconds passed.

Nothing.

No reply, no rustle of movement.

With a sigh, Su Luo abandoned the effort and turned her focus to her surroundings, forcing herself to stay calm.

Years in the orphanage had taught her this much: crying and panicking were useless.

Only cool-headed observation could keep her safe.

And Su Luo was the sort who grew steadier the more dire the situation.

Her eyes swept the scene.

Rows of gray, dilapidated houses lined the area, their crumbling facades giving the impression of an abandoned demolition site.

Above, heavy black clouds pressed down, casting an apocalyptic gloom over the landscape.

She stood on a wide road that stretched endlessly ahead, its end swallowed by the horizon.

Curious, she tried walking backward, only to collide with an invisible barrier, unyielding as glass.

A wry smile tugged at her lips.

“Well,” she muttered, “at least it’s clear which way I’m supposed to go.”

Determined to explore, Su Luo scanned for an escape route.

In a shadowed corner, something caught her eye.

She approached cautiously and gasped.

There, neatly arranged on the ground, was a row of wooden weapons—swords, spears, and knives, their craftsmanship simple but deliberate.

“Thank goodness,” she breathed, patting her chest.

“If I’d missed these, I’d be defenseless if something attacked.”

Su Luo was no stranger to fighting.

Orphanage life had hardened her, teaching her to strike hard and fast.

There was no money for formal training, but survival demanded skill.

The kids who couldn’t fight didn’t last long, picked apart by the cruelties of the outside world.

She’d learned to channel her strength into one word: ‘ruthless’.

Her gaze fell on the weapons, and her heart quickened.

She’d read countless martial arts novels, where heroes wielded all manner of blades and tools.

But for her, it was always the sword.

Other girls might fawn over flowing ribbons or musical instruments turned deadly, and boys might chase the flair of spears or scythes.

Not Su Luo.

In her mind, the sword was unmatched.

In wuxia tales, it was the weapon of the noble warrior, cutting down foes with elegant precision.

In cultivation stories, it was the tool of the sword immortal, soaring through the skies, radiating charisma.

The sword was her dream, her ideal.

She reached for a wooden sword, its weight familiar and comforting in her hand.

A sudden chime rang in her mind: ‘Ding! Would you like to learn Basic Swordsmanship? [Yes] [No]’.

Stunned, Su Luo hesitated before whispering, “Yes.”

Knowledge flooded her mind—stances, grips, strikes—as if etched into her very being.

She reached for a nearby wooden saber, curiosity piqued, but it wouldn’t budge, as if rooted to the ground.

“Fine,” she muttered, chuckling.

“Guess this game only lets you pick one.”

She carefully rearranged the weapons to look untouched, a habit of caution from her years of fending for herself.

Standing, she prepared to move on when something caught her eye—strange patterns carved into the wall of a nearby house.

She studied them, running her fingers over the lines, but they revealed nothing.

No hidden switches, no secret doors.

With a shrug, she pushed down the unease and set off down the road.

She hadn’t gone far when she froze, eyes wide.

“Holy—!” The curse slipped out before she could stop it.

She glanced around, heart pounding, but the silence reassured her.

No one had heard.

“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, thinking of Mama Dean.

The orphanage’s matriarch had strict rules: fighting was for survival, but cursing was pointless, a stain on one’s dignity.

Su Luo could still hear her voice: ‘ “If someone bothers you, endure it if you can. If you can’t, find someone who can handle them—or beat them into submission. Cursing is the coward’s way.” ‘

The memory brought a fleeting smile to Su Luo’s lips, quickly erased by the sight before her.

A writhing mass of giant insects blocked her path—ants, cockroaches, mosquitoes, each the size of a small dog.

Their grotesque forms churned her stomach, their legs bristling with coarse hairs, magnified as if under a microscope.

She couldn’t fathom fighting through them.

Desperate, she circled the area, searching for another way.

Nothing.

No side paths, no shortcuts.

The only way forward was through the swarm.

Her first instinct was to give up.

Not out of fear—she wasn’t afraid of bugs—but the sheer number was overwhelming, a visceral assault on her senses.

Yet surrender wasn’t in her nature.

Steeling herself, she gripped the wooden sword and charged.

To her surprise, the blade, though made of wood, sliced through the insects like a hot knife through butter, cleaving their bodies with ease.

Green blood sprayed, and translucent slime coated her arms, but she pressed on.

“There’s too many!” she groaned, hacking away.

“Green blood? Seriously? And—ugh—don’t splatter me with that goo!”

Her complaints echoed in her mind as she fought, the swarm seemingly endless.

Her white shirt was soon streaked with green and slime, her jeans torn into a mockery of fashion.

But Su Luo barely noticed.

The bugs kept coming, relentless, and her mind narrowed to a single, primal command: ‘Kill. Kill. Kill.’

Time blurred.

Hours, perhaps days, passed in a haze of slaughter.

Even years later, when Su Luo had grown stronger, the memory of that battle would send a shiver through her.

For weeks after, the mere sight of an insect made her gag.

In her final moments of that ordeal, the bugs overwhelmed her, their bodies piling high.

Exhausted, she closed her eyes, surrendering to the darkness.

When she awoke, her body was clean.

The insect corpses, her wounds, the filth—all gone, as if the nightmare had never happened.

Only a faint green stain on her sword confirmed the reality of it all.

She sat there, trembling, pulling herself back from the brink of madness.

Then, gripping her sword, she stood.

There was no turning back now.

The houses faded as she walked, giving way to barren grasslands and swirling dust.

The oppressive clouds parted, revealing a scorching sun.

But the world wasn’t improving.

The air grew hotter, the landscape more desolate, shifting into a vast desert.

Su Luo’s sharp instincts told her what was coming: a test of endurance.

“This feels like a video game,” she mused, half-joking.

“Did I get isekai’d into some RPG?”

Sand dunes stretched endlessly before her, a faint highway weaving through them.

She was a lone black speck in the sea of gold, trudging forward, weary and parched.

Her legs ached, her throat burned, but she didn’t stop.

She recalled a school hiking trip from her childhood, when her teacher had stopped the kids from resting: ‘”Keep going. If you sit, your spirit breaks, and the road gets harder.”‘

The lesson had stuck with her.

In the distance, a flash of green caught her eye—an oasis!

Her heart leaped, tears pricking her eyes.

A rest stop, at last.

She nearly sprinted toward it but caught herself.

If this was a game—or some bizarre livestream—she wouldn’t look desperate.

She straightened, walking with deliberate calm, as if daring an unseen audience to judge her.

But the oasis never grew closer.

After what felt like hours, she glanced up, only to find the green mirage gone, replaced by endless sand.

She climbed a dune, hoping for a better view, but saw nothing.

The truth hit hard: it had been a mirage.

Her chest tightened with an unfamiliar pang—grief, perhaps, or frustration.

Why was she here?

Why was she alone, forced to face these trials with no one to help?

She sniffed, shoving the feeling down.

Whining was for those with someone to listen.

She had only herself.

The sun blazed, sand stung her skin, and each step tested her limits.

She longed for the insect battle, gruesome as it was—at least it had been alive.

Now, the world felt dead, devoid of even a single blade of grass.

Her grip on the sword weakened, temptation whispering to discard it.

But reason held firm: who knew what lay ahead?

And her heart, steeped in novels, warned her not to abandon a beginner’s weapon—it might hold hidden power.

Time lost its meaning.

Her body moved on instinct, each step heavier than the last.

Her mind dulled, too exhausted to think.

Then, darkness swallowed her vision, and she knew no more.