Chapter 6: Chapter Five: Dimensional Space

Deng Ken has been transported for two days.

As an imperial outcast, he had never seen the empire’s enemies—he had already fought two battles against the empire’s retreating troops.

The cart jolted.

On the cart beside him, the young man who had been shot in the buttocks yesterday lay groaning; his name was oddly pronounced Almargun; imperial outcasts had no surnames, and if they did, it meant an ancestor had been someone notable.

He was a nobody, but from him, Deng Ken gathered plenty of useful intelligence.

As for Almargun’s status—he was an outcast, a lowlife go-between, lurking in all shadowy gray zones, surviving through flattery, fawning, and arranging illicit pleasures; you could call him this era’s pimp, though such men were indeed well-informed.

His hometown, Buchanan, had been slaughtered by rebels; Almargun was among the few who escaped alive.

He was adept at reading expressions; the moment Deng Ken’s gaze fell on him, he immediately lifted his head, slumped over the cart’s cargo, gripping the frame to avoid being thrown off, and forced a wrinkled, groveling smile.

He smiled like a younger version of Captain Jia—ugly, sleazy, the classic rat-faced, monkey-chinned look.

Yesterday his buttocks had still been bleeding, yet he gritted his teeth, got up, stole straw from villagers, and laid out a windward resting spot for Deng Ken, then crouched beside it like a loyal hound, waiting for orders.

Clearly, he saw Deng Ken as his ticket to survival.

His last flatterer target had been a hunter among the refugees; he’d been shot dead on the spot by a barbarian hunter for hesitating and pulling him along during the escape.

The moment he saw his companion die, he ran faster than a rabbit.

“This kind of man can be used, but never trusted.”

No one respected him; whenever Deng Ken questioned him for information, he immediately became overjoyed, willingly playing the role of a sycophant.

The morning passed quickly.

Deng Ken’s fatigue and weakness gradually faded; the side effect lasted a bit long—about ten hours.

“Do I need to be in combat to enter God’s Eye?”

“Can I use it normally?”

It was safe now; he had the mental space to ponder his external advantage—if he could access God’s Eye at any time, the possibilities would be endless.

“Exit game?”

Useless.

“System? Switch my perspective?”

Still useless.

“What if I try meditation?”

Deng Ken sat cross-legged, attempting to empty his mind; when his consciousness sank into stillness, he entered a void within his spirit.

In the projected image, a black-haired young man sat quietly, expression calm, as if lost in thought.

Success.

Previous times, he’d entered only during combat and had no chance to examine this void; now he saw he seemed to drift amid starlight, the background a silent cosmic nebula.

Nothing surrounded him—only the projection, and he himself was not physical, but closer to a spectral essence.

Under God’s Eye, all nearby living beings were marked—even a roadside rabbit bore a tiny icon.

—Witch [Neutral Unit] (skull icon).

The caravan’s guards were all blue-marked; only the captain had a star above his head, labeled ‘Mercenary Soldier’.

“Since this is a game interface, can I exit?” Deng Ken had a sudden thought.

He thought it.

The projected image immediately changed.

—“Retire?”

Huh?

Can I really exit?

But it didn’t seem like exiting God’s Eye—more like another kind of ‘logout’?

A line of text slowly appeared.

—“Retire [End Training]: You will sever your link to your mortal vessel. You will no longer enter the real world through this vessel. The vessel will replicate a personality based on your current traits and experiences; it will gain no further ability upgrades.”

“The dimensional space will switch to ‘Observer Mode.’ Your consciousness will temporarily fall into sleep until energy is restored and a new compatible mortal vessel is captured.”

—“Causality [Training Settlement]: After your escape, you moved to a northern city and opened a general store. During your subsequent journey, you showed no further peculiarities; the Witch—Triss—gradually lost interest in you.

You successfully returned to an ordinary life.

A year later, barbarian rebels rose; the empire’s northern frontier collapsed entirely. Your city was not spared; in the warfire, you lost everything.

To rebuild, you joined the imperial army.

Three months later.

Your imperial field army encountered elite Hun cavalry; the legion broke. You barely escaped, but were gravely wounded, nearly crippled, and soon abandoned by the empire with not a single copper in compensation.

Soon after, you became a beggar.

With no income, your body weakened further; old wounds and illnesses tormented you constantly.

In the end, you died one year later in a winter snowstorm.”

Fuck!

Beggar ending? Crippled? Died of illness?

I fought for the empire! I bled for the empire!

This is the ending?

After calming down, Deng Ken quickly realized he wasn’t a conventional transplant—he controlled only a ‘mortal vessel.’ His true place of transmigration was this peculiar dimensional space.

If he truly ‘exited,’ he would sever his link to this mortal vessel.

How long he’d sleep in Observer Mode remained unknown.

He might never wake up—he was still just a mortal soul. And given this terrible ending, he guessed the training settlement would affect everything in the dimensional space.

He could not accept this ending!

Even if he couldn’t become emperor, at least a regional lord? Or a noble merchant?

A beggar?

A beggar? Never.

Not in this life! Even if he died on the battlefield—shot full of arrows, hacked to pieces—he’d never become a beggar.

A man seeks fortune on the battlefield!

Just fight.

Since he’d descended into a mortal vessel, he’d fight until his last breath!

Consciousness returned.

Deng Ken regained first-person perspective—his awareness re-entered this “mortal vessel”: a nineteen-year-old imperial outcast, both parents dead, all relatives slaughtered by the empire’s retreating troops.

This escape wasn’t over!

His legendary journey had only just begun.

………………

Deng Ken stretched his limbs, picked up the Northern War Bow, and aimed at a crow on a roadside tree branch—there must be corpses nearby, drawing these scavengers.

He’d traded the war bow and a spare bowstring, looted from a barbarian deserter, with the caravan guards; though his external advantage was the game-like God’s Eye, actual combat still obeyed basic physical laws.

Blades dull, strings snap, gear wears out, wounds cripple.

Everyone was on one-life mode.

Face reality.

No choice.

“The bruise on my face is still there.”

Deng Ken touched the bruise on his cheek—it was slightly swollen. The sinister knight’s armored fist had likely struck his temple, killing the original owner outright. After his consciousness entered the vessel, the cheek wound hadn’t fully healed; he still bore minor damage, his health bar slightly depleted, and after nearly two days, it hadn’t recovered completely.

“Don’t get injured.”

“My body can’t handle any serious wounds—I could be crippled with one misstep!”

“After all, this world is real—not just a game.”

Deng Ken aimed at the crow on the branch for a moment, then lowered the Northern War Bow, as if deep in thought.

“Don’t activate God’s Eye.”

“My archery skill is roughly equal to an ordinary archer—I’m unlikely to perform beyond normal limits.”

“That means.”

“In first-person view, my close-combat strength equals an imperial infantryman; my archery matches a barbarian forest hunter. In game terms, a barbarian forest hunter is a slightly above-average archer unit.”

Only under God’s Eye could he exceed normal limits, directly applying his past-life gaming skills to reality and achieving astonishing results.

“The most urgent task now is to improve my strength.”

“In chaotic times, life is worth less than a dog’s.”

“Since I can steal enemies’ abilities, my growth rate should be extremely fast.”

After three battles, he was already equivalent to a seasoned veteran.

Deng Ken’s greatest fear was the world’s supernatural forces; though overall it seemed low-magic, the caravan carried a witch marked by a skull, and the barbarian chieftain he’d encountered could enter a rage, charging straight through arrows to reach him.

He’d seen clearly—the man’s lungs were pierced, yet he still forced himself forward over thirty meters.

“Aside from that mysterious witch.”

“Everyone I’ve met so far are fragile ordinary people; the barbarian chieftain was harder to kill, but still killable.”

He himself was equally fragile.

That punch to his face? Won’t heal in a week.

"Under these circumstances, it’s easy for me to kill, and easy for others to kill me."

A commotion arose ahead of the caravan.

One of the guards rode up on horseback, leaned close to Deng Ken, bowed slightly, and said respectfully: "The road ahead is blocked by a fallen tree."

"There are corpses nearby."

Deng Ken rose and leapt down from the cart, not entering combat stance; even from afar, he smelled the stench of decay. Over a dozen corpses lay nearby, some so mauled by crows their faces were unrecognizable.

"Likely the work of routed troops," said the steady, experienced guard captain, reining in his horse.

Deng Ken scanned the surroundings, then said grimly: "Clear them away. We must move faster."

He crouched beside a corpse and noticed gnaw marks—likely from some large animal—but the bite patterns seemed oddly like human teeth.

These people had died recently, yet their bodies were already heavily decomposed, as if something had accelerated the decay.

"Something’s wrong!"

The caravan managed to move the tree aside and resumed their journey after a half-hour delay.

Only after traveling more than ten miles did Deng Ken finally relax slightly.

After crossing a mountain, the guard captain ordered a brief rest, then took two riders to scout the surrounding area. Most of the caravan consisted of mules and horses; only a few elite guards rode travel horses—slightly better mounts.

The Empire lacked horses; real warhorses were impossible for ordinary people to obtain.

"What are you doing?" came a soft female voice.

Deng Ken looked up and met a pair of azure eyes, a striking figure whose dull gray robe could not conceal her elegant curves—yet everyone nearby acted as if they saw nothing, which defied human nature.

It was the witch!

Deng Ken had never found a chance to speak to her, yet she now approached with a clay jug filled with water.

"Thank you," Deng Ken said naturally, reaching out to take it.

He met her curious gaze, placed a small scrap of parchment on the ground, and said calmly: "Counting heads."

Three killed in the village.

Five killed when we met the caravan.

Last night, during the barbarian rout’s night attack, he killed about seven.

Fifteen heads total.

He didn’t know how many he’d need to kill before truly adapting to this world.

But now, he would never hesitate to kill.

The witch fell silent, only gazing at him deeply.

"Are you from Bran Village?" the witch asked cautiously.

Deng Ken’s eyes narrowed slightly. His original body’s village was tiny—only a few dozen people—and yet she knew of it.

He nodded expressionlessly: "Mm."

The witch hesitated slightly: "What about the others in the village?"

Deng Ken’s voice was hoarse: "All dead."

"Routed troops slaughtered them."

"I’m the only one left."

The witch’s gaze held a trace of regret; she whispered an apology and turned away.

Deng Ken watched her retreating back, then sifted through his original body’s memories. In a faint, shallow recollection, he found a clue.

As a child, an old hunter from the village had mentioned that beyond the mountains, deep within the dense forest, there was said to be a treehouse, inhabited by a forest fairy who once healed and guided lost hunters out of the primeval woods.

If the legendary forest fairy was this witch, then she must have lived over a hundred years.

The original body never believed such tales—he dismissed them as old folks’ stories to frighten children.

"If she truly is the legendary forest witch…"

"Then why did she leave?"

"Could it really be to flee the war?"

Deng Ken didn’t know the witch’s strength, but the Empire’s rumors spoke of young, beautiful girls burned as witches.

The witch hunts.

They had lasted nearly decades within the Empire.

Historically, even one of the Empire’s emperors was rumored to have been poisoned by a witch.

"Witch."

"A powerful individual with supernatural abilities."

"But still killable."

According to Deng Ken’s guess, witches might possess strange supernatural powers, but not to the point of being inhuman—otherwise, they wouldn’t be hunted down by the Church.

"Enter combat state!"

Suddenly, Deng Ken’s consciousness slipped into void—and the next instant, he saw two blue markers appear at the edge of his godlike perspective.

Followed by several scattered red markers.

—Pamithia Rangers.

After two days of flight, Deng Ken finally saw the Empire’s enemies; their attire resembled a semi-nomadic people.

………………