Chapter 2: Chapter One: God

A stench of cow dung filled his nose and mouth.

Deng Ken felt his head buzzing, as if his right cheek had been struck hard by a fist—swollen, bloody, and thick with the taste of blood.

His face and body were caked in cow dung; he lay sprawled beside a pile of manure and straw. Before he could make sense of what had happened, he heard distant, piercing screams—and the sound of blades hacking through bone like chopping meat.

A heavy stench of blood rushed into his nostrils.

Deng Ken staggered to his feet and looked up to see a corpse with wide, unblinking eyes—a middle-aged man with a Western face, dressed like a farmer in tattered clothes, dead, still oozing blood from his mouth, his chest soaked in gore, pinned beneath a manure fork.

Another scream rang out.

Thirty meters away, a peasant woman was cut down by a single sword stroke; blood gushed from her carotid artery, spouting over a meter high.

A tall, brutal figure retracted his blade, kicked the woman’s corpse aside, and spun to stab another farmer attempting to resist—running the man clean through.

Massacre.

This was a complete and utter massacre.

Three fully armed soldiers were slaughtering a group of defenseless peasants, scattering them like chaff, and with every swing of their weapons, claiming another innocent life.

He had been reincarnated.

Deng Ken realized this instantly—and the next second, he grabbed the manure fork beside him.

The weapon gave him no real sense of security.

But in this situation, holding a weapon versus being unarmed were two entirely different things. He took one second to assess himself: tattered clothes, still sturdy, a new body—youthful, no serious injuries, just his right cheek, likely bruised from a punch.

He could fight—but he couldn’t win.

They were deserters.

The information in his mind was overwhelming—likely the original body’s memories. Deng Ken had no time to process it; he used sheer willpower to extract only the most immediately useful fragments.

The empire had lost another battle.

Deserters had raided the village, clashed violently with the peasants, and slaughtered this sparsely populated hamlet.

They had no intention of leaving survivors—blame could be shifted onto the enemy.

“Survive first!”

Deng Ken realized he could die here at any moment.

Bandits strip like combs; soldiers sieve like rakes.

Deserters—what they were doing was no different from beasts.

These deserters, facing a group of farmers, became ferocious wolves—as if such brutality could restore the courage they’d lost when their army was shattered.

Deng Ken gripped the manure fork and crept backward.

He didn’t believe he could kill three well-equipped, professionally trained soldiers with just a manure fork—especially one among them who dressed like a medieval knight, though without plate armor or a helmet, clad instead in a coat of chainmail.

“Where’s my cheat? Where’s the system?”

“Blue!”

“Add points!”

Deng Ken received no response. He had already retreated several meters. Without a cheat, he had no chance. Though he didn’t know how the peasants were connected to the original body’s owner, he had been given a second life—he refused to waste it here.

So he prepared for a strategic retreat.

“There’s another one over there!” The knight-like man, eyes bloodshot and cruel, scanned the surroundings and barked: “Hyena, kill him!”

A tall, gaunt man nearby turned and charged toward Deng Ken, face twisted with malice.

He drew a short-handled throwing axe, circled around the front straw pile, accelerated his run, aiming to ambush Deng Ken at the corner with a flying axe.

“Enter combat state!”

Dazed, Deng Ken thought he heard something—then his consciousness lifted, instantly plunging into void. The next moment, he saw everything around him clearly.

A desolate, ruined village.

Three men in soldier’s attire, marked prominently in red on the village’s map.

Before him appeared a projection screen—a 360-degree, omniscient God’s-eye view, revealing every detail of his surroundings.

Deng Ken saw a young man fleeing, clutching a manure fork tightly. Fifty meters away, a tall, gaunt deserter approached from the side of a straw pile, wielding a throwing axe. Around them stood a cluster of straw piles and two wooden huts—if they met head-on, there’d be no chance to fight; the deserter would hurl his axe, and Deng Ken would be dead or critically wounded.

Deng Ken wore no armor—only a tattered hemp tunic and trousers.

In the lower-right corner of the projection.

Two other red-marked deserters continued slaughtering villagers; one bore a star symbol—likely a stronger knight. Bodies littered the ground, the scene grotesque and bloody, like watching an immersive movie.

Deng Ken’s consciousness floated in the void; the projection before him resembled a game interface.

“A game interface?”

Deng Ken’s will shifted—and the black-haired boy in the projection moved. He took two steps forward, then one step back, then jumped in place.

He still controlled the boy’s body, just like manipulating a character in a game from his past life.

Only now, he wasn’t using a mouse and keyboard—he used his mind, fully immersed, as if playing a virtual game.

“Is this my cheat?”

“If it’s a game interface, at least give me stats?”

“Health bar? Mana? Stamina?”

He willed it.

The projection before him shifted slightly—a short health bar appeared, partially depleted; a blue mana bar was empty; the stamina bar was long but slightly reduced.

He was now playing an action RPG, controlling the body of this teenage boy he had reincarnated into.

Deng Ken’s consciousness now hovered above his body, overseeing everything like a God’s-eye view!

“Any skills?”

“I can’t possibly win this near-certain death match with just basic attacks, can I?”

How could a peasant boy possibly defeat three professionally trained warriors?

Especially when they wore armor and wielded superior weapons, while he clutched only a manure fork.

——“Manure Fork Proficiency: Your origins and childhood labor have made you exceptionally skilled with the manure fork, surpassing all other weapons. When fighting with it, critical hit chance, backstab damage, and attack speed are greatly increased. No one will take a farmer wielding a manure fork seriously.”

——“Combat Slot [Thrust]: You’ve received no formal combat training. The only technique you’ve mastered is the thrust.”

——“Combat Slot [Roll]: You frequently fought as a child, giving you basic rolling evasion skills. But they don’t always work—especially against swift opponents.”

That’s it?

Looking at the lone “Thrust” and “Roll” combat slots, Deng Ken grew tense. But he had played countless games in his past life—he’d once won a tournament in Carthage with nothing but a stick. Now, seeing this familiar interface, his nerves eased. At least he had a cheat—this wasn’t completely hopeless.

Besides, this wasn’t controlled by mouse and keyboard—his mental reaction speed was faster. Don’t doubt the combat skill of a hardcore gamer. After switching to God’s-eye view and overcoming fear and instinct, he now felt eager to fight.

“I’ve beaten Souls games on one life. I won’t die here.”

Beside the straw pile.

As soon as his consciousness entered God’s-eye view, the controlled teenage body instantly transformed into a cold, expressionless warrior—the fear on his face vanished, replaced by a glint of excitement in his eyes.

He jumped in place, gripped the manure fork tightly, thrusting it at the air, then rolled to his right, covered in dirt and filth, slipping behind the straw pile.

“Control feels perfect! No lag whatsoever!”

Deng Ken’s consciousness manipulated the body, silently calculating the manure fork’s attack frames and reach. Through God’s-eye view, he saw the tall deserter ahead pause, confused. (60 frames per second.)

“Where’d that kid go?” The tall soldier frowned, lifting his head slightly—revealing a scar along his jaw.

Though small, the village had a crude outer fence. As a seasoned veteran, the tall man had planned to circle around the fence entrance and hurl his axe straight into Deng Ken’s skull.

He specialized in throwing Frankish axes.

But the boy had suddenly stopped—right in the narrow gap between the wooden huts and the straw piles.

The visibility there was poor.

The tall man instinctively switched to dual-wielding—but quickly sneered. After all, the boy was just a peasant with a manure fork—no threat at all.

He only needed to be careful to flush out this little rat and execute him.

The tall man tilted his ear, listening—he heard footsteps, close, just behind the side straw pile. These piles stood two to three meters high, neatly stacked, spaced two meters apart. The peasants relied on them for winter firewood and animal feed—they were this era’s quilts. Without them in winter, people froze to death.

The tall man moved cautiously, eyes scanning, ears alert.

Thwip!

But he never imagined every move he made was under Deng Ken’s God’s-eye surveillance. The instant he appeared, the manure fork shot forward—faster than lightning—piercing his skull. A piercing scream tore through the air as the fork’s tip exploded his eyeball.

These deserters were fairly well-equipped, but lacked helmets, shields, or heavy armor—they’d likely discarded those. Most wore light armor.

One inch longer, one inch stronger.

Deng Ken’s mind was clear—he had God’s-eye view, so he could strike first.

The manure fork wasn’t a great weapon, but it had reach. This body was young and strong, muscles hardened by labor—his full-power thrust would inflict damage. With God’s-eye view, he could maneuver. These straw piles were his natural cover.

Aah!

A scream—the enemy’s health bar appeared the moment he was pierced, then vanished instantly.

He’s dead already?

This wasn’t just damage—it was a one-hit kill. Deng Ken had shattered the deserter’s skull, the fork’s tip buried several centimeters inside. When he pulled it out, he felt bone catch.

Unlike his past life’s games, this was real damage—cut a leg, it was crippled; sever a hand, it was useless; a headshot meant instant death. Otherwise, how could a peasant boy kill a veteran deserter with one thrust of a manure fork? In a game, they’d trade blows for minutes.

As Deng Ken withdrew the fork, he noticed its tip was still sharp. This one-hit kill likely benefited from “Manure Fork Proficiency”—after all, it was a tool used for over a decade.

Moreover, under God’s-eye control, his “Thrust” technique was a full-body strike—hips and legs aligned. He could never have done this himself—he’d have been too nervous to move. But in God’s-eye view, a single thought triggered the body’s full power.

His control efficiency over this body had surged past 100%!

“This fight is winnable!”

The commotion had drawn the attention of the other two enemies. The village had only thirty to forty people—nearly all already slaughtered. Hearing the scream, another ruthless enemy rushed over.

Worse—the knight-like, cruel man had just slain the farmer kneeling before him, begging for mercy, and now drew his sword, sprinting toward Deng Ken.

He was marked with a star.

Two against one? You’re dead!

The grim man in knightly armor was better equipped—he wore a coat of chainmail, and though he lacked a helmet, he had a hooded cloth covering his head, its edges gleaming with metal. His arms bore bracers, elbow guards, and gauntlets; his legs were clad in knee guards, greaves, and metal-reinforced leather boots. Had he worn a breastplate, he would have been a full tin soldier.

This fight won’t be easy.

Deng Ken controlled his character to pick up the throwing axe. The instant he grasped it, a constantly shifting crosshair interface appeared—suddenly, he knew where his chance to turn the tide lay.

“One shot!”

“Aim for the head!”

At that moment, Deng Ken summoned the same relentless focus he’d once poured into all-night gaming marathons with his dorm mates—every ounce of attention locked onto the crosshair. The ever-shifting, expanding, and contracting crosshair reflected his mastery of the throwing axe; without any formal training, he could only aim by reading this wildly unstable reticle.

Like in a game, skill can compensate for lack of ability.

Hit!

Thud.

With the god’s-eye view, Deng Ken might as well have had x-ray vision—he timed his throw to the exact instant the enemy exposed his head, even anticipating it half a second early. He hurled the axe with full force. Eight meters away, it struck dead center on the forehead. The giant’s body collapsed with a thud, once again performing the classic health-bar-disappearing trick.

These enemies had health bars as short as his own.

On Deng Ken’s consciousness projection interface, his stamina bar dropped one segment, then began slowly regenerating.

“Only one enemy left!”

Deng Ken heard faint breathing—it came from the body he was controlling. His own consciousness felt nothing, but observing the stamina bar, he saw it had already dropped nearly halfway.

Though the stamina drain gave no direct feedback to his consciousness, the controlled body still showed signs of strain.

Breathing.

Two full-power bursts had left the body slightly fatigued.

At that moment, the grim knight appeared. His expression held a flicker of fear; his eyes locked onto the distant boy, disbelief etched into his face. Just moments ago, this boy had been knocked unconscious by a single punch from him—now, awake, he’d slain both his retainers in an instant.

I should’ve finished him off then.

Beside the haystack, the boy expressionlessly pulled the axe from the dead man’s skull and began retreating. Facing a trained knight head-on, he had zero chance of victory.

The enemy’s only weak point was his head—without a headshot, you couldn’t even wound him badly.

Deng Ken guided the body to retreat slowly, watching the stamina bar. Through the god’s-eye view, every move the enemy made was visible. When the enemy quickened his pace, Deng Ken sped up; when the enemy slowed and circled around, Deng Ken changed direction to evade.

Both his retainers had clearly been killed by ambush.

Deng Ken kept the body retreating at a steady pace, monitoring the stamina bar. Through the god’s-eye view, the enemy’s every motion was exposed. The knight hastened—he hastened; the knight slowed and circled—he shifted to avoid.

The distance between them remained always around twenty meters, yet the grim knight could never pinpoint the boy’s location—he could only feel the boy moving like a ghost beside him.

What the hell?

No line of sight.

How does he know exactly where I am?

The grim knight, encased in armor, moved slowly. Within this roughly fifty-meter-diameter area, no matter how hard he chased, he could never catch the boy.

X-ray vision.

The enemy's psychological defense is crumbling bit by bit!

God’s-eye view.

Qin Wang circling the pillar.

After noticing the enemy’s clear emotional shift through the god’s-eye view, Deng Ken’s own focus sharpened to its peak.

Now is the moment to hunt.

………………

【PS: New book out. Please follow.】

That’s all.】