Chapter 8: Sanctuary Forest (1) 

“Ugh…”

My awareness slowly returned, emerging from a haze.

My head throbbed.

My limbs were stiff.

My throat was parched—painfully so—and my stomach howled with hunger.

But at least I wasn’t lying in some desolate wasteland. I could feel that what lay beneath me wasn’t rock or dirt, but an actual bed. A bit lumpy, sure, but still a real mattress.

“Ngh… mm…”

I tried to sit up, a groan slipping involuntarily from my lips. I sensed movement nearby.

“He’s awake!”

“What? Really?”

“Quick! Inform the chieftain… and the others… the divine envoys!”

Voices. Who were they talking about? Chieftain? Divine envoy? Who were these people? Where even was I?

“Divine envoy… sir? Can you… hear me?”

A man’s voice. I felt his breath brush against my face. He was close, peering down at me.

I moved my lips, forcing out a sound.

“I… ngh… water…”

The moment I said water, a flurry of motion erupted around me. Something was pressed to my lips, and a cool, tasteless liquid poured into my mouth. Water. Actual water. I hadn’t tasted any in what felt like forever.

A few gulps cleared my head considerably. I pried my eyes open with effort—

“It’s a blessing… truly… that you’re unharmed, divine envoy.”

—only to be met with what looked like a waking nightmare.

A face too dreadful to stare at directly.

The features were normal enough—just an average middle-aged man—but the skin…

Rotted.

Rotted.

Rotted. Rotted. ROTTED.

His face was covered in lesions and decay.

Only small patches of skin remained intact, and even those were a sickly, ashen gray.

This wasn’t just a skin condition; it was worse than the acid-attack victims I’d seen on TV.

The others standing behind him were the same.

And yet, I didn’t scream or recoil. Partly because I didn’t have the strength, but more so because I could sense no hostility from them. As terrifying as they looked, it was clear this man had been the one caring for me while I was unconscious.

“Do you… feel alright? Are you in… any pain?”

“Uh, I think I’m okay. wait—”

Before I could stop her, another rotted woman—at least I thought she was a woman—began touching my body uninvited. Only then did I realize I was lying down. She pressed on my arm firmly and let out a sigh of relief.

“The chieftain’s healing… went well. The severe sprains… have already healed.”

“That’s good… to hear. Here… these are yours.”

The first man handed me a set of clothes—my own, the ones I’d been wearing when I arrived. Now patched up in several places.

“Can you… move?”

“More or less.”

“If it becomes too… difficult, please… call us. We will help… you dress.”

“No need. I’ve got it.”

***

I dressed myself and tested my limbs. Though I still felt a bit wobbly, I could walk. I recalled the last image before I lost consciousness. I had jumped from a tall rooftop without any protection or time to break the fall. The impact had been brutal, but at least I’d escaped the spring-limbed monster.

While I changed, the people here—who called themselves the “rotted-face people,” with a certain self-deprecating irony—explained what had happened.

They were the ones who had saved us.

It was them who had urged me to jump. They’d carried me and the others out of the town while I was unconscious. The healing was done by their chieftain.

“I really can’t thank you enough. I’m sorry, but ‘thank you’ is all I can offer. I have nothing to repay you with.”

“We would… never ask for such a thing. The presence… of divine envoys… is comfort enough for us,” said Jols.

Jols—that was the name of the middle-aged man who had tended to me. He seemed to hold some standing in their village. 

Every one of the rotted-face people spoke haltingly, pausing awkwardly mid-sentence. Was their throat decayed too?

“Are you… ready?”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

“Can you walk… comfortably? Do you need… a stretcher?”

“I’m fine.”

“Then let’s go.”

He smiled, baring his teeth—like something straight out of a horror film.

“I’ll take you… to the chieftain. He will… answer your questions.”

***

When people hear forest settlement, they probably picture something out of The Lord of the Rings, like a beautiful elven kingdom, or maybe a whimsical woodland cottage from a fairy tale.

This place, however, had nothing to do with beauty or whimsy.

Stepping outside, the first thing I saw was trees. Tall ones. Countless trunks, spaced just evenly enough to navigate.

Then came the homes—makeshift shelters built from stone, planks, and canvas, all haphazardly clustered together. Narrow winding paths threaded through the dwellings, resembling a low-budget version of a Brazilian favela. 

Glancing back, I realized the place I’d been recovering in was the best building around.

Torches flickered outside, casting shifting shadows of branches and huts on the ground, like the silhouettes of lurking demons. Piles of junk littered the paths, filth stained every corner, and the air carried the faint stench of rot. This was easily the worst living condition I’d ever seen.

Other rotted-face villagers stared at me from within the torchlight’s dim reach. The sensation of being the center of attention was deeply uncomfortable.

“Please… this way.”

Jols walked into a shadowed path. His figure quickly faded into the gloom, and I hurried after him. The roads twisted like a maze—crooked huts and sagging fences everywhere, even drying lines strung haphazardly between them. It was easy to imagine getting hopelessly lost.

“This way.”

Maybe it had been several minutes—or maybe just a few—but eventually I was relying solely on his voice to track our route. 

We circled around an empty animal pen, pushed through some undergrowth, slipped between a few more huts—and suddenly, light spilled into view. 

We’d arrived.

It was a small plaza, ringed with torches and far brighter than the rest of the village. Few people were present, only a handful of rotted-face guards lingering at the edges. In the center stood five people—five with unblemished faces and normal clothing.

Three were familiar: Felice, Jelena, and Booker. The remaining two were strangers, clearly also Earthlings.

“Ohohohoh! Yuhong, bro! You’re alive after all! Jelena and I were worried sick!”

“I’m only a few years younger than you. But yeah, you’re alive. Honestly, I really thought you were a goner.”

Booker and Jelena rushed over, visibly relieved.

“Yuhong…”

Felice looked at me. Though she only called my name, I could more or less understand what she meant.

“Don’t worry. I’m feeling a little drained, but otherwise fine.”

“…Mm.”

She gave a small nod, her face subtly relaxing. You’d have to be paying close attention to notice the change.

“…”

“…”

Then she just stared at me, so intently it sent a chill down my back. It felt like she was waiting for me to say something, but what?

“Oi, oi, are you a blockhead or what? Or are you just into dudes?” Booker smacked the back of my head.

“What is it now?”

“Her clothes, man! She’s waiting for you to say something.”

“Huh?”

Clothes?

Only then did I notice Felice was wearing something new—not my old outerwear, but rough linen similar to what the rotted-face villagers wore. Grey-white, the kind of outfit you’d see on medieval European peasants. But on her, it carried a sort of simple elegance.

So… should I compliment her? 

I think my sister once said something like, “When a girl wears something new, just compliment it. But if it’s you doing it, she might think you’re into her and get the wrong idea. So in the long run, maybe just don’t say anything.” 

Little Jing, what exactly did you want me to do?

“Uh, your outfit looks good on you.”

A compliment, sort of…? That was so awkward.

But Felice didn’t look pleased—instead, she tilted her head in confusion, as if thinking, What’s this guy on about? Meanwhile, Booker—who just told me to compliment her—awkwardly turned away and pretended to whistle.

“This…”

She pointed to my feet. I looked down and realized the shoes I’d worn—the ones on the bed when I woke up—were my own sneakers. On her feet were new shoes, woven from cloth and leather, like the ones the villagers wore.

“I cleaned them and gave them back.”

“Ah, right. Thanks.”

“I should be the one thanking you.”

She nodded politely, then averted her gaze again, eyes half-lidded and drowsy.

So… that’s all she wanted to say?

The two people I didn’t recognize were now watching our exchange with curiosity.

One was a young girl, maybe twelve or thirteen, with a bob of chestnut hair and a lively presence. She was watching me with sparkling eyes.

The other was a large man, nearly thirty by the looks of it, Southeast Asian in appearance, with a muscular build packed into a shirt that looked ready to burst. Probably a bodybuilder.

“You two are…?”

I frowned slightly. I’d had my suspicions, and now I was sure—everyone transported to this world seemed to be young. Not one elderly or even middle-aged person so far. Everyone was under thirty.

Why? Because young people have better stamina?

“Hi, big brother! I’m Rena! I’m twelve, from France!”

The girl bounced over excitedly, her eyes shining. Honestly, I didn’t know how to handle that kind of gaze.

“Uncle Booker said you’re super strong! You killed lots of lizard-like monsters?”

“Uh, that’s… a bit much. And also, call him ‘big brother,’ not ‘uncle.’”

“Wah! Yuhong-bro is so modest. You even stood up for me. See? I told you I’m a ‘big bro,’ not an ‘uncle,’ fuck! That’s why you’re my bro, haha!”

Booker dropped the whistling act and patted me on the shoulder like we were close. I wanted to tell him we’re not, but swallowed the words. If you looked carefully, you could see the unease in everyone’s eyes. Booker was just trying to distract himself.

But seriously, Yuhong-bro? I’m younger than you.

The other guy spoke up.

“Mizan Rahman. From Malaysia. Nice to meet you.”

His words were brief. I shook his hand and felt a rough patch of calluses. He had the rugged look of a veteran action hero, someone who wouldn’t be out of place in a Rambo film.

“I was born in Penang. My parents are in the fishing business. Never been abroad. Didn’t expect my first trip overseas to be to another world.”

Ah. So, not exactly the silent type after all.

“I started working out in junior high and never stopped. Got my certification early. I’m a personal trainer in a gym in Kuala Lumpur.”

Uh…

“If we make it home, drop by sometime. I’ll give you a half-price discount with my referral.”

I don’t really work out, though.

“You’ve got a great foundation. Sharp upper body lines, long legs—just a little training and you’d be in amazing shape.”

“Okay, okay, I get it. If I have time, I’ll stop by.”

“Half off, I promise. I’ve got a lot of insight on chest and core development.”

“Thanks, really.”

God. This guy was the polar opposite of a stoic. Never judge a book by its cover.

After introductions, we chatted briefly. As expected, both had lost consciousness while doing something mundane on Earth, then woke up here. They’d been lucky—their spawn points weren’t dangerous. Rena had appeared directly in the village, while Mizan arrived somewhere in the forest. Neither had encountered any monsters.

So the monsters were only near the town? They didn’t attack this forest village? Why?

At that moment—

“Thank you for waiting, divine envoys. You’ve had a long journey.”

An old, raspy voice pulled my attention.

An elderly man approached, surrounded by several rotted-face villagers.

He had a full beard, a hunched back, and wore a dull gray robe. In his hand was a staff—metal, striking in its design. It looked like a thin, bare-branched tree, straight through the shaft with delicate limbs sprouting from the top.

Could this be—

“I am the chieftain here. Lund. In the past, I was known as ‘Iron-Vine Cantor’ Lund. On behalf of all our people, I welcome the divine envoys.”