Chapter Five: Dimensional Space

Duncan had been traveling for two days.

As a member of the empire’s lowest class, he hadn’t yet encountered the empire’s enemies; instead, he first fought twice with the empire’s fleeing soldiers.

The carriage jolted along the bumpy road.

In the adjacent carriage, the young man whose backside had been pierced by an arrow yesterday was still moaning softly as he lay there. His name was Alma Gun, a peculiar name. Empire’s lowborn had no surnames; having one implied an ancestor of some significance.

This fellow was a minor character, but from his words, Duncan gleaned quite a bit of useful intelligence.

As for Alma Gun’s identity—he was a lowborn, a petty hanger-on and broker among the lowest low, skulking in all those shady gray areas, surviving by flattering and sucking up to others and helping them find their pleasures. You could think of him as the pimp of this era, but such people were indeed well-informed.

The town Alma Gun had lived in, Buchanan, had been slaughtered by rebels. He was one of the few survivors.

He was good at reading people. The moment Duncan’s gaze landed on him, he immediately lifted his head, awkwardly propping himself on the carriage’s cargo, hands gripping the frame to avoid falling, forcing a crumpled, obsequious, and ingratiating smile.

His smile reminded Duncan of a younger version of Captain Jia—ugly, sleazy, with a pointed mouth and monkey-like face.

Yesterday, despite his bleeding wound, he gritted his teeth and got up to steal some villagers’ thatch to make a resting spot for Duncan on the windward side, acting like a lapdog, squatting nearby, awaiting orders.

It was clear he regarded Duncan as his lifeline for survival.

His previous target for flattery had been a hunter among refugees. When fleeing, he had tried to help but was shot dead by barbarian hunters on the spot.

This guy ran faster than a rabbit when his comrades died.

“People like this can be used, but not trusted.”

No one here looked down on him, and when Duncan questioned him for information, he immediately acted the part of the sycophant.

The morning passed quickly.

Duncan’s fatigue and weakness gradually faded, though the side effects lasted quite a while—about ten hours or so.

“Do I have to be in combat to enter God’s Eye view?”

“Can I do it normally?”

It was quite safe now; he wanted to ponder his ‘cheat’ a bit. If he could enter God’s Eye view at will, he’d be capable of far more.

“Exit game?”

No use.

“System? Change perspective?”

Still no.

“Maybe try meditation?”

Duncan sat cross-legged, attempting to empty his mind. When his consciousness slipped into silence, he entered a void in his mind.

In the projected image before him, a young man with black hair sat quietly, expression calm, as if lost in thought.

Success.

Previously he had only entered it during combat and hadn’t had time to observe this void closely. Now, he seemed to be floating in the starry sky, the background a silent cosmic nebula.

Nothing surrounded him—only the projection. He wasn’t a physical body but more like a spirit of the void.

In God’s Eye view, all nearby living beings were marked, even the wild rabbit by the roadside had a small tag.

—Witch [Neutral Unit] (Skull icon).

The caravan’s guards were all blue tags; only the captain had a star above his head, marked “Mercenary Soldier.”

“Since this is a game interface, can I exit?”

With a thought, the projection immediately changed.

—“Do you wish to retire?”

Hmm?

Really can exit?

But it seemed not to exit God’s Eye view, rather another form of ‘quitting the game’?

A line of words slowly appeared.

—“Retire [End of Trial]: You will sever the link with this human vessel, no longer able to enter the real dimension through it. The human vessel will replicate a personality based on your current traits and experiences but will no longer receive any ability enhancements.

“Dimensional space will switch to ‘Observer Mode,’ your consciousness will enter temporary slumber until energy is fully restored and the next compatible human vessel is found.”

—“Causality [Trial Settlement]: After your escape, you opened a general store in a northern city. During the following journey, you showed no further special traits, and the witch Triss gradually lost interest in you.

“You successfully returned to an ordinary life.

“One year later, barbarian rebellion engulfed the northern empire; your city was not spared. You lost everything in the war.

“To rise again, you joined the imperial army.

“Three months later,

“Your imperial field army encountered elite Hunnic cavalry. The legion was defeated. You barely escaped but were severely wounded and nearly disabled. Soon, the empire abandoned you without a penny of compensation.

“Not long after, you became a beggar.

“With no income, your body weakened as old injuries tormented you.

“Ultimately, you died in a harsh winter snowstorm a year later.”

Damn!

A beggar ending? Disabled? Dying of illness?

I fought for the empire! I bled for the empire!

Is this really the ending?

After calming down, Duncan quickly realized this was no ordinary transmigration. The body he controlled was merely a “human vessel.” His true crossing was into this peculiar dimensional space.

If he truly “exited,” he would sever his link to this vessel.

As for how long he would sleep in Observer Mode, that was unknown.

Maybe he would never wake again—after all, he was still just a mortal soul. And such a miserable ending—judging by his guess, the trial settlement would affect everything in the dimensional space.

He could never accept this!

Not to mention ruling or dominating, at least be a lord of a region? Failing that, a noble or wealthy merchant?

A beggar?

Impossible.

He would never be a beggar in this life! Even if he died on the battlefield, pierced by arrows or hacked down, he’d never become a beggar.

A man fights for honor on the battlefield!

Just do it.

Since this human vessel had descended, fight to the last moment!

Consciousness returned.

Duncan once again regained first-person perspective—his consciousness entering this nineteen-year-old, orphaned, empire lowborn whose relatives were slaughtered by imperial deserters.

This flight was not the end!

His legendary journey was just beginning.

...

Duncan stretched and picked up a northern war bow, aiming at a crow perched on a nearby treetop. There should be corpses nearby, which attracted scavengers like crows.

He exchanged the bow and a spare string from the caravan guards for spoils taken from barbarian deserters. Although his cheat was a God’s Eye game interface, actual combat adhered to basic physical laws.

Blades dull, strings break, gear wears out, injuries cripple.

Everyone was in permadeath mode.

Facing life head-on.

No other choice.

“The bruise on my face is still there.”

Duncan touched his swollen cheek. The grim knight’s armored fist had likely struck his temple, knocking the original human vessel out. His side wound hadn’t fully healed; a small blood bar segment was missing and two days had passed.

“Don’t get hurt.”

“My body can’t endure much damage; any slip could cripple me!”

“After all, this world is real, not a game.”

He aimed at the crow again, then lowered the bow, seemingly deep in thought.

“No God’s Eye view.”

“My archery skills are about average for a normal archer; I can’t expect miracles.”

“In other words,”

“In first-person view, my close combat strength equals an imperial infantryman, and my archery is close to that of a barbarian forest hunter. In game terms, a barbarian forest hunter is a slightly above-average archer unit.”

Only in God’s Eye view could he perform beyond normal limits, applying his previous gaming skills to reality with astonishing results.

“The most important thing now is to improve my strength.”

“In chaotic times, life is worth less than a dog’s.”

“Since I can seize enemies’ abilities, my growth speed should be rapid.”

After three battles, he was already a seasoned veteran.

Duncan’s greatest concern was the supernatural forces in this world. Although seemingly low magic overall, the caravan included a witch marked with a skull, and the barbarian leader could enter a berserk state, charging through arrows directly at him.

Duncan clearly saw the leader’s lungs were pierced yet he forced himself forward over thirty meters.

“Except for that mysterious witch,”

“Everyone else encountered so far were fragile ordinary people. The barbarian leader was tougher but still killable.”

He was also fragile.

The bruise on his face wouldn’t heal within a week.

“In this situation, I kill easily, and can be killed easily.”

A commotion came from ahead of the caravan.

A guard rode over and respectfully lowered his head as he approached Duncan.

“The road ahead is blocked by a fallen tree.”

“There are corpses nearby.”

Duncan jumped down from the carriage. Without entering combat mode, he smelled the faint stench of death from afar. Over a dozen bodies lay scattered, some pecked beyond recognition by crows.

“Likely deserters did this,” the composed guard leader said, stopping his horse.

Duncan surveyed the area and said gravely, “Clear this quickly. We need to move on.”

He crouched beside a corpse and noticed bite marks—likely from a large animal, but the impressions resembled human teeth.

These people hadn’t been dead long, yet the bodies were already decomposed. Something must have accelerated decay.

“Something’s off!”

The caravan managed to remove the tree and resumed their journey after a half-hour delay.

Only after traveling more than ten miles did Duncan finally relax a little.

After crossing a mountain, the guard leader ordered a brief rest and took two riders to scout the surroundings. Most of the caravan’s animals were mules; only a few elite guards rode travel horses—somewhat better mounts but not warhorses.

The empire lacked horses; true warhorses were beyond ordinary people’s reach.

“What are you doing?” a gentle female voice sounded.

Duncan looked up and saw a pair of azure eyes and a proud figure. The dull gray robe could not conceal her exquisite curves. Yet the others nearby seemed oblivious—a bit unnatural for men.

It was the witch!

Duncan hadn’t found a chance to speak with her, but she brought him a clay pot of water.

“Thank you,” he said naturally, reaching out.

Noticing her curious gaze, he placed a small piece of parchment down calmly.

“Count heads.”

He had killed three in the village.

Five when encountering the caravan.

About seven during the barbarian deserters’ night raid.

A total of fifteen heads.

He didn’t know how many more he had to kill to truly adapt to this world.

But now he would show no mercy.

The witch was momentarily speechless, only able to look at him deeply.

“Are you from Bran Village?” she asked cautiously.

Duncan narrowed his eyes. The original vessel’s village was very small, only a few dozen people, yet she knew about it.

He nodded expressionlessly.

“And the others in the village?”

His voice hoarse: “They’re all dead.”

“Deserters massacred the village.”

“I’m the only survivor.”

The witch’s eyes showed a trace of apology. After a quiet apology, she turned and left.

Duncan watched her retreating figure, then began searching the original vessel’s memories. In a shallow childhood memory, he found a clue.

An old hunter once spoke of a treehouse deep in the dense forest beyond the mountains, where a forest fairy lived. She had saved injured hunters lost in the wild and guided them out of the primeval woods.

If the legendary forest fairy was this witch, then she must have lived for over a hundred years.

The original vessel had never believed such tales, dismissing them as elders’ stories to fool children.

“If she really is the legendary forest witch?”

“Then why did she leave?”

“Surely not to escape the war?”

Duncan didn’t know the witch’s true strength, but rumors in the empire said some young, beautiful girls had been burned as witches.

The witch hunts.

They had lasted nearly decades within the empire.

Even historically, an emperor was rumored to have been poisoned by a witch.

“Witches,”

“Powerful individuals with supernatural abilities,”

“Yet they can be killed.”

Duncan guessed that while witches had strange supernatural powers, they were not truly superhuman. Otherwise, they wouldn’t be hunted by the church.

“Enter combat mode!”

Suddenly, Duncan’s consciousness plunged into the void. The next moment, two blue markers appeared at the boundaries of the God’s Eye view.

Several scattered red markers followed.

—Pamitya Mounted Rangers.

After two days of fleeing, Duncan finally saw the empire’s enemy, who looked somewhat like a semi-nomadic people.

...