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Chapter 1: Knowledge

The night was moonless, with a cold drizzle pattering down. Raindrops fell on the riverbank’s soil and rocks, washing away bloodstains and spreading a faint metallic scent through the air.

This was the bottom of a deep gorge. A turbulent stream cut through the valley, its rushing waters echoing against the cliffs. On one side of the gorge stood a sheer cliff; on the other, a steep slope dotted with resilient shrubs and trees clawing their way out of the rocky soil. At the base of the slope, the incline eased, forming a slanted floodplain along the riverbank—a stage for a grim scene.

Several overturned wagons lay scattered across the riverbank. Corpses of people and horses were strewn about, blood oozing from ghastly wounds, only to be swept into the river by the rain. The faces of the deceased were frozen in terror, forever preserving their final moments.

The silence of death pervaded the rain-drenched battlefield. All seemed devoid of life—or so it appeared.

Near the riverbank, within an overturned carriage barely suspended by its reins from slipping into the rushing waters, a young girl leaned against an upturned seat, silent and still.

The girl looked to be about thirteen years old, dressed in a modest white-and-brown dress, with plain shoes and short socks—hardly the attire of someone wealthy. Her body was stained with blood in several places. Long, silver-white hair cascaded neatly down past her shoulders, glinting faintly even in the dim light. Her serene, closed face was marred by blood on one side, which had trickled down from a wound hidden beneath her right bangs.

Like the surrounding carnage, the girl seemed to be another part of the tragedy—until her brows twitched ever so slightly.

No one could tell how much time passed before faint breaths emerged from beneath her nose. Her chest began to rise and fall again, and the weak rhythm of life returned.

“Ugh...”

The girl’s brows furrowed tightly, her expression revealing discomfort. She raised a hand to her throbbing temple.

‘It hurts... and it’s so cold... Was I having a nightmare? Did I fall off the bed?’

Her thoughts swirled chaotically as she tried to make sense of her situation. As the pain in her head gradually subsided, her mind cleared, and questions began to multiply.

‘Is it raining outside? Why do I hear running water? There’s no river near my house. Did someone turn on a faucet early in the morning?’

Amid her confusion, she slowly opened her eyes, revealing crimson irises. At first, the dark, cramped space disoriented her. As her vision adjusted, she could finally discern her surroundings—and froze.

Opposite her, in the overturned carriage, a woman’s lifeless body slumped against an upright seat. Fragments of broken glass from the carriage window jutted from the woman’s throat, her blood-soaked dress a macabre canvas. Her eyes were wide open, terror etched in her final expression, sending a chill through the girl.

“Gah...”

The gruesome sight made the girl gasp, fear gripping her mind and washing away all other thoughts. Instinctively, she stood, only to slam her head against the carriage roof with a loud thud. Crouching and clutching her head, she frantically surveyed her surroundings, now fully aware of the cramped space she was trapped in.

Sharing such an enclosed space with a horrifying corpse made her shiver uncontrollably. Hastily, she groped around, searching for an escape route. Her fingers soon found the carriage door above her. She pushed it open with all her strength and clambered out into the rain-soaked riverbank.

‘What the hell is this? Where am I? Why are there corpses?! Did someone dump me in a haunted house as a prank? Who would go this far for a joke?!’

These frantic thoughts raced through her mind as she crawled out of the carriage. But when she finally emerged and took in the scene before her, she was struck dumb.

More bodies littered the area—not just humans but horses as well. The air reeked of blood, a stench the rain couldn’t wash away. Several wagons lay overturned, their flickering gas lanterns casting faint, eerie light over the carnage. Wagon wheels spun slowly, hinting that the chaos had unfolded not long ago.

‘This… This can’t just be some prank… The scale is insane… Who would go to such lengths?’

Standing in the rain, the girl muttered to herself, her voice tinged with fear and confusion. Terror clawed at her heart, but she forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down.

“Don’t panic… Stay calm… I need to assess the situation…”

Just as she steadied herself, a sudden sharp pain surged through her head. Groaning, she clutched her temple.

Her thoughts became a chaotic torrent as countless memories—foreign and unfamiliar—surged into her mind. The influx overwhelmed her, threatening to tear her consciousness apart.

“Ah... what... is this…”

Gritting her teeth, she leaned against the carriage, fighting to stay conscious. Gradually, the storm in her mind settled, the pain fading into the background. And with it came clarity—a realization as shocking as the scene around her.

“Haah... So… it’s not a prank... but... reincarnation?”

Panting heavily, she grasped the truth of her predicament.

The soul now inhabiting the girl’s body was that of a traveler from another world, while the original owner of this body was named Dorothy.

According to Dorothy’s memories, she was an ordinary girl living in a remote village. Her father, a hunter, had died in an accident during a hunt, and her mother disappeared shortly afterward. From a young age, Dorothy and her only remaining family member, her older brother, were taken in by Aunt Hannah, a kind relative of their father.

Dorothy stood out because of her striking silver-white hair and crimson eyes, but in every other way, she was an ordinary, albeit beautiful, girl. Under Aunt Hannah’s care, she grew up alongside her brother, a well-behaved and diligent child who often helped the adults with chores.

Due to her natural intelligence, Dorothy was sent to a church school in the nearby town to learn to read and write. By her early teens, she became one of the few literate people in the village, often helping others with letters and documents.

Dorothy’s brother, six years older than her, left the village at sixteen to work in the city after local lands were fenced off for sheep pastures. After three years, he wrote back, saying he had found a decent job and could afford a proper place to live. He wanted Dorothy to join him in the city.

Overjoyed by the letter, Dorothy bade farewell to the villagers, packed her belongings, and boarded a carriage heading for the city. However, not long after setting out, their convoy was attacked by bandits.

Now sitting by the riverside at the gorge’s base, rubbing her temples, Dorothy sifted through the memories while glancing at the steep slope nearby. The slope was littered with items that had spilled from overturned carriages. Her memories revealed that their convoy had been chased by bandits, causing the carriages to topple and tumble down the slope. Judging by the scene, it seemed no one had survived.

In her final moments, Dorothy remembered hearing the bandits’ shouts and the growls of beasts. Amid the terrified neighing of horses, her world flipped upside down, and the last thing she felt was a sharp pain in her forehead before everything went dark.

“Poor girl,” Dorothy sighed softly, feeling a pang of sympathy. “She finally had the chance to leave for a better life, only to face this…”

As she lamented, her expression suddenly froze.

“Wait… girl?!”

Realizing something crucial, Dorothy quickly extended a hand to examine her body. After a few probing attempts that yielded no results, her face twisted in disbelief.

“It’s gone… it’s really gone… I’m Dorothy… Dorothy’s a girl… I’ve turned into a girl?!”

For a moment, Dorothy stood in stunned silence, her face blank, letting the drizzle soak her.

But just then, a distant sound snapped her back to her senses.

“Hey! Found it! The carriages rolled down here!”

“Boss, we found them!”

Hearing the unfamiliar voices in a language she somehow understood, Dorothy’s heart skipped a beat. She turned toward the direction of the sound and saw faint flickering lights in the distance, gradually moving closer along the riverbank.

The bandits. They had come down to search and were heading straight in her direction.

Realizing the peril, Dorothy frowned deeply. She crouched down and hid behind one of the overturned carriages, her mind racing.

‘This is bad… They must be here to loot the place. Those guys are ruthless criminals—I have to escape…’

Scanning her surroundings, Dorothy looked for a way out. Unfortunately, the rising river due to the rain had submerged potential escape routes, and the steep slope was too slick and dangerous to climb.

The only path out was the direction of the approaching firelight, but that was precisely where the bandits were coming from. If she fled that way, she’d surely run straight into them.

‘Damn it… Is there no way out?’

Feeling the weight of the situation, Dorothy grew increasingly anxious. Just as she contemplated playing dead in hopes of fooling the bandits, a strange voice echoed in her mind.

It was emotionless, impossible to discern whether male or female, as though countless voices spoke in unison in a low chant.

“Soul integration complete… Link established…”

“Sacrifice knowledge… Bestow knowledge…”

“Huh?”

Startled, Dorothy’s eyes widened. She shook her head, trying to refocus her thoughts.

‘What the hell? Where’s that voice coming from? It’s directly in my head? Could this be… one of those systems people always talk about when they get isekai’d?!’

Though confused by the sudden voice, Dorothy quickly pushed aside her shock. With danger imminent, she forced herself to think clearly, determined to figure out how to use this mysterious phenomenon to her advantage.

Comments 6

  1. Offline
    Saejiro
    + 10 -
    This first chapter’s trying so hard to impress it might as well be sweating through its shirt and offering free samples. You can almost hear it begging, “Please think I’m cool,” as it speedruns every trope in the Isekai starter pack like it’s afraid originality might kill it.

    Trust me, I’ve developed a sixth sense for this kind of thing, and I’m telling you right now—it’s already greasing itself up to belly crawl into the same landfill as every other That Time I Got Reincarnated With a System, a Harem, and No Identity of My Own novel. It’s digital junk food written by losers who think getting drunk on this shit makes them literary savants.

    Which is a shame—because the writing is actually weirdly solid. Like, suspiciously above-average for this genre. There’s clear talent on display, especially with the momentum, the horror, the intrigue… and then the author full-on stabs it in the knees with a plot twist straight out of a Crunchyroll fever dream. Imagine watching a gothic cathedral get defaced with a crayon doodle of Goku in a maid outfit. That’s where we are.

    Now, take a look at this absolute gem:
    Wait… girl?!”

    Realizing something crucial, Dorothy quickly extended a hand to examine her body. After a few probing attempts that yielded no results, her face twisted in disbelief.

    “It’s gone… it’s really gone… I’m Dorothy… Dorothy’s a girl… I’ve turned into a girl?!

    Oh hell yeah, a gender-swap plot twist. Bold. Revolutionary. Never seen that before...unless you’ve opened literally any story in the “gender bender” tag for more than three seconds.

    So Dorothy, fresh off the trauma express, wakes up in a blood-drenched horror show—and the moment that breaks her isn’t the corpses, it’s the realization her joystick’s been swapped for DLC. She goes from “oh god, corpses everywhere!” to “oh no, boobies,” like she just got the wrong Starbucks order.

    It’s not even played for shock value—it’s treated like a minor inconvenience, like she picked the wrong skin in a first-person tactical shooter game. Where’s the existential crisis? Where’s the identity meltdown? Instead, we get Twitter-thread-level whiplash like someone jammed a lousy shitpost account into her skull mid-dialogue.

    And her voice is all over the place—one minute she’s a confused kid, the next she’s a logical adult, and then suddenly she’s cracking wise like an over-caffeinated anime protagonist trying to qualify for a gacha banner. It’s like three different writers playing hot potato with the keyboard while cosplaying three of Moon Knight’s personalities.

    Oh, and the system voice? Incredible. Because nothing says “immersive horror” like a stock Windows XP notification cutting through the mood with, “Link established... Sacrifice knowledge,” like it’s a sponsored segment. The tension just got snuffed out by a pop-up ad, people. Horror left the building, and the ghost of r/lightnovels started LARPing in the empty hallways.

    But hey, I could be wrong. Maybe the next chapter pulls a narrative Houdini and slips out of the Isekai meat grinder with a triple backflip. But I’m not gonna sit here and slap a fresh coat of lipstick on a decaying corpse, so I’ll call it for what it is until it proves otherwise.
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    1. Offline
      Doodle
      + 10 -
      Rather creative description. You seem to be an interesting individual.
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    2. Offline
      Madiyar Kuandyk
      + 00 -
      Как же не хватает таких людей, правда, я с тобой полностью, ВОТ ПРЯМ ПОЛНОСТЬЮ, согласен про такие книги и таких авторов, которые пытаются обсосать, вроде бы не плохую историю, но нет б***ь нужно миксовать коктейль из банана, гвоздей, моторного масла, шампанского и молока.
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  2. Offline
    domestic.dove
    + 31 -
    It always annoys me when authors use dialogue for exposition. Especially when the MC is f#cking literally telling me the plot. Who the f#ck is the mc talking and who talks like that
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    1. Online Offline
      Eat eating ate
      + 01 -
      The author knew some of us needed the training wheels on
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      1. Offline
        Saejiro
        + 00 -
        Bro, training wheels? Seriously? That’s like congratulating someone for remembering how to blink. It’s pure, grade-A condescension dressed up as helpful insight. That kind of smooth-brained excuse is exactly why the Isekai genre is stuck swirling in its own septic tank.

        You don’t slap ‘training wheels’ on a story and then call it a feature. That’s infantilization. It’s not helping the reader—it’s only insulting their brain and calling it a favor. This isn’t preschool, man. We’re not teaching toddlers how to pedal. This is reading and writing fiction.

        If your narrative can’t stand up without babying the audience, maybe it shouldn’t be standing at all.
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