His eyes flickered from side to side, rapidly scanning the grim scene.
Each breath came short and shallow, his chest rising in panicked jolts. His heart slammed against his ribs like it was trying to break free.
'What the hell is this?!' he thought, eyes wide.
Then—
A glowing window materialized in midair, floating ominously in front of his face.
[Quest: Arlen's Half-Naked Survival]
Success: System Initialization.
Failure: Death.
He stared at it, mouth half open. "…The fuck?"
He looked down again—mud-covered feet, raggedy underwear, and a glorified wooden stick masquerading as a weapon.
The heat turned his skin a light shade of red.
Screams….Bloodcurdling screams echoed in front of him.
He turned his head just in time to see armored soldiers storming through the village, their blades merciless. Civilians ran, tripping over debris and each other, only to be cut down like cattle.
Right in front of him, a woman threw herself over a small child, trying to shield them with her own body.
Steel flashed.
The sword sliced clean through both.
Blood sprayed in an arc—warm, wet, and very real—splattering across his face and chest. The stench hit him immediately.
His breath caught in his throat. His stomach turned.
This time it wasn't a cutscene.
This was happening.
But still—he recognized it.
He knew this scene.
He'd seen it before. Played through it. Over and over again.
How could he forget…
This was the cursed prologue. The brutal opening to the most unforgiving playthrough in Legends of Kraust.
The Cursed Son of a Farmer.
He had become Arlen.
'Survive? This is the prologue to his main story!'
His mind raced, scanning the chaos for anything familiar, anything useful.
Dozens of blood-soaked soldiers turned their gaze toward him. Their eyes gleamed with amusement—as if savoring the thrill of killing their prey.
There was only one thought in his head.
RUN.
Arlen turned on his heel and bolted out of there.
"It should be the same as in the game, right?" he muttered through gritted teeth, sprinting toward the tallest structure in the village—the chief's residence. "Please be there. Please still be there."
The soldiers howled and gave chase immediately
"Shit!!" He gasped. "I forgot… This body's cursed!"
Stamina drained faster. Mana leaked constantly.
He could feel it now—his legs growing heavy, like sandbags tied to his back. His lungs burned, every breath a desperate gasp. Each step felt like dragging his body through tar.
"Just a bit… more…"
The burning silhouette of the village chief's residence loomed ahead, its roof engulfed in flames, walls cracked and groaning. Arlen sprinted past the charred wooden sign swaying in the wind, skidding to a halt in front of the scorched double doors.
In the world of Kraust, Marshwood was nothing more than a dot on the edge of the Melrose Kingdom, a humble border village—yet tactically important. The village chief wasn't just some wrinkled old man in a chair; he was usually a battle-hardened commander, and his residence doubled as a military outpost in times of war.
But that wasn't why Arlen had risked everything to come here.
No.
He came here for one reason only.
BOOM!
The ground behind him erupted in a blast of flame and smoke, sending dirt and stone flying. The pursuing soldiers stumbled back, momentarily stunned.
From the scorched earth rose a towering figure of stone
The Protector Golem.
He'd discovered this hidden mechanic on one of his previous runs. If triggered correctly, the golem—normally dormant—could activate even after the village chief's death and target enemy units.
It was his only shot at surviving.
"Yes! It's still here…" Arlen huffed, chest heaving.
"Catch that bastard!" one of the soldiers roared—only to be silenced a second later as the Protector Golem drove its massive stone fist into the ground. The shockwave blasted several soldiers into the air like rag dolls.
Arlen didn't wait to see more. He turned and sprinted away from the collapsing residence, flames sputtering at the walls as it began to cave in.
'I bought some time… for now.'
But he knew better than to relax. The golem was weak—its core unstable after the village chief's death. It would delay the soldiers, not stop them.
He slipped past the chaos, moving low between burning debris, scanning for movement. No soldiers in sight—for now.
His eyes landed on a rusted pickaxe half-buried in the dirt. He dropped the wooden stick and grabbed it.
"This is better than nothing."
With the weapon in hand, he headed north, past shattered homes and collapsed rooftops—until he reached a dead end. A tall stone wall loomed before him. Flames crackled behind him, boxing him in.
"No… no no no—where is it?" Arlen muttered, panic rising. He dropped to his knees and began running his hands across the ground. "It was right here…"
His fingers brushed a tile that shifted, slightly loose compared to the others.
His eyes lit up. "This is it."
He jammed the pickaxe into the edge of the stone slab and pulled with everything he had.
"FUCK! It's so heavy—!"
Veins bulged in his arms as he strained, groaning through clenched teeth. The tile finally gave way with a dull scrape, revealing a dark hole beneath.
An underground passage.
Without wasting a second, Arlen dropped to his stomach and squeezed through the narrow gap, dragging the pickaxe in behind him.
Darkness swallowed him.
But for the first time since this nightmare began, he had a sliver of safety.
And a chance to survive.
"Ugh… it smells like crap…" Arlen spat, covering his nose as he leaned against the wall.
The passage was old—part of Marshwood's forgotten sewage system, now abandoned and rotting. The walls dripped with moisture, and the air reeked of mold and decay.
Still, it was a safe route. Safer than outside.
All he had to do was follow the path. If he could reach the end, the first quest would be complete.
'How did I even end up in this mess…?'
His thoughts spiraled as he walked. A few minutes ago, he was a regular guy behind a screen. Now, he was knee-deep in filth, running for his life in a world he only ever played.
His legs ached, his stomach churned, and the stale air weighed down on his lungs.
'When will it end…'
BANG!
Arlen spun around, heart lurching. The sound echoed through the tunnel.
"What the fuck was that?" he hissed, squinting into the darkness behind him.
Something moved.
A low growl rumbled, followed by the shrill patter of claws on stone.
Then—two green glowing circles flickered into view. Eyes.
He staggered back in fear.
'What is that…'
The thing stepped closer.
Its hunched frame was the size of a dog, its fur patchy with sores. A massive, mutated rodent, with crooked yellow teeth, twitching whiskers, and a thick, whip-like tail covered in spikes.
It let out a distorted screech that echoed through the tunnel like a banshee's wail.
Arlen gripped the pickaxe tighter, his pulse hammering in his ears.
Then—
The creature lunged.