The first light of dawn spilled through the canopy like molten gold, dripping between tangled vines and wide fan-leaves. Dew clung to every blade of grass, sparkling like tiny gemstones as the jungle stirred awake.
Freya walked slowly, barefoot on damp earth, her scythe resting across her shoulders. Grant followed behind her like a silent butler, the morning sun glinting off his ivory bones—which looked a little different from yesterday.
They seemed stronger. Thicker. Maybe even... newer?
Hard to tell, since he now wore a large wolf pelt draped over his frame like a cloak.
Birdcalls echoed from above in a chaotic symphony—hoots, chirps, screeches—while distant insects buzzed like tiny engines. The air smelled of wet stone, crushed greenery, and something floral she couldn't name.
For a moment, she just breathed.
Warm light dappled her pale skin, and though she could feel the sun... it didn't burn. A realization struck.
Wait. Shouldn't vampires hiss under sunlight? Or burst into flames?
"Highborn Demon," she muttered, glancing at her arm. "Guess I come with SPF 500."
The jungle was ancient, primal, and alive in a way she hadn't seen in either of her lives. Here, everything moved. The vines breathed. The leaves whispered. Even the shadows had a pulse.
And yet, with Grant shambling beside her and her belly full of looted life force, Freya felt oddly… content.
Not safe. Never safe. But balanced—like a predator among predators.
She tilted her head back to watch a flock of bat-like birds spiral overhead. Their wings shimmered a sickly green in the light, like something between a moth and a nightmare.
"Nature's metal as hell," she murmured. "But she's got taste."
They passed a tree whose bark bled amber sap, and another that swayed even though there was no wind. Freya narrowed her eyes.
"That one's moving," she muttered. "Definitely not touching that."
Grant didn't respond. He just trudged forward—silent and faithful—the perfect straight man to her ongoing monologue.
She sighed and adjusted the scythe on her shoulders, still not used to carrying a weapon... or how right it felt in her grip.
"Alright, Freya. Day two in murderous jungle, and probably surrounded by man-eating vine. Goal: find civilization. Or at least someone who doesn't want to eat me. And try not to die before lunch."
A flutter of wings overhead. A distant roar, low and guttural, somewhere deep in the green.
Freya smiled.
"Guess we're not going that way."
She glanced at Grant. "What say you, Sir Grant?"
Silence.
"Oh come on. You had a massive level-up after absorbing Mr. Wolfie and Mr. Tiger's remains. You're supposed to talk now."
A flicker of soul-fire sparked in Grant's eye socket. But still silent.
Freya squinted—was that... confusion?
She sighed and slapped her forehead. "Show me your panel again."
Name: Grant
Race: Undead
Level: 11
Racial Trait: [Undying – Lv. 2]
Bound Weapons: [Bone Blade – Lv. 5], [Bone Shield – Lv. 4]
Strength: 27
Agility: 23
Intelligence: 18
Skills: [Tenacity – Lv. 2], [Harden – Lv. 5], [Regeneration – Lv. 4]
Combat-skill: [Sword & Shield Mastery – Lv. 2]
"See? You have 18 intelligence. Be intellectual and utter some words from your mouth already."
Grant stood still for a long moment. The soul-fire in his eye socket pulsed, flickering like a glitching LED light.
Then he opened his jaw.
A dry, rasping creak came out—like someone trying to sandpaper words into existence.
"F… rr…"
"F—frr…"
Freya leaned forward, eyes wide.
"Wait. No way...Are you..... are you trying to say my name?"
"Fr…rr…kk…"
Grant's voice sounded like gravel being funneled through a dying gramophone, all static and scrape. But the effort was there, shaky and stiff.
"Fr…aaa…"
He twitched. Jaw clicked again.
"…Grk."
Freya blinked. "Okay, that was definitely a death rattle. Please don't say my name like that ever again."
She folded her arms. "You have 18 Intelligence, Grant. You can do this right."
Grant looked vaguely apologetic. Or maybe he just tilted his skull the wrong way.
"I've met statues with more conversational skills." She sighed, rubbing her temples. "Nevermind, just forget about it, let's move on."
With that settled, they pushed forward—off the trail, if it could even be called that.
The "path" was mostly broken undergrowth and jagged roots clawing up from the soil like the earth itself wanted to trip them.
Vines hung like nooses from above. Mushrooms the size of dinner plates glistened with ominous moisture.
And still, no sign of roads. No chimneys. Not even smoke. Only trees. Miles and miles of impossible, predatory trees.
"Y'know," Freya muttered, brushing past a fern with thorns on both sides, "If we were in a movie, this would be the moment where some horrifying creatures jump out and try to kill us. "
Grant made a grrrrrr.... As if he's trying to understand.
They continued moving through the overgrown path. Just ahead, the jungle opened slightly into a mossy clearing, dappled with golden sunlight.
And something was waiting.
A creature hunched on a fallen log, nearly blending into the surroundings. At first glance, it looked like a log itself—until it blinked.
It was a lizard, but it was six-legged, flat-headed, with skin like wet bark and a tongue that flicked through a ring of teeth. Its yellow eyes locked onto Freya, unblinking.
Another one slithered down from a tree branch, claws digging into the wood with a sticky tick tick tick.
And more of them followed, five, ten, fifteen, twenty...
Freya froze. "Oh crap."
"See? I told you so."
The lizard pack began to spread out, flanking. Their heads swayed low, hissing, bodies tensing to spring.
"…Grant?" Freya whispered, grip tightened around the scythe.
Grant moved up beside her, shield half-raised. He didn't need 18 intelligence to sense hostility.
The lizards crept closer.
"Okay," Freya murmured, backing toward his side. "No sudden moves. No aggression. Maybe we can slow-walk out of this—"
A lizard lunged forward.
Not a full attack—just a feint. Testing her. Tried to rattle her. And it worked.
Caught by surprise, Freya flinched. And that was enough to encourage the rest to surge a step closer.
"Shit!"
Freya swung the scythe low in a defensive arc, slashing the ground between them. Drawing them warning a line.
"Back. Off."
They didn't.
The lizards hissed back, and one of them stood out, it climbed onto a low rock, its frill fully extended, hissing so loud it sounded like boiling acid.
"So," Freya growled, pointing her scythe, " I guess you're the boss, huh?"
It hissed louder—deafening.
The rest echoed it, one by one.
A chorus of rattling screeches rose in waves, echoing off the trees. It wasn't noise—it was communication. A signal. A warning. Maybe even a countdown.
But something inside her ignited—a spark that roared into a furnace. It grew hotter. Wilder. Her vision sharpened. Senses heightened. Mana running through her veins like molten silver.. This is the feeling of power!
That's right, She's a freaking vampire, she's supposed to be powerful!
There's no reason for her to have a stand-off with a bunch of lizards as if they were dragons.
She smirked, "You know what? I actually got something for you."
She stepped towards the alpha. [Intimidate].
A pulse rippled out.
Not light. Not sound. Just presence.
It hit like a falling guillotine. It's the kind of fear you don't see or hear—just feel, deep in the soul. The kind that wakes preyed animals in the middle of the night, running from a shadow they'll never see.
The lizards were silenced. All at once.
Tails dropped. Frills folded. The alpha hissed once—then bolted.
The others scattered, vanishing into the undergrowth like leaves in the wind.
Freya exhaled slowly and rested the scythe back across her shoulders.
"Yeah. Run, you little bastards," she muttered, smirking. "Next time, don't pick a fight with a vampire."
The jungle fell silent after the lizards fled.
Freya let the moment linger, savoring the quiet. That kind of victory—scaring off a swarm of toothy forest velociraptors with nothing but presence—was new. And satisfying.
Behind her, the soulfire in Grant's eye sockets flickered, just for a second. Almost like it wanted to say, "Good job, milady."
Or maybe a leaf just drifted into his skull again.
Either way, she smirked. "Damn right."
The sun had shifted overhead, casting long spears of gold through the canopy. The light pierced between curtains of vines and massive fan-leaves, painting the undergrowth in streaks of amber and shadow.
It was beautiful, in a dangerously hallucinogenic sort of way.
As they moved forward, the air thickened—wet and warm like a jungle sauna. Somewhere ahead, deep and rhythmic, came a new sound.
A low, constant rumble. Freya's ears perked.
"Water!"
"It's the sound of water!"
"Water means river. River means fish. Fish means people. People mean civilization!"
She broke into a jog, toes squelching slightly in the mossy soil. Then she paused, frowning. "Actually... consider where we are now, fish probably also means giant, carnivorous fish-zilla..."
"But I'm still going."
Grant trudged after her, his bones clacking in rhythm like someone half heartedly playing a xylophone with spoons.
He didn't complain—couldn't, literally—but Freya still glanced back from time to time to make sure he hadn't fallen into a pit or gotten tangled in vines.
He was a bit of a slowpoke, after all.
The trees began to thin, and the air turned cooler. Mist drifted through the gaps in the underbrush, curling like smoke.
And then, the jungle opened up.
Before them, a narrow gorge stretched out, carved into the black stone like a wound. A ribbon of water poured from high above, crashing down into a wide, gleaming pool.
Sunlight caught the spray and threw rainbows across the mist. The pool shimmered like glass, ringed with moss-covered boulders and pale roots that curled into the water like fingers.
Freya stood there, breath caught in her throat.
For a place built entirely out of monsters and death-traps, this… this was almost serene.
"…phew," she said softly. "This is really something."
She stepped forward. The stone was cold underfoot, but smooth. Worn down by ages of wind and water.
She dipped her hand in the pool—ice-cold and clear. She took a tentative sip.
Sweet. Pure. No blood. No floating meat chunks. Just pure, clean water.
"Alright, jungle," she said, cupping more to drink. "You're still terrifying. But I might forgive you for this one."
Grant stood at the water's edge, staring at his own reflection like it owed him money.
"You know you're allowed to touch it, right?" Freya asked. "It won't melt your bones."
He stepped in. Reluctantly. Just up to the knees, then stopped. The wolf-pelt clung wetly to his ribcage, making him look even more like a disgruntled undead druid.
Freya went deeper, sighing as the water rose to her waist.
Then she flopped back with a splash, letting herself float in the shallows, arms wide, eyes closed.
For the first time since she woke up in this cursed vampire-loli body, she wasn't fighting, running, or monologuing about doom.
Just… drifting.
Mist clung to her lashes. The waterfall rumbled like distant thunder. Birdcalls echoed from the trees, quieter here. Calmer.
Isekai wasn't all bad afterall.
"This is better than the infinity pool back at my apartment," she muttered, letting out a soft, satisfied groan. "No chlorine, no screaming kids… just good ol' isekai-grade spring water."
A suspicious ripple slithered across the surface, somewhere near the further end.
"Yeah...." she added dryly, "Go away fish-zilla, go far far away."
The skeletal knight watched in silence, skull slightly tilted in eternal confusion. Freya waved a hand vaguely in his direction.
"Don't look at me like that. A girl has priorities."