The First Transmigrat

I began to travel.

Wearing a torn training shirt and track pants I'd scavenged from the old survival shelter, I must've looked like some lost soul from a different age. At least my shoes were intact.

The gold-and-black ring still sat on my finger. My storage—my hoard. Inside were all my oddities: a broken PC, the black USB drive that held my cheat, transparent crystals, extra clothes, scraps of strange tech, my old baseball bat… and, somewhat embarrassingly, a bunch of jewelry I'd stolen from my mother's closet in a panic before everything fell apart.

I couldn't even remember why. I couldn't clearly remember her anymore.

Only her name.

And the weight in my chest.

It wasn't long before I encountered other humans.

I didn't approach them. Just watched—cautious, silent.

A few travelers passed me by. I tracked them at a distance until they led me to a town nestled in a valley—dusty stone walls, watchtowers, and a wooden palisade.

I didn't go in right away.

Instead, I lingered outside for a few days, observing the people who moved in and out—likely city guards, from their coordinated movements.

Eventually, I caught one alone.

I didn't kill him. Just knocked him out with a single blow and dragged him to a clearing.

I needed something from him.

Language.

I tried to tap into his soul—force a connection between our minds. Surprisingly… it worked. I saw fragments. Sounds, symbols, spoken words paired with memories.

Not much at first. I couldn't make full sense of it.

I didn't want to push too hard—not yet.

So I used the deer's blood to stabilize him, kept him alive, and left him unconscious in a dry cave with his stuff intact.

Well, except for the money. I took that.

Even survival needed funding.

I spent the next few days wandering the region. Hoping—half-jokingly—that I'd run into bandits. It just felt like the kind of world where they should be.

But no luck.

Just trees. Rocks. Bugs.

Until the day someone stabbed me from behind.

A spear struck my back—and snapped against my skin.

I turned around slowly, eyes cold. The attacker—a lean man in rough furs—froze as I looked at him. His face drained of color.

I smiled.

"Self-defense," I whispered.

Then grabbed his head and pulled him close. This time, I dug deeper.

Memories spilled into me—frantic, chaotic. I skimmed through them quickly, just enough to learn the language. Basic words, structure. How to speak. How to write. Enough to fake belonging.

I stopped just before his consciousness collapsed entirely.

He slumped to the ground, breath ragged.

Not dead.

I left him alive, in a cave, packed with his belongings. A flask of water, dried meat, his old spear. I'd taken his coin pouch, but spared his life.

I wasn't a murderer.

At least not by my own standards.

With language in hand, I entered the town.

Eyes followed me.

Hard to blame them.

A man with strange clothes, golden pupils, and a calm aura walking through their gates—it must've looked like a god pretending to be a traveler.

I approached the guards and handed them a few copper coins.

"Traveler," I said simply.

The older one gave me a nod and a smile. "You've come far. Welcome."

He waved me through, then called over to a teenage boy nearby.

The kid, maybe seventeen, grinned like a fox when the guard flicked him a silver coin.

"Show the man around."

The kid jogged up beside me. "I'm Liam! You new here?"

"Just arrived," I replied.

"Figured." He eyed my clothes. "You dress like you lost a bet with a lightning god."

"Maybe I did."

He blinked, then laughed. "Alright, mister lightning. I'll be your guide."

He showed me around the town—names of districts, inns, blacksmiths, markets. There was a bustle to the place. A rough edge, but no real tension. People bartered loudly, traded goods under colorful tents, and shouted gossip from across the cobblestone street.

When I asked about housing, he scratched his head.

"Cheap, huh?" He squinted at me. "You want cheap cheap, or don't-ask-what-died-in-the-attic cheap?"

"I'd rather sleep without catching a curse."

"Reasonable."

He led me toward the outskirts, pointing out a row of stone cottages. One had a crooked chimney and wild moss crawling up its side.

"This one here's old, but solid. Ten silvers for the year. No rats. Probably."

I raised an eyebrow. "Probably?"

"Hey, I didn't say no ghosts."

I snorted. "I'll take it."

He grinned and slapped the wall. "Congratulations. You now own the finest haunted shack in this entire district."

I paid the coin.

Not because I was settling—but because I needed time.

Time to observe. Time to blend in.

This world… wasn't high-powered. Through my Golden Eyes, I could see the ambient energy was sparse and untamed. Most people didn't even have a single trace of cultivation or divine connection.

Which meant I had the upper hand.

For now.