The fluorescent lights of the 24-hour convenience store flickered as Ethan Park shoved a cup of instant ramen into the microwave. It was 2:47 a.m., and the nineteen-year-old was a walking cliché: a lanky college dropout with messy black hair, sunken eyes from too many late-night gaming sessions, and a wardrobe of wrinkled hoodies. His part-time job here barely paid for the rent on his dingy apartment, let alone anything resembling a future. He yawned, tapping his foot as the microwave hummed, the faint smell of sodium and artificial beef wafting up.

Then the ground shook. A low rumble vibrated through the linoleum floor, rattling the shelves of chips and energy drinks. “Earthquake?” Ethan muttered, glancing at the ceiling. The lights buzzed louder, flickering wildly, and before he could process it, a jagged tear of white light split the air in front of him—like reality itself had cracked open. His stomach lurched as the floor vanished, and he fell, arms flailing, into a swirling void. The ramen cup tumbled with him, the last shred of his normal life disappearing into the chaos.

He hit the ground with a bone-jarring thud, dirt grinding into his palms. Coughing, he pushed himself up, blinking against a crimson sky streaked with jagged, ink-black clouds. Towering peaks loomed in the distance, their tips shrouded in mist, while twisted trees with gnarled roots stretched across a rocky plain. No convenience store, no city lights—just an alien wilderness that smelled of earth and something faintly metallic. His phone, yanked from his pocket, was a dead brick, its screen cracked. The ramen cup lay crushed beside him, noodles spilling into the dirt.

“What the actual hell…?” Ethan rasped, his voice hoarse. His heart hammered as he staggered to his feet, brushing mud off his jeans. A sharp ding cut through the silence, and glowing blue text materialized before his eyes, floating like a hologram: [System Activated. Welcome, Host Ethan Park, to the Tianxu Realm. Objective: Survive and Grow.]

He yelped, swatting at the screen. It didn’t budge, hovering mockingly. “A system? Like in those manhua I binge-read? No way…” His mind raced—isekai stories were his escape, not his reality. But the ache in his bruised knees and the chill of the wind biting his skin said otherwise. He pinched his arm, wincing. Not a dream.

Footsteps crunched behind him, heavy and deliberate. Ethan spun, his breath catching as three figures emerged from the brush. They wore tattered robes stained with grime, their faces weathered and hard. The leader, a scarred brute with a patchy beard, gripped a rusty sword, its edge chipped but menacing. His two lackeys flanked him, one twirling a dagger, the other hefting a club studded with nails. Bandits, straight out of a fantasy novel.

“Well, well,” the brute sneered, his voice gravelly. “Fresh meat in fancy clothes. Hand over anything valuable, kid, or we’ll gut you and leave you for the crows.”

Ethan’s stomach dropped. He was no fighter—his arms were scrawny from years of slouching over a keyboard, and the closest he’d come to combat was button-mashing in a video game. His hoodie and sneakers marked him as an outsider, a target. The system chimed again: [Task: Survive Bandit Encounter. Reward: Basic Strength Boost.]

“Seriously?” he hissed under his breath. “I’m dead meat, and you’re giving me a quest?” His hands shook as he grabbed the crushed ramen cup, holding it up like a pitiful shield. The bandits laughed, a harsh, barking sound that echoed across the plain.

The brute lunged, sword slashing down. Ethan dove aside, tripping over a rock and landing hard on his elbow. The blade grazed his arm, a hot sting slicing through his sleeve. Blood welled up, staining the fabric, and panic flooded his chest. “System, do something!” he yelled, scrambling back.

[Activating Emergency Skill: Dodge Instinct. Duration: 10 seconds.] His body jerked, moving on its own—a clumsy roll that barely dodged a second swing. The bandit cursed, his sword sparking against the ground, while Ethan stumbled to his feet, adrenaline pumping. The skill guided him, weaving through clumsy but effective dodges as the lackeys joined in. The dagger grazed his thigh, the club whistled past his ear, but for ten frantic seconds, he stayed alive.

The skill faded, and Ethan’s legs gave out, dropping him to his knees. The brute loomed, grinning. “Squirm all you want, kid. You’re done.” He raised his sword, and Ethan, desperate, grabbed a jagged rock from the dirt. With a wild yell, he chucked it, smacking the bandit square in the nose. Blood sprayed, and the man staggered, roaring in pain.

Ethan didn’t wait—he bolted, legs burning as he crashed through thorny bushes. Branches clawed at his face, snagging his hoodie, but he kept running, the bandits’ shouts fading behind him. A ravine yawned ahead, its drop steep and shadowed. No time to think—he jumped, tumbling down the slope in a chaos of dirt and pain. He splashed into a shallow stream, the cold water shocking his system awake.

Silence settled, broken only by his gasping breaths. The bandits didn’t follow. [Task Complete. Reward: Basic Strength Boost Granted.] A warm pulse spread through his muscles, easing the ache in his limbs. He flexed his hand—still weak, but less shaky, like he’d done a week of push-ups in an instant. “Okay,” he panted, staring at the alien sky through the ravine’s jagged walls. “I’m stuck here. With a system. And I’m totally screwed.”

Night fell, the crimson sky deepening to a bruised purple. Ethan huddled under an overhanging rock, shivering in his soaked clothes. The system pinged again: [Status: Level 1. Strength: 3/100. Qi: 0/100. Skills: Dodge Instinct (Temporary). Main Quest: Find Shelter and Purpose.] He scowled at the screen. “Level 1? I’m a noob in a death world. Fantastic.”

His stomach growled, and he eyed the spilled ramen in the mud—unsalvageable. Every rustle in the dark made him flinch, visions of wolves or worse flashing through his mind. He clutched his bleeding arm, the sting grounding him. This wasn’t a game he could quit. “Survive and grow,” he muttered, the system’s words echoing. “Fine. But how?”

Exhaustion pulled him under, and he slept fitfully, dreaming of neon lights and ramen he’d never taste again.

Ethan jolted awake to a guttural howl, his back stiff against the ravine’s rocky wall. The Tianxu Realm’s dawn painted the sky a sickly orange, and the air carried a damp chill that sank into his bones. His hoodie was a soggy mess, his sneakers squelched with every step, and mosquito bites—big, angry welts from bugs the size of quarters—dotted his arms. His stomach growled louder than the distant beast, a hollow ache that reminded him he hadn’t eaten since… well, the ramen incident.

The system’s blue screen flared to life: [Main Quest Update: Find Shelter. Sub-Task: Gather Resources. Reward: 10 XP.] Ethan rubbed his eyes, groaning. “XP? So I’m in an RPG now? Great, where’s the tutorial?” His voice echoed faintly, unanswered. The strength boost from last night made him feel marginally less pathetic—his arms didn’t tremble as much—but he was still a twig in a world that could snap him like kindling.

He scanned the ravine: muddy water trickled through, flanked by scraggly bushes and loose stones. “Resources, huh?” He scavenged a sturdy stick, about as long as his arm, and a sharp rock with a chipped edge. Using a vine torn from a bush, he tied the rock to the stick, crafting a crude spear. It wobbled in his grip, but it was better than nothing. “Survival 101,” he muttered, channeling every camping video he’d half-watched on YouTube. “Pointy end goes in the bad guy.”

A rustle froze him mid-step. The bushes parted, and a boar burst out—tusks gleaming, bristly hide rippling with muscle. It was twice his size, its beady eyes locked on him. [Task: Defeat Horned Boar. Reward: 20 XP, Beginner Weapon.] Ethan’s jaw dropped. “You’ve got to be kidding me!” He gripped his spear, hands slick with sweat. The boar snorted, pawing the ground, and charged.

Ethan thrust the spear, aiming for its snout. The stick hit, but his weak arms couldn’t drive it deep—it snapped like a twig, the rock tip bouncing off. The boar’s tusk slammed into his leg, tearing through his jeans. He screamed, crashing to the mud as blood welled up, hot and sticky. [HP: 8/10. Warning: Low Health.] The system’s alert blared in his skull. “HP? I’m a damn video game character now?!”

The boar wheeled for another charge. [Dodge Instinct Activated.] His body lurched, rolling aside as the tusks gouged the dirt where he’d been. Pain throbbed in his leg, but the skill kept him moving—barely. He grabbed the broken spear’s rock tip, desperation fueling him. As the boar lunged again, he stabbed wildly, sinking the shard into its flank. It squealed, blood matting its hide, and bolted into the brush.

[Task Complete. Reward: 20 XP, Beginner Weapon: Iron Dagger.] A rusty dagger materialized in his hand, its grip worn but solid. The warmth from the reward pulsed through him, and his leg’s bleeding slowed—[HP: 9/10.] [Level Up! Level 2. Strength: 5/100. New Skill Unlocked: Minor Heal (Restores 2 HP, 1/day).] Ethan slumped against the ravine wall, laughing bitterly. “I’m alive. Barely. That’s a win, right?”

He tested the dagger, its weight reassuring despite the rust. His leg ached, but he could stand—Minor Heal’s glow had patched the worst of it. “Okay, system,” he said, wiping mud from his face. “Shelter next. Lead the way.” No response, but a faint plume of smoke curled on the horizon. Civilization—or trouble. Either way, he limped toward it, dagger in hand.

The trek took hours. The ravine gave way to a rocky plain, then a sparse forest of twisted trees. His sneakers shredded on thorns, and hunger gnawed at him, but the smoke grew thicker. By midday, he stumbled into a village—huts of straw and clay clustered around a dirt square, villagers in rough tunics eyeing him warily. Their faces were gaunt, their hands calloused, and they whispered as he approached, his modern clothes a glaring anomaly.

An old woman, hunched with a cane, shuffled forward. Her squinting eyes raked over him. “Outsider,” she rasped, her voice like dry leaves. “You’re not from here. What brings you?”

Ethan clutched the dagger behind his back, forcing a smile. “Uh… accident? Dropped in, literally.” The system chimed: [Quest: Gain Villagers’ Trust. Reward: Shelter, 15 XP.] He swallowed. “I need a place to stay. I can help—chop wood, carry stuff, whatever.”

She snorted, jabbing her cane at his skinny frame. “Help? You’re weaker than my grandson. Prove it.” She pointed to a pile of logs by a hut. “Chop that, and we’ll see.”

Ethan’s arms shook as he hefted an axe from a stump, its blade dull but heavy. Each swing was a struggle—wood chips flew, but the logs barely split. His strength was pitiful, a measly 5/100, and sweat stung his eyes. Villagers watched, some smirking, but he gritted his teeth. “Not… giving… up…” The system nudged: [Effort Detected. Strength +1.] A faint warmth fueled his swings, and by dusk, the pile was halved—sloppy, but done.

The old woman nodded grudgingly. “Sleep in the barn. Don’t die.” Ethan collapsed onto a hay pile that night, the dagger glowing faintly beside him. [Hidden Trait Discovered: Adaptability. Growth accelerates with each challenge.] He grinned through the exhaustion. “Okay, Tianxu. Let’s play this game.”

Ethan’s sleep in the barn was a restless sprawl across the hay, the coarse strands poking through his torn hoodie. The faint stink of manure clung to the air, but after the cold, jagged ravine, it was a luxury. He’d barely closed his eyes—exhausted from the boar fight and the wood-chopping ordeal—when a scream ripped through the stillness, sharp and desperate. His heart jolted, and he scrambled upright, straw tumbling from his hair. The iron dagger lay beside him, its rusty blade catching the dim moonlight seeping through the barn’s slats. He snatched it up, pulse racing, and crept to the door.

Outside, chaos reigned. Villagers darted through the muddy square, their shouts mingling with the clatter of dropped tools—pitchforks, hoes, a battered bucket. A towering figure dominated the scene, clad in black armor that gleamed like polished obsidian. Qi rippled around him, a dark, smoky aura that pulsed with menace, distorting the air like heat off a flame. His voice boomed, deep and guttural: “Taxes! Spirit stones, now—or this pitiful hamlet burns to ash!” He kicked over a cart of grain for emphasis, the wood splintering with a crack that echoed off the huts.

The system flared to life, its blue screen searing into Ethan’s vision: [Quest: Protect the Village. Reward: 50 XP, Basic Qi Cultivation Manual.] He groaned, peering through a gap in the barn’s wall. “Level 2 against that? I’m screwed six ways to Sunday!” The cultivator’s sheer presence dwarfed him—Ethan was a scrawny nineteen-year-old with noodle arms and a dagger that looked like it belonged in a junk pile. Back home, he’d have run from a bar fight, not faced down a qi-wielding warlord. But the system offered no exit button, no save file to reload.

He watched, stomach twisting, as the cultivator grabbed a villager by the throat—a wiry man with graying hair—and lifted him effortlessly. “No stones? Then you’re first,” the armored figure snarled, tossing the man aside like a rag doll. He crashed into a hut’s wall, groaning as splinters rained down. The villagers froze, their makeshift weapons trembling in their hands. Ethan’s fists clenched around the dagger’s hilt, the metal cold against his sweaty palm. He was weak, a nobody from a world of microwaves and Wi-Fi, not swords and sorcery. What could he do?

Then he saw the old woman’s grandson—Jun, a scrawny kid with a mop of dark hair and a stubborn streak Ethan had noticed while chopping wood. The boy darted from the crowd, clutching a stick like it was a sword, his voice shrill with defiance. “Leave him alone, you bully!” He swung at the cultivator’s leg, the stick snapping harmlessly against the armor. The man laughed, a low, cruel sound, and backhanded Jun with a casual flick. The boy flew, slamming into a stack of firewood with a sickening thud. He didn’t get up, a thin trickle of blood seeping from his temple.

Rage flared in Ethan’s chest, hot and unfamiliar, drowning out the fear. He’d never been brave—hell, he’d once hidden in a bathroom to avoid a schoolyard fight—but seeing Jun crumple lit something primal. “Screw it,” he muttered, activating Minor Heal. [HP: 10/10.] A faint glow washed over his bruised hands, steadying them. He slipped out of the barn, sticking to the shadows cast by the flickering torches the villagers had lit in their panic.

The cultivator paced the square, his armored boots gouging the dirt as he barked orders. “Line up your offerings, or I’ll take your lives instead!” His qi pulsed stronger, a wave of pressure that made Ethan’s ears pop. Up close, the man reeked of sweat and rust, his armor patched with dents but still imposing. Ethan darted behind an overturned cart, its splintered planks offering scant cover. His heart hammered so loud he was sure it’d give him away, but he gritted his teeth and lunged, stabbing at the cultivator’s calf.

The dagger sparked against the armor, the impact jarring Ethan’s arm up to his shoulder. It barely scratched the metal, a faint gouge that mocked his effort. But a wisp of gray qi flared from the hit—Ethan’s qi, raw and unrefined, flickering like a candle in a storm. The cultivator whirled, eyes narrowing beneath his helm. “A pest with tricks?” His voice dripped with disdain, and he swung a fist, qi coiling around it like a serpent.

[Dodge Instinct Activated.] Ethan’s body moved before his brain caught up, ducking under the blow. The fist smashed the cart to kindling, splinters flying past his face. He slashed again, aiming for a seam at the knee where the armor gapped. The blade bit flesh this time, sinking an inch into muscle. Blood welled up, dark against the steel, and the cultivator roared, “You little rat!” [Strength +1. Qi: 1/100.] The system’s ping was a lifeline in the chaos.

Ethan danced back, but the cultivator’s qi erupted—a dark wave that slammed him into a hut’s straw wall. The impact drove the air from his lungs, and he crumpled, vision swimming. [HP: 6/10.] Pain radiated from his ribs, sharp and searing, but the villagers seized the moment. Two men—burly farmers with calloused hands—charged, tackling the cultivator’s arms. They pinned him, grunting with effort, as his qi lashed out, scorching the ground.

Ethan staggered to his feet, every breath a knife in his side. The dagger trembled in his grip, slick with sweat and a smear of blood. He stumbled forward, spotting a gap at the armpit where the armor buckled. With a hoarse yell, he drove the blade in, twisting it with all his pitiful strength. The cultivator bellowed, blood gushing hot over Ethan’s hands, and collapsed, his qi fading like smoke on the wind. The farmers released him, stepping back as the armored figure twitched once and stilled.

[Quest Complete. Reward: 50 XP, Basic Qi Cultivation Manual.] [Level Up! Level 3. Strength: 7/100. Qi: 3/100.] A thin scroll materialized in Ethan’s hands, its parchment glowing faintly with golden script. He sank to his knees, panting, as the villagers stared in stunned silence. “He… saved us?” a woman whispered, clutching a toddler to her chest. Others murmured, their eyes wide—fear mixing with something like awe.

The old woman hobbled forward, her cane tapping a steady rhythm in the dirt. She stopped before Ethan, squinting down at him. “Guts, outsider,” she rasped, her voice carrying a grudging respect. “You’re no warrior, but you’ve got fire. Stay with us, and we’ll teach you what we know.” She nodded at the scroll in his hands. “That’s a start.”

Ethan wiped blood—his and the cultivator’s—from his face, the metallic tang stinging his nose. He unrolled the scroll, its words shimmering: Breathing Techniques of the Lesser Qi Flow. They sank into his mind, a rhythm of inhales and exhales that tugged at the faint qi in his chest. It was weak, a spark against the inferno he’d just faced, but it was his. The system, the dagger, this world—they were forging him, blow by bloody blow.

The villagers dispersed, dragging the cultivator’s body away and tending to Jun, who groaned as they lifted him. Ethan stayed kneeling, the scroll clutched tight. He was still a weakling—Level 3 meant nothing against real power—but he’d survived again. “Adaptability,” he muttered, recalling the system’s hidden trait. “Guess I’ll need it.”

The crimson sky darkened overhead, stars piercing through like distant eyes watching his stumble toward something greater—or his fall.