So Apparently I Died

I didn’t expect death to feel like static.

Not pain. Not peace. Just… static. Like the universe hit Control-Alt-Delete and forgot what to do with me afterward.

One second I was walking home with a bag of beef jerky. The next, I was airborne, courtesy of a sedan doing seventy in a school zone.

There was a screech of tires. A flash of headlights. Someone yelling, “OH MY GOD—”

And then darkness.

No dramatic farewell. No slow fade-out. Just… deleted.

Then came the light.

A white void that hummed like broken neon and smelled faintly of ozone and printer ink.

“Soul Fragment Located.”

A voice. Cold, mechanical, like a bored receptionist working overtime in the afterlife.

“Analyzing karma… Eligible for alternate plane.”

“Deploying: Host body confirmed. Additional anomaly: Split-Eye Curse. Good luck.”

“Hold on, what—”

I didn’t even get to finish the sentence before the floor disappeared beneath me.

I woke up choking on dirt.

Air slammed into my lungs like a punch. I rolled over and coughed until the world stopped spinning.

Grass. Sky. Breeze.

I was lying in the middle of a field under two moons, naked, mildly concussed, and one hundred percent not on Earth anymore.

“…Yep,” I muttered. “Isekai’d without a tutorial. Classic.”

My body felt weird. Lighter, sharper. Like someone had cranked my reflexes up to cheat-code levels. I sat up, taking in my surroundings.

Rolling hills. Far-off forest. Towering mountain range to the north. The twin moons glowed in eerie silence above it all, like smug gods watching this unfold.

No signs of people. No buildings. Just me and a whole lot of wilderness.

And also: still naked.

I stood with the grace of a man trying not to flash the heavens and tried to fashion a makeshift loincloth from oversized leaves. It worked. Barely. The wind had opinions about it.

Then I saw my reflection in a nearby puddle—and stopped.

My eyes.

One violet. One blood-red.

Both glowing faintly, not with light—but with intent.

There were also markings along my collarbone—faint sigils, curved like ink spilled from the stars. And I looked… older. Late teens, maybe early twenties. But sharper. More angular. Like someone ran my old face through a “dark fantasy protagonist” filter.

And then came the burn.

A sharp sting across my wrists made me flinch. Red symbols seared themselves into my skin—sigils glowing hot, then fading into faint lines etched just beneath the surface.

I barely had time to curse before the air in front of me twisted.

And the daggers appeared.

Twin flashes of crimson and black metal slammed into my hands like summoned lightning.

The first blade was straight, forged from jet-black metal with a glowing crimson core that pulsed like a heartbeat. The second mirrored it—sleek, deadly, and lined with etched runes that burned faintly down the flat of the blade like molten cracks in obsidian.

Elegant. Lethal. Designed to kill beautifully.

I turned one in my hand.

The weight was perfect—balanced for speed and precision. The hilt fit like it remembered me. As I flicked both daggers in a smooth spin, they moved with me, not against me.

No resistance. No drag.

Like they belonged.

I smirked. “Finally. Something that makes sense.”

Whatever these blades were, they weren’t normal. They weren’t even fair.

And they were mine.

But before I could enjoy my newfound edge, a growl snapped through the clearing.

My eyes shifted.

From the shadows of the tree line, a low, hunched figure padded into view—beast-like, thickly furred, with glowing yellow eyes and a maw full of jagged teeth. Its jaw unhinged too far. Its tongue hung like it was tasting the air for blood.

It snarled.

“Of course there’s a tutorial boss.”

I stepped forward, daggers raised.

The creature lunged, fast and wild. I sidestepped instinctively, my body moving before I thought. The first dagger carved a clean arc across its flank—crimson splashed the grass, sizzling like oil.

It shrieked. Spun. Came back twice as fast.

The second dagger met it mid-lunge, slicing up from belly to jaw.

It dropped.

Twitching. Smoking.

I stared at my blades. Not a scratch. Not even a drop of blood. They’d burned the wound shut.

“…Okay. That’s horrifying. But also kinda hot.”

I let out a breath and turned toward the horizon.

There was a road in the distance. A dirt trail leading through the trees. Smoke curled upward behind the hills. Civilization? Or more monsters?

Didn’t matter.

I had no map. No guide. No idea what this world wanted from me.

But I had daggers. I had instinct. I had no pants.

And apparently, I had a curse called Split-Eye.

Whatever that meant.

“Let’s see how far I can get before the next thing tries to kill me.”

And with that, I walked.

The dirt path wound through the trees like it had somewhere better to be. I followed anyway—feet bare, blades in hand, wrapped in leaves like a medieval fashion disaster.

I wasn’t the most athletic back in my old life. Average height. Okay-ish stamina. Got winded chasing down vending machine snacks.

But this new body?

It moved like it had purpose.

My steps were light. Controlled. Every time I shifted my weight, I felt balance snap into place like second nature. I could hear birds before I saw them. Smell rain before it hit the leaves.

Even the way I walked had a rhythm. Subtle, efficient, quiet.

Like a predator.

“I either got a blessing,” I muttered, flicking one of the daggers through my fingers, “or these knives are doing some heavy lifting.”

They responded with a low thrum, like they agreed.

I paused in a clearing and tested it. Quick sidestep—faster than I remembered being capable of. Duck-roll—smooth, no knee crack. Jump—landed light, silent.

Yep. Something’s definitely been upgraded.

Not that I was complaining. If I’d been dropped into fantasy world hell on hard mode, I’d take every unfair edge I could get.

Still, it bugged me.

No stats. No level screen. No tutorial voice. Just me, these weapons, and a mystery curse etched into my DNA.

I glanced down at the daggers again. Crimson glow, straight blades, and just the right amount of intimidation.

They didn’t look holy.

Didn’t feel cursed.

But they wanted blood. That much I could tell.

“Maybe I’m the cursed one,” I muttered.

Then I heard it.

A sound from deeper in the woods—low, ragged breathing. Multiple feet crunching underbrush.

I crouched instantly. Instinct again. The kind that screamed “Get low or die.”

Three figures staggered into view.

Not human. Barely even beast. Gray-skinned, hunched, with bloated eyes and twisted claws. One of them dragged a limp deer carcass behind it. The smell hit a second later—rot, copper, something acidic and wrong.

Ghouls.

Or this world’s version of them.

One sniffed the air.

Then its head snapped in my direction.

I moved.

No hesitation.

I exploded forward like I’d been shot from a bow, blades humming in each hand. The first ghoul didn’t even have time to screech—my dagger slashed upward through its throat, black blood spraying in a hiss.

The second lunged. I ducked beneath the swing and buried the crimson-edged blade through its jaw, driving it up into the brain with a sickening crunch.

The last one backed away, snarling. Smarter. It turned to run.

I threw the obsidian dagger.

It whirled through the air like it had a mind of its own—curving once, twice, and slamming through the creature’s spine with a dull thunk.

Silence.

Then: one soft chime.

My dagger reappeared in my hand, summoned by instinct.

“…Okay,” I whispered. “These things are busted.”

I was breathing hard, but not panicked. No fear. Just… focus.

Whoever I was in my last life, it didn’t matter anymore.

This body was a weapon. These daggers were part of it. And I was starting to think I was built for this.

Up ahead, the trees broke.

I stepped through the edge of the forest—and stopped.

There was a town in the distance. Stone walls. Tiled roofs. Smoke rising from chimneys. It wasn’t huge, but it was alive.

Civilization.

And hopefully… pants.

I adjusted the leafy makeshift wrap, sighed, and kept walking.

Somewhere deep inside, I felt a shift.

Like something was watching. Or waiting.

Fate?

The Demon King?

Or maybe just whatever poor soul had to deal with me next.

God help them.

A wooden gate stood ahead, crooked and half-open, guarded by a single man who looked about three bad days from retirement. His armor didn’t match. His helmet was sitting on a crate. He was sipping soup.

When he noticed me, his spoon stopped mid-air.

Can’t blame him. I was barefoot, dirt-streaked, wearing leaves, and holding two very real daggers that glowed faintly red.

“…You lost?” he asked, squinting.

“Yeah,” I said. “From birth, probably.”

He blinked. “You armed?”

I raised both blades slightly.

“Right,” he said. “Don’t cause trouble.”

And that was it. No suspicious looks. No alarms. Not even a tax.

Either this world was extremely chill, or I’d just stumbled into the fantasy equivalent of a C-tier border town.

The main street was lined with uneven cobblestone, wooden stalls, and buildings that leaned a little too hard to one side. Blacksmith hammering in the distance. Someone yelling about fresh bread. A chicken ran across the road like it owed money.

This place was alive—but barely.

I passed a group of kids sword-fighting with sticks. One of them stopped and stared at me.

“Mommy, that man’s naked.”

I kept walking.

First priority: clothes.

I ducked into what looked like a general store—part herbal shop, part wardrobe, part “we sell anything we can get our hands on.”

A short, round woman behind the counter glanced up.

“You look like death.”

“Feels mutual.”

She tossed me a shirt before I could even ask. “Back shelf. Pants, boots, whatever fits. Pay when you’re decent.”

That was the most hospitality I’d gotten in both lives.

Five minutes later, I stepped out with actual clothes on: black boots, dark gray pants, and a fitted shirt with just enough room to hide a blade or two. Nothing fancy—but I didn’t look like a woodland stripper anymore, so I’d call that a win.

The woman nodded. “Ten silver.”

I stared. “I, uh… don’t have money.”

She pointed to a notice board across the street. “Then go earn some.”

The board was packed with torn parchment: pest control, missing livestock, escort requests, and a very aggressive note about someone’s stolen spoon.

One stood out.

“Urgent: Wild boars spotted near Southridge Hollow. Reward: 15 silver. Bring tusks.”

Easy. I had knives.

And apparently, nothing better to do.