Close your eyes.
Now, ask yourself.
If this is the beginning of a brutal, unforgiving game, what is my first move?
Simple. Assess the situation. Gather information.
With that thought, I managed to get my bearings.
Recalling the first task I’d set for myself, I slowly opened my eyes and took in my surroundings again.
Unfortunately, nothing had changed.
I was in a clearing, encircled by a dense forest. The darkness wasn’t held back by LED streetlights but by the unsteady, flickering light of torches. Most jarring of all, however, were the muscular, savage-looking men and women standing everywhere I looked.
“Congratulations, young warriors!”
Fuck. So I wasn’t hallucinating.
Whatever this midnight gathering was, their expressions were reverent, almost holy. Was the man in the center some kind of tribal chief?
Well, that hardly mattered.
“As of today, you will leave this sacred sanctuary and be reborn as true warriors!”
I closed my eyes again, letting the chief’s words wash over me, in one ear and out the other. I’m no doctor, but if I had to diagnose myself, I’d say I’d blacked out. I had no idea how I got here.
“Now, come forward one by one and choose the weapon that calls to you!”
Right. Let’s think this through.
What was I doing right before this?
The moment I tried to recall the memory, probing for any sign of brain damage, it surfaced instantly.
I’d been playing a game.
I was right outside the final boss room. Suppressing my excitement, I’d activated the portal. Then, suddenly, messages flashed across my screen—something about a tutorial being completed, about a transfer beginning—and a brilliant light erupted. And then…
And then I woke up here.
Somehow, that made things even more confusing.
“Come forward, Borin, third son of Falkar!”
First things first, I needed to check the condition of my body. I didn’t feel any pain, but it paid to be thorough. With that in mind, I lowered my head and froze.
What the hell was this?
“A two-handed axe! An excellent choice!”
The hands I looked down at were massive, almost comically so. And yet, they moved in perfect accordance with my will. I quickly checked the rest of my body and found a similar spectacle. Not only was I shirtless, but intricate tattoos snaked across a canvas of solid muscle. Glancing around, I saw that all the other young men and women were built to the same gigantic scale.
Once I pieced it all together…
No, there was nothing to piece together. The conclusion was unavoidable.
For some reason, without my knowledge or consent, I had become a barbarian.
“O Borin, third son of Falkar! You are now a warrior!”
Kidnapping, hidden cameras, a psychological experiment…
I purged all such possibilities from my mind. The situation had already presented me with the answer; it would be foolish to cling to some desperate hope, to twist the facts to fit a comforting narrative. It was far more productive to accept the truth and move on.
Whatever was happening to me was beyond the explanation of science or modern knowledge.
Besides this hulking new body, there was plenty of other evidence.
“Next!”
For one, the language these people were speaking wasn’t Korean, or English, or Spanish. It was a language I had never encountered in my life, in any form of media. The problem was, I could understand it as naturally as my mother tongue, as if the knowledge had been etched directly into my brain.
“Come forward, Astrid, second daughter of Gerda!”
For another, this situation felt… familiar. I couldn’t explain how, but it was true. At first, everything had felt alien, but as my senses returned, a strange sense of déjà vu began to creep in.
“You chose a sword! A fine choice for one as clever as you!”
Young barbarians, choosing their weapons one by one. On the surface, that was all it was. But it was eerily reminiscent of the opening cinematic for Shadow and Steel. Specifically, this was the exact scene that played when you selected ‘Barbarian’ as your starting race.
Could that really be a coincidence? The game I was playing when that mysterious light swallowed me was Shadow and Steel. And the character I was playing was a Barbarian.
“O Astrid, second daughter of Gerda! You are now a warrior. May the blessings of Aethelgard be with you!”
You have got to be kidding me.
I stopped trying to rationalize away my suspicions.
Aethelgard.
The single proper noun the chief had just uttered made everything else irrelevant. I knew exactly where I was now.
This was the world of the game I had been playing for nearly a decade.
“Is this… Shadow and Steel?”
The words, muttered under someone’s breath, weren’t mine. I glanced at the barbarian sitting next to me and was stunned. He looked completely different from the others. His breathing was ragged, his eyes wide with a confusion that mirrored my own.
“What… what is this? Why am I here?”
He even knew the name of the game. He had to be in the same situation as me. I felt an urgent need to talk to him, but I never got the chance.
“Who just spoke?!”
The chief’s voice boomed, so loud it made my eardrums throb. My head swam for a moment, but the sight of him glaring down in our direction snapped me back to reality.
“Was it you?”
Without a second’s hesitation, I shook my head and flicked my eyes toward the man beside me, a smooth, natural motion that even I had to admire. The chief’s gaze followed mine, settling on the other man.
Sorry, buddy, but you brought this on yourself. Why’d you have to open your mouth?
“Was it you?”
“Yes?” the man stammered.
“I asked if you were the one who was just muttering.”
Only now did I notice the strange expression on the chief’s face. This wasn’t just about someone speaking out of turn. This was serious.
“Oh, you mean Shadow and Steel? Yeah, that was me. Why?”
This guy still hadn’t read the room.
“It was you…”
A flicker of profound sadness crossed the chief’s eyes. A sense of impending doom washed over me, and I instinctively shuffled away from the man. He just tilted his head and asked, “Is this, like, a special event? Oh, maybe because I figured it out so fast…”
What happened next was too fast for my eyes to follow.
There was a flash of steel, followed by a wet, heavy thud.
Thump.
That was it. In that fleeting moment, the man’s head tumbled from his shoulders, rolling across the dirt floor. It was so brutal it felt unreal. My eyes relayed the information to my brain, but it struggled to process it.
A man’s neck had been severed right in front of me. I could see the white of bone and the ragged ends of muscle in the cross-section of his neck. Something white—fat, maybe?—spattered across my face along with the hot spray of blood and tissue.
But it wasn’t as shocking as I would have expected. It was like watching a movie, or an anime. There was no nausea, no crushing psychological weight. It felt like a dream.
Psssssh!
As I watched blood fountain from the severed neck, only one question remained in my mind.
Why the hell did the chief kill him?
“An evil spirit resided in the soul of Torvin, son of Joric,” the chief announced grimly. “Young warriors, erase from your memory the words this spirit uttered!”
The instant I heard his proclamation, the pieces clicked into place in my head.
Information 1: I am, by their definition, an evil spirit.
Information 2: If this is discovered, I will be killed.
Information 3: That could have been my head rolling on the ground.
At that final conclusion, a true, visceral fear that the sight of a man’s head being severed hadn’t managed to produce ran down my spine.
“Gunnar! Report this to the temple at once and take the body!”
“What of the coming-of-age ceremony, chieftain?”
“It will proceed!”
Despite the pool of blood spreading across the ground, the ritual continued. It seemed this sort of thing was common enough that no one, not even the other young initiates, batted an eye. Perhaps it was because I’d played so many brutal games, but in that moment, I knew exactly what I had to do.
If this were a friendly game, a pop-up would have appeared right about now.
New Objective: Survive.
Holding that new task in my mind, I forced my body to stop shaking. I mimicked the posture of the others around me, schooling my features into a mask of stoicism. No one could suspect a thing. To them, I would be nothing but an evil spirit possessing the body of its true owner.
“Next!”
The word, shouted after the brief, bloody interruption, made my heart plummet.
“Gedric’ fourth son, Stellan, come forward!”
I didn’t know my name. This was a life-or-death problem. If your name was called and you just sat there, you’d be the most suspicious person in the clearing.
“Next!”
Of course, I could just claim I’d misheard. That was plausible. But what if the chief, already on high alert, decided to press me? What if he asked me a follow-up question? I wouldn’t be able to answer a thing.
“Next!”
Did the sudden rush of fear sharpen my mind? A flimsy, desperate thought surfaced. If they call my name last, it won’t matter if I don’t know it, right?
“Next!”
I pitied myself. Was I really going to bet my life on luck? I’d never been lucky in my entire life; being dragged into this mess was proof enough of that. To survive this, I needed a much more solid plan.
“Next!”
So I observed. Keeping my chin level and my gaze fixed forward, I scanned the others out of the corner of my eye, studying their expressions, their movements, their tells. And as I watched, an idea began to form.
“Next!”
It wasn’t a hundred-percent guarantee, but my time was running out. I had to make a decision. This was the strategy with the highest probability of success.
“Next!”
“Next!”
“Next!”
The names kept coming. With each one, I counted to two in my head. After I’d done it eight times…
“Come forward, Alaric, son of Brand!”
Finally. The long-awaited moment had arrived.
The chief called the name. Two seconds passed, and no one moved.
Recognizing my cue, I rose to my feet. I squared my shoulders and walked with feigned confidence toward the tribal chief.
Step.
It wasn’t that I was unafraid. Even as I moved, a part of me screamed that I’d gotten it wrong.
Step.
If my judgment was off, this madman of a chief would call me out instantly. He might ask me something simple. Who is your mother? And I would have no answer.
And yet…
Step.
I didn’t hesitate. My heart hammered against my ribs, but I kept my breathing steady and my stride even. For one simple reason: this was my best, and only, shot.
“Young warrior, choose your weapon!”
In the end, my gambit paid off. There was no suspicion in the chief’s eyes as he looked at me, only the same gentle gaze he’d offered all the other young warriors.
I held my breath, suppressing a wave of giddy relief.
I had survived.
Less than ten minutes had passed since I’d opened my eyes in this place, but I had already accepted my reality. Some might find that strange, but denying the truth is a fool’s game. This was not a dream.
Alaric, son of Brand.
From now on, I had to live as him. Not just with his name, but as him—as this barbarian. I didn’t know for how long. I didn’t know if it was even possible to return home, or what I would need to do. I didn’t know anything yet.
Maybe I could go back once I met the game’s clear conditions? It was too early to tell, but I sincerely hoped that wasn’t the case. I hadn’t even cleared the 2D version yet; how was I supposed to clear it in real life? I might have to live here for the rest of my life.
With that sobering thought, I understood that the weapon I chose was critical. I knew that taking too long might draw suspicion, but I still examined each one carefully.
A one-handed sword, a two-handed greatsword, a mace, an iron club, a spear, a harpoon, a two-handed axe, a flail, a greathammer… all weapons of brutal, close-quarters combat. There were no bows or staves. Clearly, these brutes had no use for cushy, back-line roles like mages or archers. Considering their racial characteristics, it made sense.
“Alaric, son of Brand! Make your choice!” the chief urged as my deliberation dragged on.
I finally organized my thoughts. Barbarians had zero aptitude for magic but boasted incredible physical strength. For that reason, I always built my barbarian characters as melee vanguards. I’d tried an archer build once out of curiosity; it was a disaster. Their true value was always realized up close and personal.
And among the melee weapons…
This one.
After much consideration, I finally chose my weapon.
“Hmm.”
The chief, who had given praise and admiration after every other choice, had a strange reaction for the first time. I couldn’t blame him.
“Alaric, son of Brand! You are now a warrior!”
After all, I had chosen the one ‘weapon’ that no one else had touched.
At that same moment, in a dark, quiet room, a computer monitor glowed.
<Synchronization complete.>
<Character information and logs recorded and sent to manager.>
The previously silent CPU fan began to whir, its soft hum filling the empty space. The machine did not boot normally.
Beep-beep, beep, beep…
White text scrolled across the black DOS screen, synchronized with the beeps, as if typed by an invisible hand.
<You have successfully completed the coming-of-age ceremony.>
<New equipment has been installed.>
<Item Level has risen by +12.>
The sounds echoed quietly in the unoccupied room, endlessly, continuously.
<Alaric Brand>
<Level: 1>
<Physique: 25 / Spirit: 35 / Potential: 1>
<Item Level: 24 (New +24)>
<Combat Index: 67 (New +6)>