He woke up tangled between sleep and reality, cold air biting his skin. The smell of wet dirt filled his nose.
His eyes opened.
Everything was fog and gray-green shadows. Mist hung low, drifting through trees like smoke.
A shiver ran through him—half from the chill, half from pure confusion. One minute he'd been warm in bed. Now? Damp leaves under him. Towering trees with dark, peeling bark. He dug his fingers into the soil. Cold. Real. Somewhere below, water trickled over rocks. Too clear. Too loud.
He pushed himself up, stumbling to the nearest tree. Pressed his palm flat against the wet bark. Rough. Solid. Not a dream.
He swallowed hard, breathing shaky. The forest went on forever. Mountains hid behind the mist. Not home. Not anywhere he knew. But real.
Something glowed at the edge of his sight.
He turned.
A screen. See-through. Floating. Glowing dull gray like an old computer.
He reached out. Fingertips grazed its edge. It wobbled. Shifted.
He let out a weak laugh. "Seriously?"
He tried to look away.
The screen flashed. Again. Like a stubborn notification.
Fine. Whatever.
He leaned in.
Words appeared, blunt and unchanging:
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[Main Quest: Hundred Wars]
Complete a hundred battles and earn your way home.
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He stared. Rubbed his eyes. Looked again. Still there.
"A… mission?" The word felt weird in his mouth.
Silence. Just dripping water. Thick fog.
He slumped onto a tree root, glaring at the glowing box. Waiting for instructions. A button. Anything. Nothing. Just those words. Annoyance prickled his skin. Trapped in the woods with a broken pop-up.
Then he spotted it—a tiny bump on the screen's corner. Barely visible.
He poked it.
Click.
The screen rippled. New words appeared:
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Progress: 0/100
[Map] [Barracks]
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Map? Barracks? His tired mind snagged on the words.
He tapped "Barracks."
The screen changed. A list scrolled down—weird, like a history book mixed with a game menu:
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[Barracks]
1. Assassin Class
2. Infantry Class
3. Cavalry Class
4. Archery Class
Progress: 0/100
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His finger hovered over "Assassins."
It expanded:
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Assassin Class
Shinobi (Japan)
Description: Masters of disguise, stealth, and espionage, often carrying small weapons like kunai and shuriken for swift, silent kills.
Weakness: Vulnerable in prolonged combat due to lighter armor; rely on surprise and single-target focus.
Hashashin (Middle East)
Description: Known for psychological tactics and religious fervor, skilled in stealth and surprise attacks.
Weakness: Limited in long-term engagements; lack heavy protection against organized troops.
Thugee (India)
Description: Secretive group skilled in ambushes and strangulation, often working in groups to overwhelm targets.
Weakness: Limited weaponry and armor; exposed when engaging multiple armed opponents.
Nukekubi (China)
Description: Specialists in decapitation with swift swords and daggers, able to blend into crowds before striking.
Weakness: Their armor is minimal, leaving them vulnerable in prolonged close combat.
Fedayeen (Persia)
Description: Trained in desert survival, known for loyalty to their leader, and adept at using the terrain to strike.
Weakness: Limited by their reliance on ambushes; struggle in open-field combat against armored troops.
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He scrolled down. Infantry. Horsemen. Bowmen. All with similar notes—strengths, flaws. Like a brutal shopping list.
New text flashed, red and urgent:
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[Unit Capacity: 0/100]
At your current level, you may access only 100 units. Unlocking every 10% completion in the main quest introduces new military and non-military units. Warning: Once you die, the quest will terminate.
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His breath caught. The confusion hardened into cold understanding. His old life—gone.
He jabbed at the [Map] button.
Names snapped into focus: Eyrie. Snakewood.
He squinted. Tapped the area around him.
Two words glowed: Vale of Arryn.
Heart pounding, he dragged his finger south.
Familiar letters burned into the fog: KING'S LANDING.
He choked. "No. No way." His hand clamped over his mouth. The mist felt heavy now, smelling of pine needles and something sharp.