**Chapter 1                        **                           The World That Runs on Mana

Most people dreamed of saving the world. He dreamed of saving his SSD before it hit 100% capacity again.

It was 3:47 a.m. He hadn’t slept in twenty-nine hours. Caffeine had evolved from beverage to bloodstream. His desk was buried under sticky notes and ramen packets. A second monitor displayed an active auction for a rare collectible chess set, and on the main screen, a neural network simulation was just beginning its sixth iteration.

He should’ve gone to bed hours ago.

Instead, he was solving the Tower of Hanoi using a custom algorithm just to see if he could beat the standard time complexity.

He muttered to himself, slumped in his gaming chair, rotating a mechanical pencil between his fingers. “No girlfriend, no degrees, no job security—just freelance gigs and an unreasonably high puzzle-solving score on obscure forums.”

A soft ding came from his phone. Another side job.

|||

🧿 [Client: @TheArcanist]

Remote debug request – Enchanted Script Emulator crashing at Loop #13

3,000 yen equivalent, urgent

|||

“…Enchanted Script Emulator? What kind of bootleg mobile game is that?” he murmured, clicking the message anyway.

The files arrived with weird glyphs embedded in the code. Not Unicode. Not ASCII. Not anything.

He frowned. Opened his custom hex viewer. The file glitched for a second—actually glitched—before his entire screen went white.

No time to react. No error message. No blue screen. Just white. Endless and sterile.

"Huh... wait, What is happening??"

And then: Silence....

Until air returned, and color bled back into the world—only now, it wasn’t his cluttered apartment.

It was grass. And sky. And a sun hanging behind some clouds.

The clouds drifted slowly, unnatural in their symmetry. The grass swayed with a rhythmic hum—like wind tuned to a specific frequency.

He squinted.

No keyboard. No chair. Just soft earth beneath his boots. Boots? He looked down. Not his usual worn-out sneakers, but thick, black boots with reinforced soles and silver-lined seams.

A tunic draped over him—gray and matte, woven with hexagonal stitching, like an RPG character’s starter outfit if it were designed by someone who read too many technical manuals.

He crouched near a puddle, oberving that his physique and face is the same as usual. The only difference is his clothing style that becomes different. He ran his fingers through the grass.

“Definitely not a bootleg game.”

He stood again, slowly spinning on the balls of his feet, scanning the horizon. One sun. Pale. Slightly larger than Earth’s. The gravity was close. Wind resistance normal. He inhaled through his nose—no pollutants. Slight trace of iron. Ozone.

Far to the north, the land rose in jagged ridges. Rocky. Volcanic. To the east, dense clusters of trees, canopy glinting faintly like leaves dipped in crystal. West, open plains. Flat and dry. South—

There.

Just beyond a shallow dip in the terrain. A wisp of smoke. Thin. Controlled. Rising vertically.

He tapped his temple. “Smoke rises clean, not chaotic. No wind interference. It’s artificial. Cookfire or chimney.”

His eyes narrowed, the world dimming slightly as his focus sharpened. And then—click.

The Φ symbol ignited behind his right pupil.

His vision warped.

Not dramatically. Not like sci-fi scanner overlays. But subtly—vectors highlighted, light refracted more clearly, energy patterns emerging like faint brushstrokes on a transparent canvas.

he noticed the same strange shimmer in the air —like heatwaves. Some of it distorted more in some area and some just a little out of line. Especially when looking at living things, such as Plants, some insects and birds, their image is much more distorted and colourful than surrounding dead matter. "That means the living things here had something that could distorted my view quite strong. However it seems that i can activate this type of vision as much as i can. hmm.... very informative for the start." He murmured.

Then he narrowed his eyes, the Φ symbol humming faintly behind his right pupil.

The lines weren’t random. They followed consistent flows—looping, twisting, reconnecting. Symmetrical patterns embedded into motion.

Data.

He couldn’t explain it. But he could see it.

And he had none of it.

"Okay… so either I’m broken," he muttered under his breath, "or I’m so advanced this place hasn’t updated its drivers yet. Well, I hope this is the latter case. I've seen enough isekai that gives more suffering than happiness."

He sighed.

Twenty-nine hours awake. Thirty now, maybe more. The high from discovery was fading, and his body was catching up with overdue invoices.

He looked around the gentle slope of the grassy hill. Not a bad spot. Elevated. Clear sightlines. Not too exposed, but not boxed in. No nearby threats visible—not that he knew what counted as dangerous here.

He tugged at his collar. The tunic was breathable, at least. He patted down his pockets. No food. No water. Just the stone he picked up earlier and whatever counts as digital trauma from interdimensional transit.

Sleep first. He needed to rest. The brain needed cycles to consolidate all this new data. Sensory input was off the charts; he couldn’t afford to misread something just because he was hallucinating from exhaustion.

He gathered tall grass—sturdy, dry, and surprisingly soft when layered thick. He didn’t bother with a full structure, just a shallow dip in the land with a makeshift canopy made of woven stalks, supported by bent saplings.

It was primitive. It was lopsided.

It was… functional.

He laid back, hands behind his head. The sky above was starting to turn that weird desaturated violet that suggested nightfall here ran on a different wavelength.

“Field log, Day One,” he said to no one in particular. “Accidentally isekai’d. No mana signature. Visual overlay active. Surroundings stable. Potential village to the south. No hostiles yet. Unknown rules. Unknown laws. But…”

He closed his eyes, the Φ symbol dimming with his thoughts.

“…I think I can work with this.”

Sleep took him quickly. The kind of sleep that only came after sustained hyperfocus—a full system shutdown. No dreams. Just black.

Chapter 2                                                        Survive

He woke up to the sound of a distant snap—sharp, quick, and definitely not the wind.

His eyes opened instantly.

The sky was deep blue, streaked with silver clouds glowing faintly under a pale moon. It wasn’t fully dark—more like an extended twilight, a kind of ambient night that hadn’t committed to full darkness.

His internal clock was scrambled, but judging by the light, he had slept for maybe five, six hours. Noon to dusk. No alarm. Just his body rebooting from critical fatigue.

The Φ in his right eye flickered softly as his senses kicked in.

Another soft rustle.

He sat up without a sound, keeping low. His makeshift grass shelter had settled under its own weight, blending in with the slope. Good. Natural camouflage.

He stood, boots pressing into the soft soil, and listened.

It wasn’t the same noise again, but something was out there. Not footsteps—more like motion. Consistent, rustling low to the ground.

He debated going back to sleep.

Then again… if this was going to be home for a while, reconnaissance wasn’t optional. He needed information—resources, terrain, patterns, possible threats. Also… food. His stomach had started filing complaints with headquarters.

He stepped silently toward the eastern treeline, his vision low-lit and sharp. Every crunch underfoot was calculated. He kept his eyes active but didn’t trigger the full overlay yet—no need to fry his brain with unnecessary data if this was just a squirrel-sized threat.

The forest wasn’t thick. The trees here were tall, spaced evenly, with bark like braided rope and leaves shaped like flattened spiral shells. No wildlife sounds—no chirping, hooting, howling. Just wind and the occasional creak of branches shifting.

Then he saw it.

A cluster of fruit-bearing shrubs under a crescent-shaped tree, maybe fifteen meters ahead. The fruit was oval, translucent, and faintly glowing from within—like someone stuck a drop of starlight into a grape.

He crouched.

The distortion was strong here. The plants were pulsing with those same shimmering trails he’d seen around the villagers and animals. More complex this time—intertwined, overlapping threads of motion. Living energy. Or whatever passed for it.

He narrowed his right eye, the Φ activating with a silent hum.

The world realigned.

"Multiple energy arcs within plant system.

Symmetrical distribution. No fluctuations.

No signs of predatory signature.

Bioluminescent outer layer. Not radioactive.

Smell: mildly sweet.

Insects nearby feeding without distress."

“Alright,” he murmured, “that’s five indicators for non-toxic.”

He picked one carefully and held it to the moonlight. No thorns. No oily film. No sudden red flags.

He bit into it.

The texture was soft. Like pear flesh soaked in mineral water. Slight fizz. Cool on the tongue. The flavor was mild—somewhere between citrus and chamomile.

No burning. No bitterness. No numbness.

He exhaled slowly.

“Okay. One point for edible alien fruit.”

Once the fruit had passed the taste test and a few minutes went by without internal bleeding or sudden hallucinations, he activated the Φ again—only briefly. Just long enough to map the nearby energy distortions and spot more clusters of potentially edible flora.

He moved methodically.

Another low shrub—thicker leaves, but its fruit had a waxy texture and released a sharp citrusy aroma when split. The insects here avoided it, but a small rodent-like creature had bite marks on one.

He sliced off a tiny piece with a flat-edged rock and rubbed it on the inside of his wrist. No itching. No discoloration. After ten minutes, he tasted it carefully.

Tangy. Slightly astringent. Not pleasant—but not toxic either. Backup emergency food.

He collected five. Marked the area mentally.

Next, a bulbous root under a soft mound of dirt. It had green tendrils stretching outward, and the dirt around it was unusually cool. He dug it up, smelled it—neutral. He tapped it. It sounded dense.

“High starch content. Could be a good carb source if boiled.”

By the time he returned to the hilltop, his pouch was stuffed with three varieties of fruit, two types of roots, and a handful of minty-green leaves that numbed his tongue slightly but cleared up his sinuses like a mint bomb.

He stored them neatly near his shelter, sorting by category—sugar, starch, experiment. Then he scanned the terrain once more, activating Φ briefly to track energy flows through the land.

Water ran down.

Gravity plus energy dispersal told him what he needed—there was a denser mana shimmer along the incline westward, about two hundred meters away.

He followed it. The terrain dipped into a small grove, and there, beneath twisted branches, was a slow-moving stream—clear and cold.

He crouched and observed.

No surface oil.

No scent.

No discoloration.

Tiny filter-feeders present.

Current slow, but not stagnant.

“Promising.”

Still, no way he was drinking this raw.

He collected a few fist-sized stones, carved out a bowl in the dirt using a flat piece of bark, then layered the mini trench with charcoal he created from dry wood and burned grass. Over that, he added fine sand, another charcoal layer, then pebbles.

He funneled water through using a broken, curled leaf like a scoop. It trickled out the bottom—slower, cleaner.

He lit a small fire and placed a carved-out root shell over it, boiling the filtered water.

It wasn’t perfect. But it was a decent field purifier. The best he could make on short notice without a 3D printer or lab access.

He filled two bark containers with the boiled water, placed them near his makeshift shelter, and leaned back again.

He looked at the sky.

Still night.

Still silent.

His eyes traced the stars again—constellations foreign but beautiful. Time passed differently here. Or maybe it was just the lack of noise and blue-light distractions that made everything feel... longer.

“Alright,” he said quietly to himself. “Food secured. Water filtered. Shelter intact.”

He scanned the hilltop. His current location had ample grass for bedding, nearby foraging spots, elevation for visibility, and now—confirmed hydration.

He was halfway through nibbling on one of the minty leaves—testing if it dulled hunger as well as it did sinus pressure—when he felt it.

The subtle shift in air pressure. A presence.

His body froze.

Not from fear. From calculation.

He turned his head slowly toward the treeline, Φ glowing faintly in the corner of his vision. That same shimmering distortion appeared—heatwave-like—but stronger now, erratic and surging in spikes.

A shadow stepped into the moonlight.

It was a boar.

At least, that was the closest thing he could compare it to. Four-legged. Stocky. Low center of gravity. Tusks like curved daggers but near transparent. It stood far taller than any wild boar he'd ever seen—maybe five feet at the shoulder—and its skin wasn’t fur-covered, but coarse like bark, with ridged grooves down its spine that pulsed faintly.

Worse yet, its eyes didn’t glow red or snarl like a monster from some B-tier game. They just… watched.

Silent.

No snort. No grunt. Just slow, deliberate steps forward—muscle moving beneath armored skin like the purring of a hidden engine.

He stood up. Calmly. Instinct screaming in one ear, analysis racing in the other.

Too big to fight. No weapons. No mana.

Time to relocate.

The boar snorted once, then charged.

No hesitation.

“Yup,” he muttered as he turned and bolted, sprinting down the hill. “Definitely not Earth.”

Chapter 3                                                        Comprehending

He runs as fast as he could. Branches cracked behind him, and the sound of hooves tearing through underbrush came fast. Too fast. It was like being chased by a motorcycle wrapped in armor.

He didn’t waste time looking back. He immediately runs as fast as he can.

"Ghh.....What the hell is going on right now? Seriously, I'm being chased by a boar that is as big as a tank!! moreover it didn't make a noise that fits its size. It is like encountering a tank that moves with a magnet levitation!"

"There is a running water over there, I could use that for my advantage."

His boots slammed through the grass, leaping over a low root, sliding slightly down a slope, and he reached the water’s edge just as the thundering sound behind him peaked. The stream located roughly 300 meters from him is quite wide and carry a strong current.

He spun mid-step, heels skidding in the dirt, Φ pulsing sharply behind his eye.

The boar didn’t pause.

"Alright... I hope it is quite dull, as dull as a bull that used for matador show."

Then it launched straight at him. "Hufft.... "—He jumped and ducking left at the last second, letting it tear past.

The creature slammed into the water full-force, momentum carrying it halfway across the deep stream. Mud and spray erupted everywhere. Its hooves scrambled for traction. He didn’t wait to see if it recovered.

He turned and ran again—back up the hill, faster this time, lungs burning from adrenaline.

By the time he crested the rise and saw the soft glow of his stash, he slowed, breath ragged, eyes scanning the dark.

No sound behind him. He waited, crouched low, vision active.

He stayed still a little longer, eyes glowing faintly with Φ, watching the energy ripples in the distance gradually settle like dust after a tremor. The silence returned—but it wasn’t comforting. It felt earned. Tense.

He exhaled slowly and sat down near his fire pit, using a smooth stone to sketch symbols and diagrams in the dirt as he recalled the boar’s features from memory. Transparent tusks.

“Huft.. Huft.. Huft.. Right. Because normal boars with regular face-knives weren’t terrifying enough, Heh.” he muttered.

Not fully invisible—just almost. Glasslike. Their refractive index had been low, bending moonlight instead of reflecting it. That meant the tusks weren’t bone or keratin. Possibly crystalized mana structure? Organic silica?

He tapped the ground twice. “Which means if it doesn’t gore you, it blinds you by being a walking optical illusion. Great. Love that.”

Then there was the hide—dark, bark-like, with subtle ridges that pulsed under movement. Not just camouflage. He was sure of it now.

“It looked like a tree that decided to cosplay as a tank.”

He groaned, leaning back on his elbows, still catching his breath.

“And it didn’t even grunt before charging. Who does that? No dramatic roar, no ‘get off my lawn’ squeal. Just... professional assassination energy.”

He gestured vaguely toward the forest.

“Like, what is this? Fantasy Skyrim or Dark Souls DLC? Silent boss encounter at level one? I don’t even have a sword. What kind of world setting that i got into? surely this isn't easy mode. Would my luck be bad enough to experience a looping death like a certain character? nah, screw it".

Still… his grin widened, just a bit. He couldn't help it.

He leaned forward again, sketching the stream in the dirt, plotting out how the boar’s weight had worked against it when charging downhill into shallow water.

He raised one hand, drawing invisible equations in the air.

“Let’s see. Estimated mass—judging by those footprints… at least 400 kilograms. Maybe more.”

"I must be stupid, to come back to where the boar attacked me only to satisfy my curiosity, Hah!. But, it must be swept by the current so the chance of it coming back here is slim"

He glanced to the side, toward the path the boar had stormed through. The ground there looked like someone had taken a jackhammer to it. One of the stones near the stream’s edge had a fresh gouge in it—long, shallow, with flecks of silvery residue.

He pointed at it. “That impact? Clean slice. Didn’t crack the stone—sheared it. Which means those tusks aren’t just sharp. They’re monomolecular bullsht*.”

He crouched by one of the deeper hoof marks, running his fingers along the edge.

“Depth’s almost nine centimeters. Soil’s compacted. No slippage. Full weight behind each step. That charge wasn’t a bluff—it was a missile locked on target.”

He stood up and dusted his hands. “Charging speed—call it 40, maybe 45 km/h downhill. And I was standing there like a free sample at a meat buffet.”

He exhaled hard. “My survival odds? Somewhere between ‘statistically unlikely’ and ‘you died lol.’”

He glanced back toward the water, where muddy ripples were still settling. A crooked smile formed.

“And I survived by baiting it into a stream. Like some low-budget action movie. Great. I’m officially Kevin Bacon in mystical Tremors.”

He turned to his dirt diagram again, tapping it with the same stick he’d used earlier.

“Note to self: boar physics are exploitable. That charge couldn’t adjust once it committed. Direction locked. Acceleration locked. It’s fast, but it handles like a runaway shopping cart on an oil slick.”

He paused, gaze sharpening.

“And maybe…”

His voice dropped slightly.

“Maybe it learns. That look it gave me before the charge? That wasn’t blind aggression. It was assessing me. Head tilt, step pattern, trajectory curve. That boar ran diagnostics before the hit.”

He stood, brushing off his tunic.

“Oh good. So it’s a stealthy, armored, murder-pig with basic calculus skills. I feel so blessed.”

He looked up at the night sky, stars twinkling like uncaring pixels.

“I’m naming it. That’s it. It’s official. You’re Glassy now.”

He pointed toward the woods dramatically. “You come back, and I’m feeding you a banquet of glitterfruit, rope traps, and concentrated vengeance.”

Still, he couldn’t deny the data was good. Every encounter added layers to the map forming in his head.

And the more he learned, the more confident he became.