Soul Travels to Another World

Snow, thin soil, an unmarked tomb.

He buried his past in an empty grave.

From a small, depressed office worker who died suddenly, transmigrated into a medieval minor noble with fragmented memories, who was being hunted down, he had been struggling for three years in this unfamiliar, desolate valley forest of Central Europe.

Three years had allowed him to slowly integrate into this era, known as the darkest, and to completely merge with this body, retaining the original owner's memories and inheriting his abilities.

He had selectively forgotten his former name; his current identity was Art Wood Wells, the son of a Lombardy Baron who had been stripped of his title and lands, a hunter living in the desolate valley forest in the southern reaches of Burgundy County.

Three years ago, the original owner of this body, Art Wood Wells, then only eighteen and severely wounded, had fled north with his father, who had been deprived of his territory and title, to escape their pursuers, eventually entering this dense forest.

The original Art's injuries, left untreated, led to his death on a dark night, and it was at this very moment that he, having died suddenly in another dimension, transmigrated his soul into this body with its remaining memories.

Art, who had already breathed his last, miraculously came back to life, but Art's father soon after succumbed to depression, burdened by the hatred of his family's slaughter and annihilation.

Before his death, Old Wells handed his knight's sword, which had accompanied him his entire life, to Art, who was listless day in and day out, making him swear to cleanse the shame and restore the family's honor.

For three years, the transmigrated soul had lived in this forest, relying on the original owner's instincts, surviving by hunting.

He could not foresee the future of this world because he was unfamiliar with the history of this era in his previous life, and he vaguely discovered that this world was merely a similar timeline; everything was alike yet not, similar yet different.

Having arrived in such a world, perhaps he could only continue to hide in the desolate valley and dense forest, wasting his life away.

It wasn't until a severe illness two days ago that he struggled several times at the gates of hell, almost dying again.

After surviving the ordeal, he had a sudden realization and finally decided not to let his second life merely linger on.

...

Bending down, he spread the last handful of snow-covered soil onto the grave, then touched the wooden tombstone, silently reciting: "Burying all of the past; from this moment on, I am Art Wood Wells, and I belong to this era."

Then, the transmigrator, now identifying as Art, picked up the horn composite bow leaning against the tombstone and walked into the dense forest without looking back.

No matter what grand ambitions he held, the most urgent task at hand was to first survive.

...

Under a wolfskin felt hat, a pair of hawk-like eyes quietly observed the surroundings.

Suddenly, he raised his hand and drew a horn composite bow; an armor-piercing arrow shot forth—

“Poof~” A wild boar, whose eye socket was pierced by the sharp arrow, was spurred by the intense pain and bolted a few steps, then fell with a thud into a snowdrift, twitching its limbs and continuously wailing.

Art dashed forward, drew a short knife with a dark red metallic sheen, and stabbed it into the boar's heart.

Moments later, the white snow was stained a reddish-brown...

On the white snowy path, a dark red trail stretched deep into the forest...

A wisp of cooking smoke was slowly rising.

At this moment, by the stream in front of the wooden cabin, Art was cleaning the entrails of his prey; the bone-chilling stream water hung like icicles from his long hair bun.

Art buried most of the entrails, then carried the heart, liver, and other organs of the prey back into the small wooden cabin.

Compared to the bone-chilling outdoors, the small wooden cabin was surprisingly warm.

The rough and thick walls were built from logs, and the winter thatch roof was airtight.

A roaring fire in the stone-stacked hearth in the middle of the cabin filled the small wooden cabin with waves of heat.

At the very back of the cabin was a wooden bed covered with dry grass and animal hides.

A horn composite bow and an oak longbow hung on the wall, with a leather quiver full of arrows suspended beside them.

A short sword, about two feet long, hung on the wall, and the walls around the cabin were covered with various animal furs.

Several pieces of wild boar meat were boiling in a clay pot, gurgling and emitting a fragrant aroma.

Art casually tossed the entrails into the pot, picked up a wooden spoon, scooped up some broth, brought it to his mouth, and slurped it.

The scalding broth entered his stomach, and a warm current surged through him, making him feel completely comfortable...

A hearty wild boar feast made him, who was just recovering from a serious illness, feel immensely satisfied.

Night fell, and this Central European forest became even quieter.

Art dragged a large wooden chest from under the bed, unlocked the iron lock, and slowly lifted the lid.

A delicate chainmail lay quietly in the chest, gleaming with a silver light in the flickering firelight.

He lifted the heavy chainmail with both hands, feeling its coldness and power~

He wiped each iron ring of the chainmail with a piece of linen soaked in hot oil, his thoughts drifting as he considered how to fulfill the original owner's long-held wish...

A wolf howl from outside interrupted Art's thoughts.

He got up, took the short sword from the wall, picked up a foot-and-a-half hunting knife from the table, wrapped himself in a bearskin coat, and went out to open the traps around the wooden palisade outside the cabin one by one.

Returning to the wooden cabin, he patted the snow from his head, closed the wooden door, walked to the center of the room, picked up a few pieces of firewood, and threw them into the fire.

He continued to the wooden chest, lifted the chainmail, and gently placed it on the bed.

The bottom of the wooden chest revealed a white tunic, a leather belt, a set of leather upper body armor, and black long boots.

A three-and-a-half-foot knight's sword lay quietly there, its Wootz steel blade covered with fine patterns from heavy hammer forging, and its dark gray metallic luster could not conceal the brownish-black bloodstains...

Morning light, accompanied by cold air, seeped into the small wooden cabin; only faint red embers remained in the burnt-out fire pit.

Art threw back the wool blanket, got up, put on his linen under-tunic, wrapped himself in the bearskin coat from the head of the bed, and went to the wooden tub filled with clear water.

He cupped the cold clear water in his hands and splashed it vigorously onto his face~

"Ah~ Comfortable!"

After a loud shout, Art was wide awake.

The clay pot boiled the leftover broth from last night, and he sprinkled a handful of dark, hard breadcrumbs into the soup.

A wooden bowl of fragrant pork and bread soup provided Art with a hearty breakfast.

Art gazed outside the palisade; centuries of division and warfare in this empire had turned this valley forest into an ownerless land, and moreover, an animal kingdom.

Brown bears, forest wolves, elk, wild boars, goats, wild foxes, mountain rabbits, and various other animals thrived here.

Throughout the entire autumn before the long winter arrived, Art traversed the forest, dealing with fierce beasts and cunning foxes.

Months of hard work were worth it; various furs already covered the walls, including one bearskin and two fine deerskins.

Regrettably, the wolfskin was damaged; the ferocious wild wolf, after being trapped for three days, still erupted with savagery, and in the desperate struggle, Art had no choice but to repeatedly stab the wild wolf's abdomen with his hunting knife.

Art rarely left the valley, partly because the enemies had not ceased their pursuit of the Wells Family "remnants" over the years, making the outside world fraught with danger.

Secondly, life outside was no easier than inside the valley, especially for a "foreigner" surviving solely on the original owner's fragmented memories.

However, the long winter was approaching, and Art had to prepare salt, barley, bread, and some daily necessities before the snow sealed off the mountains.

At the end of a wilderness north of the desolate valley, five days' journey from the valley, Tinietz County town was the southernmost small town in Burgundy County, and also the closest castle with a free market to his valley dwelling.

After breakfast, Art began to pack his belongings.

He took down the furs from the wooden wall, spread them out on the flat ground in front of the wooden cabin door, and carefully arranged them one by one.

Nearly forty furs of various sizes were wrapped in old linen and then bound into a thick stack with ropes made of vines.

He turned and walked into the wooden cabin, stood on tiptoe, and took down a piece of smoked venison weighing about thirty pounds, which was hanging from a beam above the fire pit.

He wrapped it in birch bark and placed it on top of the furs.

After finishing these tasks, a thin layer of sweat appeared on Art's forehead.

After a short rest, Art went to the wooden bed, bent down, and dragged out the wooden chest from under the bed.

He opened it and took out a sheepskin money pouch; the clinking pouch contained Art's remaining money from these years—ten Mark large silver coins, twenty-four Denier small silver coins, and a pile of copper fenny.

Art took out five Marks, ten Deniers, and a handful of fenny and put them into another leather money pouch.

Next, he took out a thick linen package, took the last three-pound mixed grain bread from the clay pot used for storing food, and then used his hunting knife to cut off a piece of wild boar meat from the wooden beam that had not yet been smoked.

He packed a small packet of salt wrapped in leaves, prepared the food for the journey, then turned and took down the short sword, fastening it to his waist, slung the horn composite bow and leather quiver over his back, inserted a dark, gleaming hunting knife into its sheath, picked up the rabbit-fur felt hat from the head of the bed and put it on his head, walked out of the wooden cabin, securely tied the wooden door with a strong vine rope, hoisted the large bundle of furs onto his shoulder, and embarked on his journey to Tinietz for the fur trade...

...